Jane looked wistfully around the tiny room that she shared for the past year with three other young women. Not long ago they were strangers, and now they were her dearest friends. In fact, they were all she had left in the whole world, with the exception of Great Aunt Beatrice in Chicago. The roommates had said their goodbyes earlier that morning, and for this, Jane was grateful. She was never good at goodbyes, but Aunt Bea needed her, and she would go.

Jane grew up in a coal mining town in rural, Pennsylvania, the oldest of five children. Her mother was killed by thugs who were hired by officials to terrorize union supporters. These Coal and Iron Police went door to door one morning throwing lighted sticks of dynamite between rows of houses, breaking windows and causing panic. Jane's mother had been cut with a flying plate of glass. Jane held her mother's head in her lap as the blood drained from her tired body. As she lay dying, she made Jane promise that she would escape this life. Jane promised, and soon left to start anew in the glittering land called Hollywood.

Upon her arrival in California, Jane penned letters to her father and siblings, but they never received them. Less than one week after Jane left her family, a fire burned down their home. There were no survivors.

The loss of her family was devastating, and she used that pain to drive her ambition. Like the dynamite that her coal mining father used every day to break through the solid earth, she planned to break through the cliques and golden walls to land a career in the movies.

With persistence Jane was hired as an on-staff extra. Job responsibilities ranged from serving coffee to small, non-speaking roles in a few movies. As time passed, Jane's hope dwindled when her role did not advance. She was just a bauble, taking up space and looking pretty in the background. She decided to go to Illinois to live with her only remaining relative, Aunt Beatrice.

Three weeks before Jane was planning to head out of town, she and several other girls modeled for what was to be Columbia Studio's new screen "trademark." Jane secretly hoped it would lead to something so she could stay in Hollywood developing a career. It did not.

Jane said goodbye to her friends, her dreams, and to California. It was time to move forward.

So, she did. Jane stayed with and cared for her great aunt until the elderly woman passed away six months later. She met a man and they fell in love. Soon, they married.

For their first anniversary, Jane's husband surprised her with a romantic, candlelight dinner and the movie she had been longing to see.

She and her husband made their way into the dark theater and found their seats, by the glow of ornate sconces adorning the walls. She grabbed her husband's hand, squeezing it with delight. With leg bouncing and uncontrollable smile, Jane gazed with anticipation as the house lights dimmed, and the screen lit up.

She could not believe her eyes. There she was, larger than life on the big screen wearing a crown and holding a torch in the air. Columbia pictures had used her image for their screen trademark.

She never received any payment for the use of her image, and she never got any credit. However, she is recognized worldwide, even today as the first Columbia Pictures torch lady.