Today we've a story that ran across several weeks in the summer of 1928. A contest that changed the lives of two girls - at least for a week or so.

This is an odd way to announce a contest. Perhaps they wanted to surprise readers with the news that they might be a Best Girl.

We'll get to Doc Brazie another day. It's the Best Girls contest in which we're interested. I'ts 1928, the height of the boom, and some local lass is going to have the adventure of a lifetime.

  She is not looking for beautiful girls.

This is not a screen test. When it’s over, you’re going home. We'll see to that. Firmly. No, Miss Pickford won't be going to the station to see you off; she made her goodbyes at the dinner last night.

Really, you must stop this ridiculous crying. It's not going to work. You signed the papers. You agreed to all of this.


Ta-da: the big ad that announced the contest. (Larger version here)

Your hostess, at Pickfair.

The staircase in context. Also, here. The same site allows us to examine the floor vase as well.  So yes, that's jher house. Rather modest front-entrance staircase, no?

The rules make sure everything’s on the up-and-up:

You need two “business men” to vouch for you. In can of a tie, you might be judged on your handwriting.



The paper had breathless stories every day:

Upset! Broschofsky surges!

Yes. It was a big deal. The paper ran daily standings:


I wonder if the graphic was supplied by the studio. I suspect so.









Of course, some girls knew they hadn't a chance. Some would pick a candidate; others insist it was all silly and they didn't care at all; someone would be privately mad at the whole thing, the whole stupid world.

Tomorrow: the winners.





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