Showman Loew

For the first time in history the Legion of Honor has been awarded to a U. S. member of the theatrical profession. Last week, in a grave oak room whose windows stared out at the Manhattan sky above the traffic of Broadway, Maxine Mongendre, Consul General of France, pinned a bit of ribbon on the breast of Marcus Loew, showman. Mr. Loew, of "Loew, Inc.," became a showman twenty years ago in much the same fashion that he has now become a legionaire--by accident. Even during the solemn ceremony that involved the bit of ribbon he could not appear to be taking himself seriously. A short, genial little man, with a big mouth and eyes that seem always to be listening, he had the air of an elegant Hebrew comedian about to do a vaudeville turn. It was thus that he appeared before the famed David Warfield on the day that he entered the show business. Mr. Loew was at that time a furrier. He had done well at the trade of transforming the skins of dead beasts into wraps for ladies, and had recently moved from his humble residence on Avenue B, Manhattan, to a more impressive flat on 111th Street. Mr. Warfield also owned a house on 111th Street but he did not live in it. It was an apartment house in which he held an equity. He regretted that equity. It had paid him no profits. And when Mr. Loew, the furrier, came to tell him how he, Marcus Loew, had seen with regret the mismanagement of the property and evolved a plan for making it pay, Mr. Warfield listened with interest. He turned the investment over to Mr. Loew. Profits began to come in. Soon Mr. Warfield, convinced of the financial genius of his new friend, induced Mr. Loew to invest in a theatrical venture. The other partners were Adolph Zukor (now head of Famous Players) and the late Mitchell Mark. The venture was a penny arcade. Marcus Loew has turned that penny arcade into 350 theatres. "A Loew House in Every Town," his employes proudly proclaim -- and the boast is true, or very nearly. Every evening, as twilight blows westward across the continent, the light of countless theatrical facades prick out his name in lights like little yellow dollars. "Loew" they twinkle, "Loew" they wink; they seem to be calling him, and for a while Marcus Loew responded by dashing perpetually from one to another. Then, tired of Pullman cars, he bought, for a million dol lars, the Long Island palace of the late and notorious Captain De La Mar, mineral millionaire. There, with miles of lawn, a garage as big as a depot, a private golf course, a swimming pool, he enjoys thg amenities that life offers to the successful--among them, now, a bit of ribbon.