Fred “Red” Felbinger and a couple other photogs once were assigned to go to Vincennes, Indiana in early 1930 to cover a potential flood. The arrival of the newsreel men from Chicago was announced in the local newspaper and a couple students from the high school’s journalism class approached the newsreelers to ask if one of them could come make a speech in their classroom.
Red was the one who went to Vincennes High School’s journalism class to talk about newsreel photography and here is a letter he wrote to Harry Smith of Universal Newsreel describing what happened in Vincennes.
Dear Harry:
Well so you’re still editor of THE PAGE! It’s a grand old page at that, but I just wanta arise to belch about a story I see in this month’s. Personally I guess every great sheet must at least have one correspondent on its staff who don’t worry much about the authenticity of the stuff he sends in. I’m referring to one about me making a speech at Vincennes, Indiana, on “Journalism.” The dope is this — seeing as how everybody has read the wrong story. A bunch of the boys of the news-reels were whooping things up at the local nickelodeon while waiting for the flood waters to inundate the metropolis of Vincennes and Harry, I hope to hell you don’t get stuck there for a week end with just one movie and a golf betting machine in the lobby of the Grand Hotel for amusement. It’s even worse now, since Fred Giese busted the golf machine on that last trip. Well, anyhow we’re all coming home from the movies and “Joe the Greeks” where the gang has been guzzling malted milks. As we bust into the hotel lobby we’re approached by a couple of youngsters who’s been scorching their flannels on the Grand Hotel leather divan, and who want an authority on news-reels to address the class on Journalism. It seems as how the local sheet has been running a lot of hooey about how all the news- reel editors been shipping their aces down to Vincennes to grab off footage on the banks of the Wabash, going on a rumpus. That’s what started the whole mess.
The truth of it was, I didn’t meet any newsreel aces down there at that. The only birds I saw were Charles Geis, Fred Giese, Tony Caputo and myself. Well these youthful contact boys for the Journalism class dances up to us expecting to see a couple of hot news-reel men with caps turned backwards and they gave us the “double O” and spilled the dope on us. Guess it was sort of an open invite. Well, the kids were in a heluva mess and they didn’t care who they got to make the speech as long as he was a newsreel cameraman. So the gang of us started to look important as hell and we asked them all the dope as to where it would take place, time, etc., and if the teacher was a male or female. Well the kids were getting to first base when they said the teacher was of the sex appeal gender. Everything was going lovely until we starts to put down the address. We asks the kids what room to report to and they says, the “Class in Journalism.” Boy you never saw a funnier sight in your life — a bunch of news-reel men trying to spell the word Journalism. It was right here that the rest of the birds back out and, seeing as how, maybe, the teacher might be a pippin, 1 thought I’d take a chance. So while the rest of the crank-turners are knocking off the winks, I’m walking back and forth in my room all night fixing up a great line all about the racket.
So the next morning I hops over to the school to give the the song and dance about “Unsung Heroes of the Movies.” Well I bust into the classroom, give teacher the “double O” and decide right then and there she don’t get the red apple I brought along in case. So please kinda tip off President Charlie David in case he’s got a lot of applications coming in from Vincennes to pay no attention as those kids ought to get over it soon and go back to more serious problems of Journalism other than news-reeling. Also, if you run across any of the birds that was in the lobby at the Grand, the night I accepts the nomination, please thank them for me for the swell razzberry they give me when I accepts.
I just been down to New Orleans on the Mardi Gras and I bucked into one of the old gang that most of you birds know. Old Tracy Mathewson and his Pathe gang. Tracy’s getting big as a tent, but still the same old Tracy. Willie Deeke who used to cover Chicago for Gene Cour’s gang was down there with him. A good time was had by all. Met a brother from 665 there, too, Roy O’Conner was his name and a real Canuck, too. He’s the official photographer for the Canadian government. He was filming a Canadian good-will tour and a mighty fine bird. Tracy was telling me our old pal Floyd Traynham is now doing Sunny Florida and liking it fine.
Well, I hope I can hang around town long enuf to take in a meeting again. See on arriving here news must be pretty dead as the only thing I runs across in the morning paper is how two newsreel men bets each other they’s got faster cars than the other guy and it’s none other than Norm Alley and Charlie Ford and wow, I had to read it twice — Alley wins and Ford driving that Cord we been hearing so much about. Well I gotta come up to the next meeting and hear Ford tell as how the accelerator got caught in his foot and he could only open it up halfway; it’ll be funny to take it in with Alley and his funny ha ha topping off the bill. In case I don’t see you before, I’ll see you at the big shindig at the Palmer House.
Well hoping you got me straight on this Journalism business, I am,
Yoors trooly,
“RED” FELBINGER