What Came First--The Chicken or the Movie Star?

When Carl Laemmle decided to move his production company westward, he chose a site in the San Fernando Valley, just ten miles outside of Los Angeles.  In March 1914, he paid $165,000 for the land and broke ground the following October.  A new city was founded for one sole purpose—to make movies.

On March 15, 1915, in front of a large crowd, the American flag was raised and 48-year-old Laemmle officiated at the opening of Universal City.  Laura Oakley, Universal's first police chief, gave Laemmle a key to the city.  Within these city limits was a main street that ran for six miles and included all sorts of building styles:  English colonial, French provincial, Japanese teahouses and Italian villas.  In addition to the police department, there was a fire brigade, a bus system and a school attended by child stars, as well as employees’ children.   Two restaurants that served 1,000 customers a day also opened.  There were also blacksmith, tailor and leather shops, along with garages, mills and apothecaries.

Throughout the next 20 years, there was also talent.  Harold Lloyd was an extra.  Lon Chaney and Rudolph Valentino got their start at Universal along with Bette Davis.  Directors such as Allen Dwan and Erich Von Stroheim worked for Laemmle.  Universal also claimed William Powell, ZaSu Pitts, Buck Jones and Boris Karloff.  And then there were the chickens!  As proud as he was of his talented crew, Laemmle was even prouder of his white chickens.  The Universal chickens lived in a clean, whitewashed hatchery where they laid their eggs—which Laemmle then sold to his employees. 

Despite Universal’s success with many major features such as Phantom of the Opera (1925), Dracula (1931) and Frankenstein (1931), the studio suffered financially.  Faced with debt in March 1935, Laemmle was forced to sell his studio to a group of financiers for five and a half million dollars.  The new owners requested an audit and found two dead men on the payroll, employees who only came to work to collect their paychecks and some who came to work, but had no job.  The audit also revealed 70 relatives on the payroll, as well as some who actually lived on the lot.  They were all evicted and the last family members to leave were Laemmle’s widowed sister-in-law and her daughter; they had been living at the studio in a three-bedroom house with furniture taken from the prop department.

There’s one more thing you should know about Carl Laemmle:  he realized how curious people were about the making of moving pictures and was the first to allow the public inside a studio.  It was a great bargain at the time—just 25 cents.  If the paying visitor was lucky, he or she even got cast as an extra for no added charge.  So the next time you visit Universal Studios, silently thank Carl Laemmle.  He’d be pleased to know that you remembered him.

La Miss

Gay Paree tumbled into the Twentieth Century with its colorful cabarets and their unique form of live entertainment.  These French cafés each showcased a glamorous chanteuse wearing dazzling costumes amid spectacular sets.  None was so popular as Mistinguett, who with her million dollar legs and risqué routines, captivated Paris.

Before she called herself Mistinguett, she was Jeanne Florentine Bourgeois, born on April 5, 1875 in Enghien, France to alcoholic parents.  Despite their own problems, the Bourgeois wanted their daughter to be a lady so they sent her to school and demanded she learn to play the violin.  Jeanne, however, had other ambitions.  She dropped out of school to sell carnations in front of a local casino and traded her violin lessons for singing lessons.  By the time she was 15, the young girl was a popular performer in the local cafés.  When a song-writing acquaintance made up the name Miss Tinguette, Jeanne took it as her own running it together and dropping the final ‘e’.  In 1895, Mistinguett debuted at the Casino de Paris and soon became the toast of Parisian nightlife.

Each evening at 9:30 sharp, she made her dramatic entrance in the spotlight.  Descending an enormous flight of stairs, wearing colorful feathers and sparkling jewelry, Mistinguett carefully navigated each step.  Cautiously balancing an enormous headdress while maneuvering an exaggerated train behind her, she reached the front of the stage and took charge.  Her numbers, ranging from soft ballads to bawdy dance routines, secured her place in the limelight.

By 1906, she teamed up with a much younger partner, 18-year-old Maurice Chevalier.  In their very first dance number, they rolled themselves up in a rug.  As the weeks wore on and they fine-tuned their steps, Chevalier worked up the nerve to kiss her while hidden in the rug.  Much to his delight, she liked it and once said:  “It was that damn carpet that started it all.”  The two had an on-again off -again relationship for decades.

Mistinguett lived large surrounding herself with luxury and royal lovers.  Aside from her Paris apartment, she owned magnificent homes in Normandy, Bougival and Antibes and her torrid love affairs were legendary.  She carried on with an Indian Prince, a Spanish king, as well as a future king of England.  She was also known to have turned down the King of Sweden and the German Crown Prince.  Unashamed of her influence over some of the most powerful men in the world, she never hesitated to call on any one of them for favors.

In addition to her colorful life, it’s believed she worked covertly for the French Military Intelligence during the First World War.  Her exact business with the French government remains shrouded in secrecy, but in 1918, the French military court asked her to testify against a German espionage ring that she helped uncover.  Due to the highly sensitive nature of the case, the records were permanently sealed and have never been made public.

Mistinguett played the Paris music halls for over 50 years.  She was, at one time, the highest paid female entertainer in the world.  In 1919, her legs were insured for 500,000 francs.  She was the first to sing ‘Mon Homme’ whose English version ‘My Man’ was later made famous by funny girl Fanny Brice.  She also popularized the elaborate showgirl costumes with their weighty headpieces that are still favored in Las Vegas.

Upon hearing of the the fatal stroke that claimed her life on January 5, 1956, Maurice Chevalier wrote:  “…You  can take your rest, Mist.  You who were the Parisienne personified, more than anyone ever was before, as much as anyone will ever be again.  You were the body and soul, the wit and chic of the feminine city.  They all adored you… and you will remain, for everyone, a shining light in the City of Lights.”  

The Screen's Most Perfect Lover

The word ‘matinée’ is derived from the French word ‘matin’ meaning ‘morning’ and originally referred to a live theatrical performance, which took place during the day.  Prominent women who attended these plays on a regular basis picked up the moniker ‘matinée girls’.  You see, male escorts weren’t required before dark and the girls enjoyed their ‘ladies only’ jaunts.  Theater critics claimed that these ladies came to the theater just to gaze at their favorite leading men like the handsome Irish actor James O’Neill, a popular performer during the 1870s and 1880s, and father of playwright Eugene O’Neill.

O’Neill’s dashing roles, such as Edmond Dantés in The Count of Monte Cristo, which he played thousands of times, so endeared him to his female fans that a reporter once dubbed him ‘the patron saint of the matinée girls’.  Yet being idolized by these girls wasn’t exactly a compliment.  The actor’s talent wasn’t always key.  He just had to be two-parts handsome and one-part charming with a pinch of debonair mixed in.  With the evolution of movies, it was pretty much a given that matinée idols would soon be found on the silver screen. 

Silent screen superstar, Wallace Reid set the bar for Hollywood’s matinée idols.  Born into the theater on April 15, 1891 in St. Louis, Missouri, his father was an actor and playwright while his mother was an actress and singer.  As an adult, Reid never intended to perform in front of a camera.  He had his heart set on being a cameraman.  His good looks, however, dictated otherwise.  By 1912, Reid was in Hollywood working at Universal Studios as a writer, cameraman and assistant director—until pretty Dorothy Davenport needed a leading man.  Reid fit the bill—both onscreen and off.  In between filming, two pictures each week, the pair were married on October 13, 1913.

Eventually, Reid went to work for D.W. Griffith who cast him as the shirtless blacksmith in ‘Birth of a Nation’ (1915).  The role was small, but seeing this tall, muscular man minus his shirt was all the public needed.  His career skyrocketed as spectators demanded more and Reid moved on to Paramount.  By 1918, Reid was at the top of his game.  He was the all-American boy, the nicest guy in pictures.  As the Jazz Age dawned, he met it head on playing the dancing male flapper, the young tycoon and the debonair playboy, but it was his films that featured the automobile that really thrilled the audience.  Cars were still a novelty in the early 1920s and Reid found his greatest success in movies that showcased racecars and speed.  This was a new kind of excitement making him as popular with the men as he was with the women. 

By day, Reid worked hard—his schedule grueling.  Over seven years, he averaged a movie every seven weeks.  He made nine pictures in 1922 alone.  Hi roles were often physically demanding—especially the dangerous racing scenes he made so popular.  He bounced from film to film without so much as one day off.  By night, Reid played and drank hard—his home filled with laughter and good times.  With his ‘open door’ policy, he liked nothing better than to party until dawn. 

The beginnings of Reid’s drug addiction are obscured now.  One account tells of the actor being in a train wreck while another story describes a head injury due to some sort of freak accident.  Either way, all accounts agree that he was given morphine to alleviate the pain and keep him working.  Before long, Reid was hooked and, in 1922, his wife was forced to commit him to a sanitarium.  With his body deteriorating from his addiction, ‘The Screen’s Most Perfect Lover’ succumbed to the flu on January 18, 1923 at the age of 31.

The Next Big Thing!

When my writer pal Mary Glickman speaks, I listen!  Last week, she tagged me to participate in The Next Big Thing.  Mary is the author of novels Home in the Morning and One More River, which is a 2011 National Jewish Book Award Fiction Finalist.  You can read Mary's Next Big Thing here:  www.maryglickman.com .

Instead of discussing a work in progress, however, I chose to write about my latest book, Bringing Up Oscar because it’s that time of year again when Oscar nominations will be forthcoming complete with eager speculation and all that Hollywood buzz.  Don’t you ever wonder how it all got started?  Well, let me tell you, it’s a story worthy of the silver screen! 

These are the questions that Mary asked me to answer about my latest book. After that, I’ve tagged some other authors so you can learn about their Next Big Thing!

What is the title of your book?

--Bringing Up Oscar, The Men and Women Who Founded the Academy

 

Where did the idea come from for the book?

 

--I wanted to write a book about Hollywood history (my favorite topic) that would include some of early filmmaking's most fascinating folks so I developed a book proposal and began sending query letters to agents that I thought might be interested in the subject.  My letter conclulded by saying I would like to write a second book about the 33 men and 3 women who founded The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences  A few liked my style, but weren't interested in the subject.  Several asked for the entire proposal package, but none offered representation.  Then I contacted Mr. Peter Riva of International Transactions, Inc. 

 

He liked my idea well enough, but what really intrigued him was my book suggestion about the Academy.  Out of all the agents I queried, not one ever mention the Oscar book!  I got to work developing a new proposal and once it was finished, I emailed Peter hoping he was still interested and he was.

 

 

What genre does your book fall under?

--Nonfiction/Biography.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

--I could never begin to cast all 36 characters—that would be a tall order!  No doubt that Oscar would have to play himself.  Maybe Helena Bonham Carter as scenarist Jeanie MacPherson or Robert DeNiro as director Cecil B. DeMille.  Anyone out there have any suggestions for the likes of Louis B. Mayer, Irving Thalberg or the Warner Brothers?  I’m open! 

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

--My book details how a diverse group of 33 men and 3 women from all over the world and all walks of life ended up in the same room together sharing a common goal in 1927 Hollywood—a silent world just on the cusp of sound.

Is your book self-published or represented by an agency?

--I am a lucky girl to be represented by the one and only Mr. Peter Riva of International Transactions, Inc. 

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

--Six months of putting in 10-12 hours just about every day and I loved it!

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

--Many books detail Oscar winners and losers while others focus on a single biography or entity (i.e., Mary Pickford, MGM, etc.), but my book is really the only one that addresses all of the Academy founders and how they got into the motion picture business in the first place—remember when most of them were born the film industry didn’t exist and Hollywood was just a dusty little town comprised of cattle and pepper trees.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

--Why the 36 founders of The Academy, of course!  Most of them are long forgotten.  While you may be aware of Douglas Fairbanks or Mary Pickford, I bet you never heard of Technicolor’s Joseph Arthur Ball or director Fred Niblo—key figures in 1927 Hollywood.  They should all be remembered and recognized for their vital contributions to filmmaking that shaped the movies we see today.

What else about your book might pique the reader's interest?

--My book is filled with Hollywood history and trivia, but there’s so much more.  Oscar discusses American cinema as it took shape on the grounds of Thomas A. Edison’s laboratory in New Jersey where he built this country’s very first motion picture studio in 1893.  It also depicts the unique individuals whose colorful lives began long before they entered the motion picture industry.  This motley group included several cowboys, a few Alaskan gold miners and even one self-proclaimed anesthesiologist!  Oh, and did I mention the bicycle shop owner or the junk dealer? 

Below are other authors I've tagged to tell you about their Next Big Thing.  Be sure and check them out.  I guarantee you won’t be disappointed!

Vickey Kall, author of Death Speaker – www.kalambakal.com

Martin Turnbull, author of The Garden of Allah Novels – http://martinturnbull.wordpress.com/

Dan Wheeler, author of  Grief and Grieving:  Understanding Grief and the Grieving Process – http://danielwheelerauthor.wordpress.com/

A big THANK YOU to Mary Glickman for tagging me!  You are always such an inspiration!

 

Bath School Disaster

We are all still reeling from the horrendous events that occurred at Sandy Hook Elementary School this past Friday.  Personally, I have had a very hard time watching the news coverage, but I did keep hearing one thing over and over:  “This is the worst school shooting in our country’s history.”  Shooting may be the key word here.  It may be hard to believe, but what happened in Newtown, Connecticut is not the worst act of school violence in American history.  That disturbing distinction belongs to a small farming town in Michigan where a madman sought vengeance and killed 45 people on a beautiful spring day in 1927.

Andrew and Nellie Kehoe owned a farm in Bath, Michigan just outside of Lansing.  Experiencing financial trouble, Kehoe lived in dire fear of losing his farm.  He blamed his money woes on high taxes and began a vehement campaign to lower them.  Elected to the Bath school board as Treasurer, Kehoe also fought hard against the building of a new school.  Not only did he feel it was unnecessary, but to him personally, a new school meant more taxes.  Despite his heated arguments opposing it, the district built the Bath Consolidated School leaving Kehoe embittered.  When his farm was finally foreclosed upon, he blamed the board and, in particular, its president, Emory E. Huyck, for ruining his life.

In the winter of 1926, the board appointed Kehoe to do maintenance work inside the new school.  But Kehoe wasn’t interested in upkeep.  He wanted revenge.  For months, he traveled from store to store in and around Lansing purchasing small amounts of explosives, which he took to the school.  There, he developed an intricate wiring system connecting the carefully laid dynamite beneath the floor and in the walls and rafters of the new building.  By May of the following year, Kehoe had laid thousands of feet of wire linking over 1,000 pounds of dynamite.  He also rigged the buildings on his farm.

On May 17, 1927, Kehoe filled the back seat of his pickup truck with old tools, nails, shovels and any other metal materials he could muster.  On top of the junk, he placed a package of dynamite.  Next, he laid a loaded rifle on the front seat.  Then he murdered his wife.

Around 8:45 the next morning, the nightmare started as the first deadly explosions came directly from Kehoe’s farm.  In the midst of their early morning routines, concerned neighbors rushed to offer help, but within minutes the entire farm went up in flames.  Shortly after, a second explosion shook the town.  The school!  Panic took over as the townsfolk rushed to the scene unable to comprehend the horror they found.  Half the building was gone.  Trapped underneath the fallen roof and collapsed walls were the children—some eerily silent, some hysterically screaming.  With windows shattered in nearby homes, cars on fire and trees aflame, more explosions could be heard coming from the Kehoe farm.  The people of Bath thought they were under siege.

Amidst the chaos, Andrew Kehoe pulled up in his truck.  He spotted Huyck frantically digging through the rubble in an effort to save the children.  Kehoe called to him and as Huyck approached the truck, Kehoe picked up his rifle and fired a shot directly into the dynamite behind him.  As the vehicle exploded, the metal debris in the backseat turned into deadly shrapnel killing not only Kehoe, but Huyck, Postmaster Glen Smith, resident Nelson McFarren, as well as an eight-year-old boy who had just survived the school explosion and happened to be walking by.

In addition to the first responders, volunteers came from nearby towns to help with the digging, which lasted most of the day.  Even Michigan Governor Fred Green assisted with debris removal.  As rescue efforts unfolded, however, officials discovered more dynamite in the basement.  Over 500 pounds of undetonated dynamite was removed from what remained of the school.  It seems that the first explosion caused something to go wrong with Kehoe’s wiring and only half of the dynamite had gone off.

In the end, 38 children (ages 7 to 14) and seven adults were killed that day with dozens more injured.  Every single home in the community suffered from an injury or a fatality—some lost more than one child.

Today a small park stands on the spot where the school once was.  The names of the children that died there are engraved on a bronze plaque—Bath’s way of ensuring that they, nor their story, will be forgotten.  What happened on May 18, 1927 in Bath was, and still is, the worst incident of school violence in American history and, until the bombing of the Oklahoma City Federal Building in 1995, it stood alone as the single worst act of domestic terrorism—a term unheard of back in 1927. 

And now, as we mourn the unbearable loss of the children in Newtown, in what the news tells us is the worst school shooting in our country’s history, we should remember the young victims whose families were also left shattered by a mind-numbing act of hatred that played out 85 years ago on a beautiful morning in May.

A Gable Girl

We all remember the legendary romance of Gable and Lombard.  We also delighted in movies that starred Gable and Harlow or even Gable and Crawford, but who out there remembers Gable and Norton?  Don’t worry if you can’t recall the pairing—that’s where I come in…

In 1934, British housewife, Violet Norton, went to the movies. On the bill? It Happened One Night starring Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert. Imagine Norton’s surprise as she recognized the film’s leading man—her former lover, next-door neighbor and chicken farmer, Frank Billings. He even fathered her child.  She hadn’t seen Billings in years. Now she knew why. He’d left her for Hollywood and the likes of Claudette Colbert.

Norton penned letters to Gable demanding he take responsibility for 'their' daughter. Thinking the whole idea ridiculous, Gable never mentioned it to the brass at MGM. He hadn't been to England during the early 1920s and he’d never once called himself Frank Billings.  Norton then dragged her daughter to Canada where she ran an ad in a movie magazine hoping to grab Gable’s attention. When that didn't work, she wrote to Mae West, the British Consul in L.A. and the U.S. District Attorney. She finally convinced a retired Canadian businessman to take her to Hollywood.

Once in L.A., Norton hired a P.I., who contacted the Motion Picture Producers Association. He wanted blood tests and urged Gable to establish a $150,000.00 trust fund for his illegitimate daughter. If Gable refused, the P.I. threatened to tell the world just what kind of heel their Hollywood heartthrob really was. Once MGM got wind of Norton’s antics, however, studio officials contacted the U.S. Attorney's Office.

Charged with mail fraud, Norton went to trial insisting Gable was Billings. According to Norton: "This 'ere Clark Gybles is an arrant fraud. 'E's Frank Billings, that's oo 'e is, I can tell by the way he mykes love to that Joan Crawford-just the syme as 'e did to me. 'E often cyme to see me, that 'andsome young fellow did. 'E waited till me 'usband went and then 'e cyme in."

Gable had his own defense. Jack Powell, Assistant U.S. Attorney, stated under oath that Gable, an American citizen, hadn't been issued a passport until 1930. The president of the lumber company where Gable once worked provided payroll vouchers during the time period in question. Even Harry Billings, Frank's brother, testified that Gable was not related to him. Norton, however, took the stand with a photograph of Frank Billings in a British Army uniform swearing that Billings and Gable were one and the same.

But it was Gable’s ex-fiancée, Franz Dorfler who sealed the case.  She was Billy Gable’s main squeeze long before he came to Hollywood.  When asked to testify, she never hesitated. Under oath, Dorfler described her romance with young Billy Gable and confirmed that they were together at the Dorfler family ranch in September 1922. That did it. Norton, found guilty of using the mail for fraudulent purposes, was summarily deported.

And just to clarify—Frank Billings never made a movie or kissed Claudette Colbert. Clark Gable never owned a chicken farm or, despite her accusations, kissed Violet Norton. 

Ten Things You Should Know About Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is a special time to gather with friends, family, in-laws and in some cases out-laws.  So if you want to impress the gang or just fill in an awkward moment of silence as you pass the cranberry sauce, I put together a list of Thanksgiving facts that might surprise you:

1)      The very first Thanksgiving took place in 1621 at Plymouth Rock.  Much like today, there was a crowd of hungry pilgrims to feed.

2)      Sara Josepha Hale, a Boston magazine editor, lobbied for Thanksgiving to be declared a national holiday.  She didn’t know she’d end up in the kitchen.

3)      It was during the Civil War in 1863 that President Abraham Lincoln proclaimed the last Thursday in November be officially observed as Thanksgiving.

4)      In 1941, a joint congressional resolution appointed the fourth Thursday in November as the official holiday.  Exactly how many Thursdays are there in November anyway?

5)      The cornucopia derived from the ancient Greeks who customarily filled a curved goat’s horn with fruit and grain to symbolize abundance.

6)      Turkeys are native to North America and have been gobbling around for more than ten million years.

7)      Benjamin Franklin thought that, instead of the eagle, the turkey should be our National Bird.  He was outvoted—something we can all be thankful for.

8)      If you’re plucking turkey feathers, just remember that an adult turkey has over 35,000 of ‘em.

9)      A perfectly ripe cranberry will bounce so take careful aim when you throw one at a rowdy guest.

10)   On January 31, 1957, our northern neighbor, Canada, got into the act when they appointed the second Monday in October as their official Thanksgiving holiday.

Memorize these facts and amaze the masses.  Oh yeah—one last thing—don’t forget the pumpkin pie!  Happy Turkey Day to all!