When Doug Met Mary

When Douglas Fairbanks met Mary Pickford for the first time, he swept her off her feet—literally.  By chance, one Sunday afternoon, actress Elsie Janis invited Doug and his then wife, Beth Sully, along with Mary and her spouse, Owen Moore, to visit her home in Tarrytown, New York.  As the five-some took a stroll around the estate, they reached a rather wide stream.  Elsie and Doug nimbly skipped over several stones to the other side, while Owen not-so-nimbly followed.  Afraid of falling, Beth turned back, but Mary in her high-heeled boots decided to try.  She found herself hesitating as she perched atop a log.  That’s when Doug took matters, and Mary, into his own hands.  He came to her rescue, picked her up and whisked her safely to the other side. 

Despite their respective marriages, the couple’s mutual attraction grew.  Mary liked that Doug treated her as an equal while he was happy to find someone who understood the entertainment world he lived in.  When his mother died in 1916, his overwhelming grief brought them closer and Mary soon left New York for California.  The situation was touchy, however, since silent film stars were presented to the public as wholesome, morally upstanding citizens.  An adulterous affair could destroy their careers.  Rumors ran rampant as each worked toward dissolving their respective marriages.  Finally on March 28, 1920 with both of their divorces final, Doug and Mary wed in a secret ceremony.

For the next three days, Mary went to work with tape wrapped around her ring and the newlyweds spent their evenings in seclusion.  Fearing the worst, they finally gave in and announced to the world what they had done.  While the media tried to condemn them, their fans wouldn’t buy it.  In their eyes, Mary could do no wrong and if Doug made their sweetheart happy, than that was fine by them.  Triumphant, Doug and Mary embarked on a European honeymoon where cheering crowds greeted them wherever they went.  The Hollywood couple soon became America’s answer to royalty and Pickfair their castle.

Their grand estate evolved into a focal point for famous visitors such as Amelia Earhart, Albert Einstein and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle  Even kings and queens, dukes and duchesses, lords and ladies from Alba to Vienna deemed Pickfair a must-see when traveling to the States.  Parties at Pickfair were legendary, but even when social events were not planned, their dining table was always set for 15.  According to Mary, Doug had a habit of inviting ‘funny people’ to dinner.   

Inseparable for the first eight years of their marriage, the couple eventually found their relationship strained as Doug’s wanderlust conflicted with Mary’s preference to stay home.  When Doug carried on with the much younger Lady Sylvia Ashley during a trip to London, Mary just couldn’t forgive him.  She filed for divorce.  Doug tried his best to change her mind, but as far as Mary was concerned, their life together was over.

Devastated, Doug gave up and traveled to New York with his only son, Doug, Jr.  They talked about making a movie together, but the elder Fairbanks impulsively sailed for Europe without saying a word.  Shortly after his departure, a telegram from Mary arrived at his hotel.  She was sorry and wanted him to come home.  Doug, Jr. frantically searched his father’s room for the name of the ship he was sailing on, but by the time he placed a call out to sea, Doug, Sr. wouldn’t listen.  He angrily accused his son of lying and always taking Mary’s side before he hung up. 

 

Despite the fact that Doug and Mary each remarried, they continued spending time together until Doug’s death in 1939.  Just before her own death forty years later at the age of 87, Pickford (who remained living at Pickfair) asked her friend and reporter Adela Rogers St. Johns:  ”Will Douglas ever forgive me?”  She must have still felt guilty about their unhappy ending.

The Sinking of The Empress

The tragedy of the Empress of Ireland is mostly forgotten today, but just two years after the Titanic struck an iceberg and only one year before the Lusitania became a casualty of war, the waters of Canada’s St. Lawrence Seaway claimed her.  In the early hours of May 29, 1914, The Empress was broadsided by a Norwegian coal ship and within fourteen minutes, she plunged 170 feet below the surface taking more than 1,000 doomed men, women and children with her. 

Capable of carrying 1,550 passengers, (300 in first class, 450 in second class and another 800 in steerage), the grand ship weighed 14,000 tons and could cruise up to 20 knots.  She made the 2,800-mile trip from Liverpool to Quebec in a remarkable six days—four on the formidable Atlantic and two in the relative safety of the St. Lawrence Seaway.  As the Empress sailed down that seaway for her 96^th and final voyage, she carried sixteen steel lifeboats, 20 collapsibles and six canvas types.  All together, these rescue boats accommodated 500 more people than were actually on board that morning.  Since the Titanic disaster, mandatory fire, navigation and evacuation drills were routine.

After a brief rendezvous with a pilot cutter, the Empress picked up speed with Seaman John Carroll watching from the crow’s nest.  He spotted two tiny lights off to the east as a low bank of fog crept toward them from the shore.  The captain gave three short blasts from the Empress’ whistle hoping to make the other ship aware of their presence.  As the fog worsened, the captain ordered the engines turned off and then put the ship into full reverse hoping it would come to a complete stop.  The oncoming ship signaled back with a single long blast, but kept moving closer.

It was the worst possible situation.  The Storstad was a powerful Norwegian collier weighing 6,000 tons and hauling a full load of coal.  In the thickening fog, the Storstad’s confused first mate ordered his ship to turn what he thought was away from the Empress.  Instead they headed straight for her.  Built with a sharp vertical stern designed to cut through ice-filled waters, she hit the Empress below the water line.  With a gaping 25-foot hole, the damaged ship instantly took on water—60,000 gallons per second.

A hasty SOS was sent, but authorities were unable to determine the ship’s exact location.  Lifeboats were launched but within eight minutes, the Empress lost power and listed hard to the right.  Two minutes later, she rolled onto her right side crushing one of the lifeboats beneath her.  Fourteen minutes after the collision, she succumbed to the water completely disappearing below the surface.  While only 465 people survived, 1,012 perished including 134 children.

Although, the sinking of the Empress of Ireland was the worst maritime disaster in Canadian history, her story lacked the dramatic element of the Titanic.  She was not as glamorous nor was she on her maiden voyage.  Foundering in the St. Lawrence Seaway was not the same as sinking in the vast Atlantic Ocean.  Of course, timing was also a factor.  Just two months later, World War I erupted in Europe and modern warfare preoccupied the world.  The following year, when the Lusitania was torpedoed generating international headlines, the tragedy of the Empress faded into oblivion.

 

Dance Man

He couldn’t read music.  He never took a single dance lesson.  He did, however, drink martinis in the bathtub where he often found inspiration to create the most lavish production numbers ever seen on the silver screen.  Busby Berkeley was surely outrageous, but the dance routines he dreamed up remain unmatched.

After graduating from military school in 1914, Berkeley found work in a shoe factory.  Making shoes was not exactly what he had in mind, so three years later he enlisted in the U.S. Army and went to France during the First World War.  While there, he conducted military drills.  Not happy with the same old routines, Berkeley designed new ones.  He taught 1200 men a ‘trick’ drill explaining each movement by numbers.  His method allowed the drill to be completed in silence.  It was an amazing sight to see such a large number of soldiers marching in patterns without hearing any orders.  It was also the beginning of Berkeley’s magic.

After completing his military service, he brought his skills to Broadway and by 1928, he was the hottest dance director in New York.  Hollywood took note.  Filmmaker Sam Goldwyn hired Berkeley to direct production numbers in the movie version of Ziegfeld’s Whoopee (1930).  He found the work challenging so he stayed on with Goldwyn for two more years as a dance director, but it was after moving to Warner Bros. in 1933 where he made movie history. 

42^nd Street (1933) was a festival of music and Berkeley’s first major Hollywood triumph.  He dared to be different using dozens of women to form complex geometric patterns as he moved the camera itself, allowing the audience to view the action from all sorts of angles.  42^nd Street was followed by Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933) and Footlight Parade (1933).  The dazzling costumes and showy sets created a unique imagery new to filmgoers. 

Berkeley spent up to $10,000 (about $175,000 today) for each minute of his flamboyant production numbers with Warner Bros. footing the bill.  He had a monorail built for overhead tracking shots.  He used cranes, hoists and aerial platforms.  He even cut holes in the roofs of the sound stages in order to achieve the necessary height for his kaleidoscope-like shots.   In the midst of all this equipment, he never used more than one camera.  While filming Cain and Mabel (1936) with Clark Gable and Marion Davis, Berkeley outdid himself.  He cut the sound stage off at its base and raised it with enormous jacks, enabling him to film one of the dance numbers exactly as he envisioned it.  Davies’ lover, William Randolph Hearst, picked up the $100,000 tab without so much as a blink.

Springing from the Great Depression, Busby Berkeley musicals brought joy and hope to despairing Americans.  Even today, one of his productions can still make toes tap and lips smile.  Oh, and did I ever tell you where he got that name?  He was named after actress Amy Busby, a member of the Tim Frawley Repertory Company where his parents worked.  It turned out to be an appropriate name for a one-of-a-kind showman who got his best ideas relaxing in the bathtub with martinis.

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!