William Powell and Myrna Loy behind the fishing scenes of "Libeled Lady"
For the next two weeks, we will be on our post-exams vacation. Whether we go fishing or not has yet to be decided. You can bet we will be fishing for some good films (not phishing)!
See ya!
Privates Jim Clarke and Joe Bean guffawed as they read over their buddy’s shoulder. Jim jested, “Sweetie, huh? I thought you shook that busted Valentine months ago.”
Joe carried on, “Sweetie’s sweet on you, Bill!”
“Can it!” barked Sergeant William Jefferson as he crumpled the telegram in the palm of his hand. Handling women the morning after his arrival to the States was not on his agenda and Sweetie, whose name personified her behavior, caused a sickening pang in the pit of his stomach. “Not now,” he thought, “… not ever.”
Since Sweetie moved from their hometown in Childress, Texas to succeed as an actress in Tinsel Town, their relationship had been as prosperous as her career in acting. Currently, she was a server at the Cocoanut Grove, a popular nightclub at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles, and the closest she had been to playing opposite Clark Gable was when she spilled gin and tonic all over his wing tip shoes.
When he enlisted in the United States Army, Bill wrote to her out of sheer boredom and just assumed they would never see one another again. Their letters volleyed back and forth and he grew accustomed to the idea of having a girl with no strings attached. Then he made the unfortunate mistake of informing Sweetie about his military leave and she insisted he and his chums visit Hollywood for an extra boost of confidence before heading back to the Lone Star State. Truth be told, he was downright overjoyed to receive the telegram ensuring her absence for the day.
Jim interrupted his train of thought, “Well, that throws a wrench the plans, don’t it, Hoss–”
Bill cut him off, “I thought I told you to drop the ‘Hoss’, Private. And, yeah, it changes things. Do y’all still want to do the grand tour?”
“You bet! I want to visit the Canteen, too. It’s just off of Sunset Boulevard,” Joe plucked a road map from his back pocket and unfolded it onto Bill’s lap. “My cousin wrote and told me about it,” he jabbed the map on the intersection of Sunset and Cahuenga, “Opened just last year and the place is crawling with movie stars! I’d love to get one look at Bette Davis, she runs the joint.”
Jim chimed in, “Bette Davis… that ol’ Popeye? Give me Betty Grable any day.”
The three men shuffled through the revolving doors of the hotel lobby and began their venture into the hurly burly of Hollywood, California.
“Hey, look over here,” bellowed Joe, “it’s Joan Crawford’s handprints!” Bill ignored his pal while he sat on the curb outside Grauman’s Chinese Theatre and focused on downing the hot fudge sundae he had just purchased at C.C. Brown’s Ice Cream parlor. Jim and Joe made him feel restless from their starstruck fantasies of meeting someone famous in a candid setting. Agitation heightened from waiting over an hour in line at the parlor because, according to Joe, it was a prime spot for sightings.
“John Barrymore and I have the same shoe size!”
Bill swiveled around to see Jim placing his foot in and out of various slabs of concrete, “Look, fellas, I don’t know if I’m feeling so swell. That hot dog we had for lunch is really barking. Why don’t you guys go on to the Canteen while I head back to the hotel?” He lied through his teeth, but lately Bill had trouble socializing and pretending his life was peachy after all of the things he had seen overseas; the situation was far worse than any Hollywood film portrayed.
“Aww, c’mon, Sarge! You’re gonna miss out on the best opportunity of your life. You might even forget ol’ Sweetheart,” teased Jim.
Joe joined in, “Yeah, Bill, come on! You may never get a chance like this again. It’s a guaranteed good time and there won’t be any broads in your face.” After poking at the last bits of his sundae, Bill reluctantly agreed to tag along.
As they approached Caheunga Boulevard, the men were greeted by a sea of blue, green, and khaki circling the entrance the Hollywood Canteen. A neon light flashed “SERVICEMEN ONLY” and accompanied the rope-style cursive letters spelling out the title of the establishment, Hollywood Canteen, a font Roy Rogers would enjoy.
Laughter, chatter, and big band music erupted from the front door as Jim and Joe shoved their hesitant sergeant through the line. He recognized a beautiful, blonde actress from an Andy Hardy film greeting a few soldiers with a kiss on the cheek. “Hello, soldier,” her tone was hopeful, “aren’t you coming in?”
He furrowed a brow, “Without paying?”
She eyed his name embroidered on his dress uniform, “You’ve got your ticket,” she made a sweeping gesture at his clothes, “that’s all the payment we need, Sergeant Jefferson.”
The Canteen was lined from wall-to-wall with actors, actresses, entertainers, and more soldiers than he could count; some leaned against the snack bar waiting for sandwiches and coffee while others danced with volunteers and famous leading ladies.
His gaze wandered to the stage where a drummer began a heavy down beat to a familiar song conducted by none other than Benny Goodman. A mural was painted on the west wall above the bandstand to create the illusion of a theatre stage with red, velvet drapes.
The crowd applauded alongside the blaring trumpets and Benny’s crying clarinet, then soldiers, sailors, and airmen alike started hopping around the dance floor. Jim and Joe quickly joined, but Bill decided to hold back and get his bearings on the premises.
All along the snack bar, men cracked jokes and swapped war stories with well known stars. Hedy Lamarr emerged from the kitchen dawning an apron and sudsy rubber gloves.
Bill thought he heard her whisper to another woman about the soap running low. He couldn’t quite pinpoint how he knew the actress until she nodded at Hedy and greeted him with her smiling, big, blue eyes, “Hello, Sergeant. What can I do for you? How about a sandwich?” He shrugged. Bette Davis, the Canteen’s president, prodded further, “Oh, come on, how about some coffee? We have a whole supply of cigarettes for every member of our armed forces, so don’t hold back. Surely, you’d like something.”
“Alright,” he nodded, “coffee will do, and while you’re at it… if you see my old pal Private Joe Bean on the dance floor give him a shove. He’s wild about you.”
“I’ll see if I can arrange something, but we’ll get Miss Dietrich to pour some coffee for you.” Bette grinned and disappeared.
“Wait! Miss… Dietrich? As in, Marlene?”
Marlene Dietrich at Hollywood Canteen
Bill was baffled. The stunning creature he had seen onscreen soon stood before him with a cup of coffee and a dirty apron. Her German accent was thick when she spoke, “Two creams in your coffee, Sergeant?”
Bill could hardly muddle up an answer, “Uh, n-no thank you, ma’am. I’ll have it black.”
“If that is how you like it, that is how you will have it!” Marlene poured the coffee and delicately pushed it across the bar towards him. Everything from the lines around her smile to the part in her hair made him feel as though he had stepped into the moving pictures. For years, Bill had followed her career and reveled in her mystique. Marlene possessed a quality many of the domesticated housewives lacked. Perhaps if Sweetie played hard-to-get, then he would give her the time of day; Miss Dietrich’s characters certainly gained his respect exuding these qualities. He had so many questions he wanted to ask Marlene, if only he had the chance, but he was too prideful to ask her out on the dance floor. Instead, Bill thanked her for the coffee and found a small table under a mural with a caricature of a man sprawled on the ground and the words, “With one more stroke to the shapely head, he fell across the floor” accompanying the image.
Jim and Joe danced for what seemed like hours before they sat down at the table with Bill— he had his coffee refilled at least two times since by Spencer Tracy and Linda Darnell. “Bill, you’re missing out on all the fun! Don’t be such a stick in the mud. Get out there and dance,” Jim wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.
Joe butted in, “And you’ll never guess who I talked to! Bette Davis walked right up to me, as if she knew exactly who I was. I could have died!”
Bill chuckled under his breath, “I’ve seen plenty of action just sitting at this here table, fellas, and I gotta tell you… I’m not all that impressed by your dance moves. Disgraceful, gentlemen.”
A pair of legs approached the table, “More coffee? I remember…” she paused, “you like it black.” Marlene winked at Bill and reached for his cup.
“N- no thank you. If I have another cup, I’ll never get to sleep tonight.”
Marlene scoffed, “Who needs sleep?”
Jim piped up, “What this man needs is a dance partner!”
“Oh, he does?” She plopped the coffee pot down on the table and began untying her apron from behind, “That can be arranged.”
“Oh, that’s real nice of you, Miss Dietrich, but I’m fine sitting and watching. Honestly!” Bill clenched his jaw and hoped the three of them would give up on this dancing business. He especially didn’t want Marlene Dietrich to discover his two left feet.
“Sergeant, I thought you—of all people—could follow orders!” Marlene placed her hand over his and pulled him from his seat and tossed her apron to Joe, “Take care of this for me while I take care of your friend.”
“Miss Dietrich, I’m no Fred Astaire. If you need to get back to—”
Marlene interrupted, “Soldier, if you don’t know how to dance, just say so. I’ll lead.”
Before he could object, she wrapped her arm around his waist and yanked his hand to rest on her shoulder, “It’s very simple, the Lindy Hop, in the open position. Right foot, left foot, right foot and I do the opposite, you see?” Bill wrestled his way embarrassingly through the song while Marlene remained patient and breathed a sigh of relief with the final notes. He blushed and pulled away to return to his table. She questioned him, “So you’re going to give up?” Bill felt ashamed of his behavior, he didn’t even think to thank her for the dance. “It’s a slow song now. We can talk… and you can lead.”
“I think I can manage…” Bill placed his hands at her hips and moved her slowly about the dance floor. They discussed the weather in California and after he admitted that he loved her films, she began describing a humorous story about her costume in her next film Kismet with Ronald Colman.
“Irene, the costumer supervisor, had designed my tights to look like chains. After hours of poking and prodding with pliers, they closed the links and discovered I could not move my legs. So, they just slapped gold paint on them instead and sprinkled my hair with gold dust. My legs are worth far more than four coats of Sherwin-Williams.”
Marlene laughed boisterously at the ridiculousness of the situation as one song bled into the next.
“Miss Dietrich, if you don’t mind me asking… why did you move to America?”
“You may call me Marlene, Sergeant. I suppose because of human decency. The Germans and I no longer speak the same language—that includes Herr Hitler and Doctor Goebbels. In fact, they wanted me to stay and be a poster girl for their Nazi propaganda. Idiots. ” Her brow furrowed indignantly.
Bill was taken back by the boldness of her words, “I’ve been stationed there for six months. We’ve seen more than America is leading everyone to believe. Horrible things.”
“I’m sure. There is no dignity in my home country. That is why I am here, where democracy and humans matter. And here,” she released her hand and pointed to the floor, “I am happy to serve those who serve their country. I am happy to show servicemen a good time and dance with those who hesitate because their mind is still on the barracks…” A small smile empowered her lips, “How long are you on leave?”
“Just until the end of September…” Bill opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated as the next song ended, “… I had no idea you felt this way about Germany. I guess it’s something they don’t tell you in the movies.”
She reared her head back and laughed, “Certainly not!” Bill didn’t know how to respond or what to say next. He was reluctant to detain her for another song, but she acted as though she had no intentions of letting go.
They danced for the rest of the evening—fast, slow, the Charleston, the Lindy Hop—until Benny announced the final dance. Marlene said, “My! I’ve forgotten my coffee duties, let’s hope your friend, the Private, saved the day!” She paused and looked at him as thoughts swam in her head, “I will be touring overseas sometime within the next year or so. Perhaps you will be stationed in a country I visit … I hope.”
Bill snickered, “I’d love to meet again, but the odds are slim.”
“Never underestimate Marlene Dietrich, Sergeant!” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, “One for the road. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye…” Bill’s cheeks felt like the color of a fire engine as he stumbled over to the table where his friends sat. They looked exhausted, head in hand, “What’s the matter, fellas?”
Joe groaned, “We was ready to go four dances back, but we didn’t want to break up your little love affair with the pair of legs!” He shoved the pot of cold coffee at Bill, “Some dame came by and swiped her apron, but forgot to take this. I’d have poured some for myself, but I need a little something. Sweetener, ya know?”
Bill looked at the coffee sloshing inside the pot, then over his shoulder to see Marlene talking lightheartedly with Bette at the snack bar, “No, I’m afraid I don’t.” He smiled.
I recently had the pleasure of reading the first installment of Martin Turnbull’s Garden of Allah series, “The Garden on Sunset.” The novel follows the three main characters – Marcus Adler, Kathryn Massey, and Gwendolyn Brick – as they arrive in Hollywood, and together as friends, try their luck in Tinseltown. Hollywood is a closed club, and it’s a hard social circle to gain access to as we witness them try to succeed in their area of interests: Marcus’ screenwriting, Kathryn’s journalism, and Gwendolyn’s acting.
“The Garden on Sunset” begins in the height of silent cinema. It places the reader in a very different Hollywood than what we are used to reading about. The novel is well-researched, and Tunbull’s effort to be historically accurate shows in the quality of the novel. Did you know Sunset Boulevard was once a dirt road? Imagine that!
Turnbull’s inclusion of the descriptive details of Hollywood, the Garden of Allah hotel where the characters live, and alcohol-soaked parties at locations such as the Coconut Grove place the reader in the midst of the glamour Old Hollywood is remembered for. Turnbull also has the slang of the Prohibition and Depression eras down pat. It wasn’t always sequins and curly ‘dos in those days though. ”The Garden of Sunset” reveals the tarnish that lay under Tinseltown’s sparkling facade. Not all trade-offs with scummy businessmen led starlets or aspiring writers and journalists to big breaks. The reader sees appearances of major stars such as Joan Crawford, Greta Garbo, and George Cukor, but Hollywood’s dirty underbelly of bootleggers and shady businessmen is never far away.
The plot of “The Garden on Sunset” is charming and enrapturing as you come to care for the characters and root for them to achieve their goals. Meanwhile, you wonder with suspense which movie star they will meet next and whether they will help our main characters. Marcus, Kathryn and Gwendolyn are the agents who take the reader through Hollywood history while enjoying sprinkles of Turnbull’s intelligently goofy sense of humour along the way. ”The Garden on Sunset” is a light, entertaining read targeted for anyone who has an interest in Old Hollywood. Even aficionados such as myself can learn a lot about Hollywood history from this book. The next novel in the series promises to be entertaining and exciting as it is based around Hollywood’s most talked about production: Gone with the Wind.
If you would like to learn more about the Garden of Allah series, check out Martin Turnbull’s website: www.martinturnbull.com. Be sure to “like” him on Facebook. He posts historical facts about Hollywood, L.A., along with pictures of the era. He is also a really swell guy and a fun person to talk to!
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For our very belated second anniversary show (it was on February 14), we are focusing on Second Bananas. What are Second Bananas? In our conversation with our favourite theatre aficionado, Martha, we discuss the definition of the term as well as spotlight certain women known for their Second Banana roles. If you enjoy Joan Blondell, Thelma Ritter, and Donald O’Connor among others, then this is the show for you!
If you would like to read more about specific Second Bananas and their characteristics, Martha has written a number of lovely articles about the following inspirational women:
They are all greats reads and highly recommended!
This blog is part of Comet Over Hollywood’s blogathon: “Gone Too Soon”. Be sure to check out Jessica’s blog to see other posts in this category.
“Gone too soon” evokes thoughts of short-lived television shows and an empty bowl of ice cream; I rarely connect the phrase to human beings unless, of course, they were stars of the Golden Era. These sudden departures are only premature to those who genuinely care for the person who passed or selfishly desire another performance to dazzle and fill the escapist void. What wouldn’t I give to see Judy Garland belt out another note or even play another dramatic role?
From Pigskin Parade to I Could Go On Singing, I’ve seen them all more than once and I know the songs by heart. Superficially, I could believe Judy left us far too soon, but I also know two terms consistently linked to her career which imply abiding presence:
Legend and Legacy.
Now, this first term legend has many definitions in the Oxford English Dictionary ranging from “a story, history, account” to “an unauthentic or non-historical story, esp. one handed down by tradition from early times and popularly regarded as historical”. Unfortunately for Judy, some of her “history” involves tragedy, particularly related to her career and the end of her life and ‘fans’ link this to her ability to overcome and continue to shine.
Hold onto your hats, because I’m going to attempt to do a math equation in order to debunk this tragic theory before we proceed.
Tragedy Equation
I’ll approximate 10 years of Judy’s life filled with genuine “tragedy” due to these significant events:
Judy Garland lived 47 years, so, if my numbers are correct (and you may check my math because I am an Arts student), this means around 80% of Judy’s life on Earth was not tragic. Then, my dear friends, the word legacy comes into play. Her legacy continues today through rereleases of her films, soundtracks, albums and new releases of books (not to mention her online presence revitalizes her life’s work on a daily basis). Her 100th birthday is fast approaching and now our math equation becomes more impressive because we’ve gained ten percent and the numbers will continue to rise.
Judy is a legend because she possesses a legacy which appears to be some sort of mythical story. Her existence was so fleeting, but she had that “little something extra” those “leather lungs” and a personality to make Lucille Ball “look like a mortician” to grant such a perpetual title.
The easiest way to illustrate Judy Garland’s current impact is through personal account. In 2009, I joined the Judy Garland Message Board after much consideration. You see, I was one of those forum lurkers and I stumbled onto the site one afternoon in November 2008 after having seen Meet Me in St. Louis for the first time (and four more times subsequently the same week). “Under the Bamboo Tree” reminded me of the childhood plays my sister and I would perform for our parents in the living room and “The Trolley Song” brought tears to my eyes. The Trolley Song, Hilary? Yes, yes… the Trolley Song! Her performance, still to this day, causes a knot to form in my throat because it is just so believable! Get a clue, John Truitt.
Time, tide, and trolley wait for no man.
After joining the JGMB, I began to consume Judy Garland as much as I consumed breakfast, lunch, and dinner; For Me and My Gal: pancakes, The Pirate: a BLT, and Summer Stock, oh Summer Stock… roast, potatoes, and carrots with a side of lemon meringue pie. The greatest part about my well-balanced Garland diet was my peers, my fellow Garlandians. Each of the members had their own tier of the food pyramid they preferred, but we were a support system for one another.
One day, I found a girl who loved the dinner portion of Summer Stock as much as I do. We talked for (what seemed like) hours about how much we adored “You, Wonderful You”, Gene Kelly’s scar, and argued about “Heavenly Music” — hey, I think the hillbillies are quality! Eventually, I spoke to Katie on a weekly basis about Judy and our topics expanded from Gone with the Wind and Mary Poppins to every-day-life conversations.
Forget your troubles.
Three years later, I live with my best friend, Katie, in a different country than my own. We go to school together, create a monthly classic film podcast and weekly radio show called The Scarlett Olive, and sing “(Howdy Neighbour) Happy Harvest” under our breath in the middle of the grocery store. There’s something so comforting about our friendship since most of our interests hail from decades ago when Judy Garland’s legacy had just begun. Perhaps it’s because we know we’re the flame that keeps the candle burning.
So, for those who mourn her loss and glorify her tragedy, I’m here to tell you: Judy Garland did not leave us “too soon”, because she never left. She is a legend and will remain one as long as true talent is recognized, discussed, touted, and shared.
To see a full schedule for TCM, click the image above or visit their website at: http://www.tcm.com
