"The only way I can define the difference between a Harvard and a Yale man", voiced Sally Rand as she thoughtfully adjusted the hem of her flimsy negligee immediately following her bubble dance, "is that although I have enjoyed the lovliest platonic friendship with a Harvard man, I was once engaged to a Yale man. No, I never knew a Princeton man."
"I visited Harvard once and saw the crew practicing. My only contact with crew men has been purely visual, but I thought all the boys in the boat were very beautiful. Yes, I said 'beautiful'--don't you think that crew men are beautiful?"
At this point in the interview, a smile spread over Sally's face and rapidly developed into a bewitching chuckle. She then rose and glided gracefully across the floor to the accompaniment of electric shivers which spiraled up the interviewer's spine. Producing a collection of photographs from a cabinet, she selected one and returned to her seat.
"The most amusing experience I ever had at Harvard was sitting in the lap of that stern old statue located in the middle of the Yard. Gee, I have a picture of it! My boy friend told me that it was John Harvard, and was considered quite sacred by Harvard students, although I believe I saw a picture in the papers several years ago of that same statue with a cute little bull dog posed at its feet. It was that same day that I noticed how intense everyone seemed that I saw on the campus. You young men should relax more."
Before Fan Dance
Miss Rand said that, of course, no one paid more than ordinary attention to her during her Harvard visit, since it took place B. F.--Before Fan-dance.
When asked about her B. F. history, Sally declared that that question never failed to bring out the woman in her in that it made her want to "gush". "Gushing" on, she stated that her theatrical career began in silent pictures and that she soon became a "Wampas," a title which, in her own words, signified that she was "Tops" among the promising young movie actresses of those days.
"But I was never given anything but ingenue parts", she continued, "and there is no future in them. Therefore, I left Hollywood and took the road in an effort to become sophisticated."
Sally modestly admitted that she was very successful in the years immediately preceding the depression, but that the bank in which she kept her money was the first to fail. She found herself in Chicago, a very hungry actress out of a job.
"What did I do? I tried to get up the sort of an act which people would pay to see even in the middle of a depression. It was at that time that I began waving fans about to emulate the wings of a bird. At first I wore a dress, but I soon discovered that it encumbered my movements to such an extent that I had to discard it. Of course I could have danced in my lingerie, but I think that it is indecent to appear on the stage in one's underclothes. Embarassed? No, other people don't embarass me. At any rate, Rand can never appear in costume again!"
Sally believes that the proposed New York World's Fair will be equally as successful as that held in Chicago, and admits that she would like to perform there in a new dance which she is now perfecting. This dance is quite different from anything she has done before, but, she hastened to add, its one similarity lies in its lack of costume.