We would like to thank the 183 film buffs who came out this past Thursday night to see Mr. Smith Goes to Washington at the Pickwick Theatre. In addition, we’d like to thank “Those Were the Days” radio host Steve Darnall (and his wife Meg) for being our special guests. Steve was in the lobby and visited with fans of old-time radio. And finally, we would like to express our gratitude to Jessica Rains whose father we were honoring that night. Though Jessica was unable to appear with us in person, we did have a message from her which my assistant Allison read:
My intention was to be with you this evening, Matthew’s too. But it was beyond my control and so I send to you a welcome through Matthew and a story about life with my father.
I was brought up on a 600 acre farm in Pennsylvania. We raised steer and crops and when a job in California was over, my father came back to this country as soon as possible to get on with the business of farming. My mother churned butter and froze the vegetables that grew in a huge garden my father worked and loved. I took care of the chickens and gathered berries, and my father was on the tractor and did the books. We lived in a beautiful stone house which was constantly being renovated.
As a child, I was aware that my father was an actor of some renown, but not so interested. To me he was a farmer.
Frances Propper, Claude Rains, and Jessica…
One day when I was about ten years old, during the fall or winter he told me to put on my coat because we were going out. We drove to Downington and he was all muffled up; he wore a long coat, homburg on his head and scarf around his neck and part of his face. It was cold, but obviously he was trying to disguise himself.
We went up to the box office in this small town and he asked for two tickets. The theatre was a small hometown theatre and the man in the box office was the man who owned the theatre and the same man who showed you to your seat. Of course he recognized that voice!
And he said, “Oh no, Mr. Rains. I can’t ask you to pay. You must come in and be my guest.”
And my father said, “No, no. I must pay. I am just like everyone else.”
Well, I don’t remember what the outcome was, but I’m guessing my father graciously gave in and we went in for nothing. We sat in the back. And during the whole showing of the film (The Invisible Man), he was telling me, in what seemed like a loud voice, how they had done the special effects.
“And this is the part where they had to make a mask of my face! So they put straws in my nose, and covered my face with plaster of Paris… !” And of course, with that voice, no one was looking at the movie, they were all turned around, listening to the commentary. And because I was ten years old, I was very embarrassed.
He didn’t talk to me about his work. The talk was about the business at hand… the farm in Chester County.
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Program host Matthew C. Hoffman with movie hostess Allison
