After thunderous applause for all the stars and a few brief speeches, the platform hosts and guests attended a cocktail party in the Grand Ballroom of the hotel. In a short while, they returned to their suites to rest a few minutes, eat dinner, and change into their evening clothes. Later they were taken to the Atlanta Municipal Auditorium, site of the ball. The front of the auditorium was draped with Confederate colors and flags, and one huge United States flag was laid over the marquee. Inside the building, Taft Hall across from the auditorium was made to look like the Confederate Bazaar in the book and in the film. Reminding Atlantans of their city’s rise from the destruction heaped upon it by the Civil War was a fifteen-foot representation of Atlanta’s seal with its phoenix and motto, “Atlanta Resurgens.”
Gable and Lombard went with Mayor Hartsfield and his daughter, Mildred; the four of them occupied a box together. Accidentally left behind at the hotel, de Havilland arrived dramatically with a police escort just about the time the program was getting started. Instead of taking the time to go around to the box entrance in the back of the building, de Havil-land, escorted by Edmund Miller, the night auditor at the hotel, and Jack Malcolm, a police officer, hurriedly walked directly to the box where she was to sit with Selznick, Leigh, Colbert, and Olivier. The police officer lifted de Havilland up to Olivier who, in turn, lifted her effortlessly over the railing and into the box, delighting the cheering audience.
The program began around nine when the president of the Junior League introduced the master of ceremonies, Clark Howell, editor and publisher of The Atlanta Constitution. Howell, dressed as Dr. Meade, welcomed the guests, recognized all the politicians and dignitaries, and then introduced the parade of debutantes, dressed in antebellum costumes. Next, the black choir from the Ebenezer Baptist Church presented a splendid performance. Then, Howell introduced the film executives and the movie stars. Ceiling spotlights beamed on them as each stood up to receive recognition. Except for Leigh and Colbert, the actresses were dressed in lavish, period costumes. Dressed in a low-neck, black velvet gown with an ermine-trimmed bodice, and black and white feathers at the shoulders for a short-sleeved effect, Leigh looked breathtakingly beautiful, the epitome of Hollywood glamour. After the introductions, everyone seated in the arena area moved out into Taft Hall while chairs were quickly removed to make room for Kay Kyser’s orchestra and the dancing. Kyser awarded several prizes to those in the audience wearing outstanding costumes, and then the dancing began.
Although Peggy’s brother and his wife attended the ball, Peggy and John did not. What the Marshes did or thought that night is not known. Peggy had maintained a friendly attitude toward members of the League and never openly displayed any petty resentment, but she remembered all too well how the Junior League had rejected her. Now it was her turn to reject it.
Leslie Howard and Hattie McDaniel were the only two major actors who did not come to Atlanta for the event. Howard, who had returned to his home in England after the war started, sent a telegram apologizing to Peggy for his absence. McDaniel, the great star who played Mammy, chose not to visit the segregated city, where she could not stay in the same hotel nor eat at the same table with the white actors. The other black actors had not been invited.138 Also absent was director Victor Fleming, who said that he was attending the funeral of his old friend Douglas Fairbanks, even though rumors had it that Fleming was angry with Selznick for saying in a news release that five directors worked under the producer’s direction on the film.
The next day, Friday, Peggy and John did not attend the Atlanta Better Films Council luncheon at the Atlanta Athletic Club, nor the reception at the Cyclorama, nor the tea-reception at the governor’s mansion. However, that afternoon, they did go to the Atlanta Women’s Press Club party, held at the Piedmont Driving Club, just across the street from their new apartment at the Della Manta. In addition to all the members of the Press Club, present were the movie stars, the film executives, Macmillan executives, the mayor, and the governor. Peggy wore a tailored black dress that made her look even smaller than she was, and a black felt hat that had a large, stiff, black velvet bow on top. When John saw her dressed, he thought she looked exceptionally pretty but teased, “Godalmighty, you look like you got on rabbit ears.”139
Looking as if they were doing nothing more than going to visit a neighbor, John and Peggy held hands as they strolled across the street to Piedmont Driving Club to the party honoring her. A national magazine photographer, waiting outside on the steps, did not recognize Peggy and asked her to help him get inside so that he could snap a photograph of Margaret Mitchell. Peggy winked at John and said to the reporter, “Why, I am Margaret Mitchell. Go ahead and get your picture now.” The disbelieving man replied, “Yeah, lady, thanks a lot.” She shrugged her shoulders, and she and John went on their way. The reporter managed to get into the front hall of the club but was soon discovered by the men in charge of checking guests. He was about to be thrown out when he realized, much to his dismay, that the lady with whom he had just spoken was Margaret Mitchell. He cursed himself as Peggy beamed smilingly at him. Feeling sympathy for him, she broke away from the crowd and allowed him to take some pictures of her.140
In a few seconds, Gable appeared and drew her aside into a nearby ladies’ room, where he locked the door so that they could talk privately for a few minutes. They were together for about ten or fifteen minutes. When he reappeared, he was obviously taken by the old Mitchell charm, for afterward he kept repeating, “She is the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met.” And Peggy told reporters, “He’s grand, perfectly grand!”
20
The governor of Georgia declared December 15 an official holiday—“Premiere Day.” The entire city was in a festive mood. Downtown storefronts were draped with Confederate flags, and storefront windows had huge posters of the stars. The streets were crowded with people dressed in salvaged Civil War clothes. Selznick’s publicity team had built in front of Loews’ a façade of Twelve Oaks. Placed high in the center front, between the fourth and fifth stories of the theater, was an enormous oval picture of Scarlett looking up adoringly at Rhett.
On the night of the premiere, a crowd of nearly eighteen thousand gathered in front of Loew’s, and a little more than two thousand were seated inside. When Gable stepped up to microphone, he grinned and told the crowd: “Tonight I am here just as a spectator. This is Margaret Mitchell’s night.” Then John and Peggy stepped out of Selznick’s limousine, and she spoke a brief greeting into the microphone while John stood in the dark behind her. She thanked everyone and hurried toward the theater. No one paid any attention to John following her until Julian Boehm, announcer for the evening, recognized him and pulled him back, asking,” Aren’t you proud of your wife, John?” Smiling, John replied grandly, “I was proud of her even before she wrote a book.”141
When the Marshes entered the packed theater, the audience gave Peggy a rousing standing ovation. As the lights faded out, the curtain rose, and the music filled the air, Peggy became so overwhelmed with emotion that she began to cry softly. With his own heart pounding, John reached into his back pocket and handed her his handerchief. Tears streamed down her face as she watched her name appear in huge letters on the screen: “Margaret Mitchell’s Story of the Old South.” Then, in a grand, sweeping movement came that beautiful title—Gone With the Wind—in letters so large that each word momentarily filled the entire frame of the screen. The words were spelled out in front of beautiful, carefully selected southern scenes. The audience went wild, cheering, screaming Rebel yells, jumping out of their seats, stamping their feet, laughing, and clapping happily and uproariously. Peggy turned to John, shook her head in disbelief, and he nodded in disbelief too. She reached for his hand and held it tightly throughout the entire picture.142
After the film was over and the lights in the theater were turned on, the audience cheered wildly and applauded for several minutes. All that Julian Boehm said before he turned the program over to the mayor was “God bless our l
ittle Peggy Marsh.” Surprising Selznick and the stars, Hartsfield invited Gable and Lombard “to act as a committee to bring down here Atlanta’s own Mrs. John Marsh, Margaret Mitchell.” Then, according to Harold Martin, “the place tightened up till you could hear the breathing.” This was Peggy’s first public appearance of the premiere celebration. As Gable and Lombard escorted her to the stage, the applause that went up was clearly for Peggy alone. She never looked more beautiful or more radiant than she did that night as she walked energetically up the steps, exuding youth and confidence. Julian Boehm reached out his hand to grasp Peggy’s while with his other hand he handed her a corsage of pink camellias. Martin wrote, “Her face was white and her eyes were big, and you could tell she was under a strain almost unbearable.” But her voice, he said, was steady as she began to speak softly and slowly into the microphone. The theater fell silent. The following is taken from the transcript of WSM Radio recordings of Atlanta’s Gone With the Wind premiere:
I think everybody who knows me—and I’m sure about three-quarters of the people here do know me—knows that I’m not any speaker, and so please excuse me if I stumble through what I’m going to say.
It’s something that’s been in my heart since the first month my book was published, and that is: I want to say “thank you,” for me and for my poor Scarlett, for all the grand things that everybody here has done—the taxi drivers, the librarians and the bankers, the Junior League, the girls behind the counters, the boys in the filling stations. What could I have done—and my Scarlett—without their kindness and their helpfulness?
You know, everybody thinks it’s just when you’re dead broke and you’re out of luck that you need friends, but really, when you have an incredible success as I have had, that’s really when you need friends. And, thank Heaven, I’ve had ’em. And I’ve appreciated everything the Atlanta people and Atlanta’s papers have done for me to be kind to me and to my Scarlett.
And now, I think all of you can understand that this picture was a great emotional experience for me. I know that fan magazines speak of lots of pictures as being that, but to me it is a great experience. I think it was heartbreaking, and I know I’m not the only person that’s got a dripping wet handerchief. And I am not the only person I heard secretly blowing their nose, and mine wasn’t so secret.
I feel like it’s been a very great thing for Georgia and for the South to see our old Confederacy come back to us. I felt that way all this week, and I was practically giving the Rebel yell tonight. It isn’t up to me to speak to the grand things these actors have done, ‘cause they’ve spoke so much more eloquently than I could ever do, but I want to speak just a minute about Mr. David Selznick. He’s the man that every one of you all cracked that joke about: “Oh, well, we’ll wait till Shirley Temple grows up: she’ll play Scarlett.” I want to commend Mr. Selznick’s courage and his obstinacy and his determination in just keeping his mouth shut till he got the exact cast he wanted, in spite of everything everybody said. And I think you’ll all agree with me, he had the absolutely perfect cast.143
After making this simple speech, Peggy, looking so small standing next to Gable, fell silent. She stared out into the crowd as if she wanted to savor the moment. Then, she lifted her arm and waved her hand over her head to the audience. When the audience saw her wave, the percussion of the applause was deafening.144
The following day, in writing for the Atlanta Georgian, Harold Martin said; “Nowhere in the world was a picture shown to an audience more spiritually suited to receive it. It was not the glitter and the fanfare that made it great. Nor the array of visiting dignitaries. It was the spirit which gripped the crowd.”
It was obvious, too, that the visiting celebrities had been visibly moved by the warmth, enthusiasm, and southern hospitality that Atlantans showered upon them.
CHAPTER
14
1940-1945
PATRIOTIC VOLUNTEER
Within just a few weeks, one phase of the world’s history has definitely ended and another has begun. Everybody is an old timer now who can say “I remember when people thought Hitler was a joke.” Times have changed, almost overnight, and I hope that all of us, and our country, can survive the change.
—John Marsh to his mother, 17 June 1940
1
ONE AFTERNOON SHORTLY after the premiere, with help from the manager of Loew’s, the Marshes slipped through the back door of the theater to see Gone With the Wind for the second time. They liked it even better than they had the first time because they were able to view it more objectively. They thought Vivien Leigh was “devastatingly beautiful” and “magnificent” as Scarlett, and they were delighted with the performances of Clark Gable and all the other actors.1 Leslie Howard was not quite as strong an Ashley as Peggy had imagined and Prissy not quite as young, but they made their characters come alive nonetheless.2 Although they did not like the rolling prologue’s description of the South as “A Land of Cavaliers and Cotton Fields,” they figured it was useless to protest that Peggy never intended to write about cavaliers and that all of her characters, “except the Virginia Wilkeses, were of sturdy yeoman stock.”3 She believed that southerners could write about the antebellum South as it really was—“with few slaveholders, yeomen farmers, rambling, comfortable houses just fifty years away from log cabins, until Gabriel blows his horn—and everyone would go on believing in the Hollywood version.”4
The opening scene in the film they thought was “a little stagy,” but they were pleased with the treatment of the southern accent. None of the actors used “y’all” when speaking to one person and none spoke, Peggy said, as if he had “a mouth full of hot buttered okra.”5 Sue Myrick had, indeed, done miraculous work. The Marshes said nothing negative publicly or privately to their families about the film except that they regretted the profusion of white columns Selznick put on all the Georgia plantation homes. “North Georgia homes were plantation plain.… North Georgia wasn’t all white columns and singing darkies and magnolias.… But people believe what they like to believe and the mythical Old South has too strong a hold on their imaginations to be altered by the mere reading of a 1,037 page book,” she bemoaned in a letter to a friend.6
Seeing the movie quietly for the second time gave John and Peggy the opportunity to notice many things that they missed entirely at the first showing, as he explained to his mother:
That first night we not only had our own strains and tensions from being in an unbelievable situation, but we picked up some of Mr. Gable’s tensions. He was so anxious for the thing to be a success, and we couldn’t keep our minds on the picture for wanting to tell him, “There, there, Captain Butler!” If that sounds funny, try to imagine yourself sitting next to a man who had staked his career, almost, on that one role, while the film was having its premiere before the audience whose good opinion mattered most to the world. It was not a kindly thing to seat him next to us, or us next to him. And when it was over, we were truly happy we could tell him, honestly, that we like his work.7
In this same letter to his mother, who had not yet seen the film, John said that she would be impressed with the fact that Selznick had succeeded in making it southern. “It isn’t North Georgia, and there are some gauche Hollywoodisms, especially in making the homes too ornate, but the southern atmosphere is there. . . . I don’t intend to write a review of the film, and what I have written is for the family only, but I must say one thing. Be sure to watch Mammy. She does a fine job.”
2
On Monday morning, December 18, as John was doing all the cleanup jobs that had to be done after the premiere and Peggy was downtown making preparations for their vacation, their apartment building caught fire at about eleven o’clock. The fire started in the basement directly beneath their glassed-in porch, where John was dictating a letter to Margaret Baugh. The flames only missed getting into their apartment by inches and were close enough to blister the paint on the baseboards of the porch. When John and Margaret saw the sudden bales of smoke
outside the window, the first things he said he, Margaret, and Bessie carried out were his files, not Peggy’s fur coat. “If I had lost the four-year record of my work as Peggy’s business manager, it would have been catastrophic.”8 As it turned out, smoke and water damaged some of their things in a storage bin in the basement, but nothing important was ruined.
Badly in need of a real rest, they left Atlanta the next day. Knowing how the Western Union office broadcast all of his and Peggy’s telegrams, John did not send his mother a Christmas greeting or any information about where he and Peggy could be reached, so their exact destination is not known. However, his family and those closest to the Marshes at Georgia Power knew that the cabin in the woods near Tallulah Falls was their secret hiding place, and with all of the newsreels and newspaper pictures of Peggy at that time, it is likely they would have been afraid to go anywhere else. About those newsreels, John told his family in early January 1940 that MGM planned to present Peggy with a film of all the material their newsreel cameramen had shot during the premiere, between two and three thousand feet of it. The newsreel that had been shown in the theaters ran only about two hundred feet.9
Before he left town, he had sent his mother dozens of copies of newspapers containing articles and pictures of the week’s events. While on his vacation, he wrote her a long letter on December 20, describing the highlight of the premiere.
Atlanta’s wonderful ovation to her when we entered the theater and at the end of the performance was so heartwarming . . . her speech hit just the right note apparently, for everybody praised it . . . the audience really went wild. What pleased us most was not the acclaim itself, but the proof it gave that the hard work we have done has borne fruit. Instead of making enemies, she has apparently grown in public respect by her determination to remain herself in spite of the book’s success (and “remaining” in that sort of situation is about the toughest job in the world—not because you want to be different but because the public is determined that you shall be different.) When we finally got home from the theatre, about 1 o’clock in the morning, we were so happy that it was all over and that milestone had finally been passed, we did something practically unprecedented in our modern lives. We went to two, not one, so-called after-the-premiere “breakfasts” and didn’t get to bed until 6 a.m.
Margaret Mitchell & John Marsh Page 58