Hollywood

 Hollywood, July 18 - So I went on a rubberneck tour of Hollywood with Irene Dunne. Here's how and why: 

 For years the big buses and plushy limousines of the tour services have been grinding up the winding grade past her French-Norman house in Holmby Hills. The passengers would peer attentively as the barkers chanted their varying monologs. Miss Dunne heard her name mentioned hundred of times, but never once did she catch the remarks.

 Having heard vague reports of the ludicrous inaccuracies and somewhat less amusing witricims tossed off by some of the glib gents who point out the homes of the stars, Miss Dunne said she's like to take such a tour herself. After all, people seldom recognized her in public, and she could wear something plain.

What, No Bodyguards?

 Well, she tried it. I went along. So, I am constrained to add, did three press agents, a secretary, a lady owner of the tour company and a photographer from one of the picture magazines. Even with that entourage we almost got by unnoticed. 

 Main trouble was that the barker, who also was the driver, recognized her right away. Miss Dunne hadn't time to go into Los Angeles for the beginning of the trip, soe we caught it in Hollywood.

 We sat together and none of the cut-of-town customers seemed to notice us particularly. For awhile we tried playing honemooners, and at least I can boast of having been called "darling" by Irene Dunne. I also got a first-class glare of simulated suspicion when I offered her a cigaret. "Darling," she said icily, "I should think that by this time you would have discovered that I don't smoke."

 As the bus rolled along, we became aware that our conductor, a Glen Smith, was in a horrible dither of consternation, confusion and embarrassement. Before picking us up, I learned, he had been full of jolly patter and scandalous anecdotes. Now, with a movie star in his audience, he made a lot of hasty deletions from his script together with some pretty lame ad libbing.

Mr. Smith Gets Hot

 When we got into Holmby Hills, our barker ignored the homes of Claudette Colbert, Fanny Brice and Buddy DeSylva while he thought up a glowing but faltering tribute to the owner of the next house - "that famous comedienne and famous singer who has just finished a picture with the famous Robert Montgomery called 'Unfinished Business'... the famous Irene Dunne."

 When we stopped in Santa Monica for a look at the beach, Miss Dunne suggested that he identify her to the rest of the passengers. And so, when we got underway again, he did. With a few words he was able to explain his obvious stage-fright and, for his customers, to transform a rather dull experience into an adventure.

 Cards, maps, envelopes were passed for Miss Dunne's autograph. She signed for people from Atlanta, Miami, Chicago, Cleveland, West Harford,Conn., Kearney,N.J., San Francisco and for William Wallace White, Paraguay's consul-general to the United States. White will get an autographed picture. So will a woman from Coral Gables, Fla. Mr. Smith, his confident, loquacious self again, is beaming.

(Chester Times, July 18, 1941)