Word: slaves
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Next day in Paris the Correctional Court fined famed U. S. "Poetess of Naked Rhythm" Joan Warner 50 francs ($3.32) after a witness had testified that he could see what her cache-sexe (G string) was supposed to hide when she did her so-called Slave Dance (TIME, July 22). Unwittingly she confirmed Equity-man Gillmore's point about coolie wages paid to U. S. dancing girls abroad. Protesting her $3.32 fine, Miss Warner cried: "This means that I may have to pay as a fine every penny I make for my performance, in case somebody wants to bring...
...this most sensational trial of a humdrum Paris summer the principals were strangely at cross purposes. The prisoner, Miss Joan Warner, hoped to get by with her professionally nude "Slave Dance" and yearned to have it declared Art. The judges frankly considered the case trivial but expected something brilliant from the great French criminal lawyer, Maitre Henry Torres, who appeared for the defense. The prosecutor, scandalously sympathetic with Miss Warner, observed before the trial opened: "It would be a shame to send Joan to prison. She is young and besides she is very pretty. I am not going...
Suddenly among the Bagdad's sippers of tea, Dubonnet and citron presse appeared Miss Warner in a clinging, translucent gown, her hands manacled at the wrists, her mien intense. She had invented her "Slave Dance" after being distanced by the competition of Fan Dancer Sally Rand at Chicago's Century of Progress and now considered herself "The Poetess of Naked Rhythm." To the Boverat family it appeared that a blonde hussy had suddenly interrupted their tea. She startled them further by rapidly removing what seemed to be all her clothes, casting off her manacles with a bang...
...interposed for Miss Warner: "Her dance in Paris is a good deal cleaner than those done in Chicago today. There is propaganda in America against tourists coming to France lest they be contaminated. Let's set them right. May I not ask Miss Warner to do her 'Slave Dance' in this Court...
...Paris thrifty Miss Warner returned with her sister-manager to await the verdict in their room at the cheap Hotel Burgundy where they never smoke, never order wine. Thin and, without makeup, childish in appearance, the 22-year-old Slave Dancer shrewdly concocts from cosmetics bought in bulk the thick paint which turns her into a beautiful, large-eyed blonde of uncertain age. Strangely lacking in sex appeal off the stage, Miss Warner is a wet blanket at parties, has been known plaintively to ask fellow guests who were making whoopee to sit down and let her read them...