Outrageous Speed Whoopee
of Cruel Aristocrats and their Girls
I How They Killed and Maimed Blue Danube l
Police Until Public
Anger Drove Them
Into Exile
At Right: Princ«
Antal F.aterhaiy,
Young Hungarian
Patrician, Fined
$800 for Injuring
a Traffic Officer
in Budapest.
B* a Staff Correspondent.
BUDAPEST.
MIDWAY of the Danube River, as
it coils through this city, squats
the Margaret Island, leaf-green
and inviting as any mainland park.
There the night air was caressing; the
neighborhood quiet, as Traffic Police
man Janos Kovacs walked his beat.
Kovacs uttered a glad sigh, for the best
of reasons. Was he not happily mar
ried to a good-looking, loving girl? Arid
tomorrow lie would be the father of a
splendid baby, if all went well.
The hoot of a motor horn broke into
his reverie. Round the corner came
tearing a great, gray car. Sixty miles
an hour, at the least. The regulations
prescribe a maximum of twenty.
Kovacs, shouting and extending for
bidding arms, leaped to the centre of
the road. He caught a flash of a
man’s aristocratic face above the wheel
-—a girl in snowy furs beside him—
two men on the rear seat. Then Kovacs
died beneath the wheels.
His posthumous baby was born the
next morning to a penniless widow.
If
AND 0T1LL SHE
y SMILES!
Signorina Renata Mombelli,
Italian Beauty and Friend of
Prince Odeecalchi. She Won
a Gold Bracelet from Him by
Accompanying Him on a
Speed-Mad Race, Without Screaming.
Tin?, added to Kovacs’s death, spurred
public and press to a fury of critical
resentment. Police laxity was blamed.
But the onus of guilt was thrown on
the shoulders of irresponsible Budapest
patricians—gay blades and their sweet
hearts who rate a whoopee ride higher
than human life.
Anonymous letters to the papers as
sailed young-Mr. Horthy, a son of the
Kegent Admiral. Count Bcthlen, son
of the Prime Minister, was also criti
cized for wild driving. Ferocious and
unjustified attacks were made on such
persons as the Minister of the Nether
lands and Dr. Weiser, noted physician.
In the two latter instances perfect
alibis were established, and not a
vestige of actual evidence could be
dredged up against either of the two
young aristocrats mentioned.
But the case—at least in the pop
ular imagination—against speed-mad
members of the upper classes continues
to rankle. The Kovacs tragedy recalled
to manj- that six months ago Prince
Antal Lsterhazv, of the rich and illus
trious family, had knocked do-wn and
severely injured a policeman. The
Prince, fined 5,000 pengos (about
$800), had hotly appealed to the Su
preme Court, which upheld the sen
tence. A second appeal, this time to
the Regent, brought a second denial,
handed down at the very time that feel
ing was running high over the death of
Policeman Kovacs.
The people then turned their indig
nant attention in the direction of
Prince Nicholas Odescalchi, active
horseman, keen sportsman—and daring
motorist. Small wonder! He was mak
ing sixty miles an hour through one of
Budapest’s busiest streets early one
morning, when a policeman stopped
him, demanded to see his license. Oaths
rumbled from the noble lips and, a*
further progress was blocked, the
guardian of the law (phrase now used,
ironically here) was stretched flat with
a blow and kicked. Whereupon the
Prince calmly climbed back into his
car and made off, again at sixty miles
FUN FOR THEM—DEATH FOR HIM
*‘TK« policeman leaped to the centre
of the road. He caught a flaah of a
man’s aristocratic face above the
wheel—a girl in snowy furs beside
him. Then Koracs died beneath the
wheels.”
an hour.
The assault had been witnssed by so
many people that new,-, of it could not
be suppressed. An official was sent to
the Oclescalchi mansion to question the
young: man, but he had left the coun
try. Friends said he had planned,
prior to the cop-kicking interlude, to
visit Sal*burg and Lucerne, for the
purpose of taking part in a series of
horseback riding exhibitions and hur
dle races. A warrant was issued for hi.
arrest, hut it could not he served till
he should return to Budapest.
Meanwhile, the investigators mani
fested interest in those young men—
and women—with whom Prince Odes
calchi had been associating of late.
It ivas naturally thought that they
might be able to cast some light on
the Prince’s encounter with the
policeman. Laborious fact-digging
revealed that the nobleman’s com
panion on that occasion had been
Signorina Renata Mombelli. He had
met her at an Italian seashore re
sort, and since then they had been
seen frequently in one another’s so
ciety. One day, feeling careless,
Odescalchi dared Renata to accom
pany him on a mad motor spurt with
the clutch open-—120 miles an hour—
and offered as prize a gold bracelet if
she survived the test without scream
ing, P. S. She got the bracelet.
\
It is said on sound authority that
after the mix-up with the police officer,
Signorina Mombelli used all her wiles
to persuade the Prince to give up
speeding. It is also said, on not such
good authority, that he acceded to her
wishes.
This may or may not be so. The con
LEFW THE COUNTRY
Prince Nicholas Odsscalchi, 60-Mila-an
Hour Motorist* Accused of Beating Up
a Policeman. After the Episode He
Departed for Lucerne, Switzerland, te
Take Part in a Hurdle Meet.
sensus of decision is that it will take
more than a pretty girl's whispered ad
vice to cure Hungary’s cruel young
aristocrats of their outrageous ^peed
whoopee mania.
St
From the Circle D T L T •!
to the Square Pu^JBckLdjt
New York Tonights and
Chicago Pasts Among the
Stage Big Shots 1
BIG BARD MAN
Jolm Bryan, Son of Congreaawoman
Ruth Bryan Owen, Shakespearing.
HO, VARLET—MY BUSKIN!
The Great Commoner, W. J. Bryan,
Beride Hi* Grandson, Who Has Been
ELECTED to Play Shakespearian
Roles. The Immortal Nominee Is in
Vctorish Costume, Leading a Prohibi
tion Pageant. There Seems to Be a
Family Resemblance Between the Two
Men, Doesn’t There?
TT
W7HEN 1 was *little boy in Chi'
cago, I sat on the knee of my
uncle, a Tammany delegate to
the Democratic national convention,
and heard a handsome, thrilling man
panic the party and capture the imagi
nation of the 'world with the cross-of
gold speech, the most famous perora
tion since Cicero spilled the dirt on
Cateline. His name was Bryan. Thirty
four years later, in New York, I saw
a young, idyllic and frail man play
Sylvius in “As You Like It.” His
name, too, was Bryan. And he is the
grandson of the Great Enunciator, with
whom I last shook hands in Dayton,
Tenn., at the immortal Scopes trial.
Well, why not? William Jennings
Bryan was an actor in his heart though
a fundamentalist in his soul. He was
a chawtalkaway headliner and the most
spectacular showman in American
political history. His grandchild, son
of Ruth Bryan Owen, who is in Con
gress, is with Frit* Leiber’s Chicago
MEET MISS BROWN
HeUn Hayes, When She Was Still
Helen Hayes Brown, Doing Child Bits
and Dreaming of Starring at the
Empire. She Got the Job.
touring rep troupe in a series of
Shakespearian mummeries. He says
his grandpa passed away in peace
though he knew.
Daddy-antUDale Urania
THEY’RE going to dramatize “Big
Jim” Colosimo, the daddy of
modern racketeering, who was
bumped off in his office on Wabash
Avenue, in Chicago, shortly after he
had married lovely Dale Winter. Dale
was an Australian girl, and on Sun
days, after entertaining nightly in Big
Jim’s dive, she would sing incognito in
a church choir. Dare to try that for a
fiction plot!
I sprung the story in the Chicago
American as a “scoop.” Jim, Dale and
I had breakfast together every morn
ing then. And he would drive me home
at dawn. They left me at 5 o’clock on
the morning of the day when he was
murdered at 3.
Fittingly enough, two former Chi
cago newspapermen have been com
missioned to write the piece—Ben
Hecht and Charlie McArthur, who col
laborated on “Front Page.” It will be
called “The Diamond Tree,” the idea
being that Jim hung Dale all over with
diamonds, or, as the underworld would
say, “ice.”
Saw Dale on the street just off
HER BIG BREAK
Lenore Ulric, in. Her Fir»t “Legit” Part, Guana In “Tha Bird of
Paradise,” Which She Joined After Being a Chicago Chorus Girl. Now
She it the Surefire Draw Who Defies Wind, Depression and Bad Plays.
Broadway a few days ago, by the way.
She looked grand. She was with Jimmy
Duffy, the West Coas. showman and
actor, who has had his vicissitudes.
Bight now they aren’t riding in limou
sines. But they are happy. And when
anyone brushes near her husband she
doesn't shiver, nor does be need a
bodyguard.
Made the Empire
*"1 HIS same Charlie McArthur—
he's the husband of Helen Hayes.
* l got a kick when 1 passed the
staid, aristocratic old Empire Theatre
and saw Helen’s name there in lights,
starred in "Petticoat Influence.’’ It
was at the Empire that she first at
tracted the attention of professional
theatre-goers, as Helen Hayes Brown,
with the late John Drew in Sutro’s
whimsy, "The Perplexed Husband.”
1 talked to her one night while she
was playing in “Coquette” at the
Maxine Elliott, and she told me her
two ambitions—to have a baby and to
star at the Empire. She attained them
both in 1930.
*</'“",OQUETTE” “Front Page” and
y ^ “The Royal Family” were the
last wildfire successes that Jed
They All Have 'Em
Harris produced. He talked of retir
ing after these phenomenal hits, fol
lowing “Broadway” et al. He came back,
but it was a new Jed. He was putting
on esoteric adaptations from tire
whiskered Russian. His last one,
Gogol’s “Inspector General,” dived with
a splosh and closed with a snap.
Now he’s going back to the Ameri
can plan, and it is he who will present
“The Diamond Tree.” He was so
hungry to get into his old stride that
he laid $7,5 J advance royalty on the
line to Hecht and McArthur, a tidy
handout. It was Jed, himself, at a
meeting of the Producers’ Association
several years ago, when the issue arose
about the scalpers handling seats for
failures as well as hits, who arose,
strode out, and as he was about to close
the door, said: “I have no failures!” x
They all have them. He found that
out.
Lenorc, the Immune
Wh, yes—Caesar had his Brutus,
I'’! Napoleon his Wellington, Belasco
his “Mima,” Ethel Barrymore her
Juliet and Scarlet Sister Mary, Charlie
Dillingham his "Suspense," Georgie
Cohan his "Rhapsody,” Al Woods his
"Jtoad Between," Bill Brady hi»
“Cafe,” the Shuberts u few imported
headaches. The "legit” nicks them all,
sometimes—managers, stars, theatres,
all of ’em.
The nearest to being immune u
Lenore Ulric. Her one flop, “The
Heart of Wetonah," was a success; i*
made her, and Belasco wrote off what
that ugly duckling cost to advertising,
She made D. B. plenty after that. In
great plays. And now, in a dish ol
marinated herring called “Pagan
Lady," site still drags ’em in.
1 remember Lenore (then Ulrich)
from Chicago. It seems they all have
Chicago pasts with me. She was a
chorine in the La Salle Theatre, and
Tom 'Bourke and I had the theatrical
department office of a newspaper in
the old Straus building, next door. The
La Salle was the only showshop I ever
knew where they really enforced the
“No Smoking" joke backstage. Lenore,
in make-up, would sneak up to our
place between acts to pull a few drags
on a cigarette.
When she got her first break, a
road show of “Bird of Paradise," she
had to leap to Salt Lake City to join.
Tom and I lent her the $60 and saw
her off. She paid us back. And she
never forgot. Lenore is one big shot
who doesn’t ritz.
Flaming Youth
MARY GARDEN’S dad is 86 years
old. He attended a party re
cently. A very attractive girl
entered. He looked at her, sighed and
said, "When I see the likes of that, 1
oan’t help wishing I was 70 again!"
Breakfast for One
WILL MORRISSEY, who has a
clean record of eighteen shows
put on and not one put over,
is the merriest guy on Heartbust High
way; and George Kaufman, who has
clicked sixteen times out of a possible
.seventeen, packs the most melancholy
paru It’s a dead heat between him and
Buster Keaton for the television rights
to "Hamlet." They say Kaufman bites
off a small child’s leg every morning
for breakfast. I don’t believe it Not
every morning. He doesn’t get up
every morning.
-Cow right. 13«1 International Feature bwuci, Luc , Great Britain Bights fiueneo