by Joe Corso
“Marla, this is Swifty. I’m giving him a screen test for a fight movie I’ve scheduled for production. I’d like your opinion of this young man.”
“A fight picture you say?” Marla questioned. “What kind of fight picture? Is it Kung Fu or karate or what?”
“No, no – a boxing film,” Bernstein answered.
“Well, in that case,” Marla said, “you’ll need to take off your shirt.”
Man, Swifty thought, he knew what it must have felt like standing on that trade block, waiting to be sold as a slave. He acquiesced but was none too happy about it, mind you. Marla circled him like a piranha and studied him from all angles.
“Yes,” she said finally. “I believe I can do something with him.” Unbeknownst to Swifty, she had just told Bernstein to sign this boy . . . in a hurry. Swifty turned and reached for his shirt and was surprised to see a gaggle of girls, peering into the doorway, ogling. That was it – if the guy could act, that was it – the deal would be sealed, sealed according to Larry Bernstein, Columbia Pictures studio magnate. He had the gals, he had Marla, and that was good enough for the starmaker. The studio had a winner if and only if he could act. Bernstein felt it in his bones and his instinct had never failed him.
Swifty was no name for a movie star and Bernstein blurted out aloud, clearly out of nowhere. “We have to come up with something better than that.” Swifty had no idea what he meant. “Tell be about yourself, how you first became a boxer,” Larry said while pretending to look for missing paperwork. By now, Swifty was putting on his tie and a little embarrassed that the girls were still hanging around, staring at him like he was naked or something.
Swifty answered, “I come from a pretty rough neighborhood and was always being picked on so I told my junior high school gym teacher, Mr. Cassidy, about the trouble I was havin’ with bullies. He told me to come see him after school. He walked me over to the gym, had me put on some boxin’ gloves, and showed me some basics of how to defend myself. I liked it immediately so I began trainin’ and I grew to love boxin’. I found that I had a talent for fightin’. One day at Stillman’s gym, I met Rocky Marciano and when he went to the mountains to train for a fight, he asked me if I’d like to tag along with him. That was just too good to turn down so I did and I trained with him. We became friends but over time, lost touch. Three years ago, he called Red and asked him if I could fight for him, but Red refused him.”
“Why did Red refuse him?”
“I owed Red a lot of money.” Bernstein face expressed surprise.
“You mean Red prevented you from fighting for Rocky Marciano because of money? I just can’t believe Red would do that.”
“Oh no,” Swifty continued. “You see, it wasn’t the money that worried him. It was the principle. I wasn’t doin’ anything with my life and I wasn’t really makin’ an effort to pay him back so soon, so Red had to teach me a lesson. It wasn’t the money – it was the respect. He had to teach me to respect my obligations to others. It was never about money with Red.” Bernstein smiled because now he had a perfect name for Swifty – “Rock” – but he couldn’t use it. Hollywood already had Rock Hudson. He would find another one.
“Tell me your real name,” Bernstein said.
Swifty looked uncomfortable. “Donald Cardelli,” he answered.
“I have it,” Bernstein blurted out. “Your new name will be Swifty Card. Since you fight under the name of Swifty, we’ll leave it as it is, but we’ll shorten your last name from Cardelli to Card.” Swifty just nodded in agreement. It really didn’t matter to Swifty what they called him as long as they didn’t mess with Swifty, the name everyone knew him by.
Swifty called Red that night and told him everything that had transpired that day including his new name. “Swifty Card,” Red said. “Not bad. It’ll take a little getting’ used to but not bad. When’s your screen test?”
“Tomorrow mornin’ at eight. Red, did Larry talk to you about makin’ a movie at The Starlight Club?”
“Yeah, he called me last night and ran it by me. He’s havin’ his writers do somethin’ about a boxer, loosely based on how Trench met Mary and he wants to use you and he wants The Starlight Club in the picture as eye candy.”
“Are you gonna let him?”
“Sure, why not. So long as it’s above board and doesn’t infer anything shady about the place.”
Swifty added, “You know . . . he was really impressed with The Starlight Club. I don’t think he expected to find a place as elegant as the Stork Club since it closed. I’ll give you a call tomorrow and let ya know how I make out with the test. I’ll probably fail the damn thing. What the hell do I know about actin’?” he laughed.
“Just do what they want you to do,” Red advised. “Look, Jimmy the Hat wasn’t an actor either and he won an Academy award, so just go in there relaxed and do what they ask you to do. Remember – be yourself and you’ll do fine.”
“Got it. Okay, Red, I’ll call ya tomorrow night.”
chapter thirty
Bernstein had assigned Lana Thompson to play opposite James Roman for his screen test. After it was completed and viewed on the large screen, Larry Bernstein and the studio executives all agreed – he’d found a future star. Lana had worked so well with a novice like Jimmy that he decided to use her talents once more. Swifty, with Red’s words echoing in his ears, showed up dressed like he was already a star, but that didn’t last long as the director pulled Swifty aside as soon as he entered the room and handed him a pair of boxing trunks. He pointed toward the dressing room so he could change. Shorty Davis, who was in charge of the cameras, then accompanied Swifty onto the set. The setting was supposed to be a boxer in his dressing room, just before entering the arena. The storyline went like this: the mob had a great deal of money riding on the fact that this boxer would lose. They threatened to kill him if he didn’t throw the fight. The boxer refused. Lana, his leading lady, is in the boxer’s dressing room, pleading for him to let the other guy win.
Lana had never met Swifty. She knew nothing about him, including the fact that he was a real fighter. All she knew was that Larry Bernstein had insisted that she do a test with this unknown actor. When Swifty walked onto the set bare chested, Lana perked up. Swifty had studied his lines and felt confident that he had them committed to memory but he was uncertain about his delivery. If he couldn’t remember a line, he had planned on just winging it. How hard could it be to play himself? That’s what he kept telling himself.
The scene began with Lana begging her boyfriend not to put up a fight, to simply get battered or fall down and not get up. Swifty listened intently but, after hearing her voice, his mind went somewhere else – to a place where he asked himself how would he really feel if somebody was leaning on him, threatening him if he didn’t throw a fight. With that emotion in mind, he blurted out angrily, “I don’t throw a fight for nobody!” And so it went from there with such conviction that everyone in the room got into it. Swifty acted just like the street guy that he was, a tough fighter who didn’t let anyone push him around. This went on, line after line, until the director called, “Cut!” Swifty knew enough to know that ‘cut’ meant to stop. He stopped talking and was beginning to walk away. But with every screen test, the studio head and the director need to see the chemistry, the male/female dynamic and how that manifests itself on screen. The best test – the screen kiss. Bernstein instructed Lana to jump ahead to the last. Lana was only too happy to oblige. She spoke her last line, then rushed toward Swifty, into his arms and began to kiss him passionately. Swifty reciprocated and both seemed to forget that this was a screen test. “Cut,” “Cut,” “Cut,” the director called out, but the kiss lingered.
“Done!” said Bernstein. “That’s it. That’s the magic,” he said as he turned to his director.
The director asked Swifty to stick around while the studio heads reviewed and studied his performance. Swifty changed from his boxing trunks back into his suit and rather than stay on set, Swifty and Shorty
headed toward the studio cafeteria for coffee. Lana asked if she could tag along. As the conversation progressed, Lana asked Swifty if he knew James Roman.
“Jimmy the Hat?” Swifty repeated. “Of course I knew him. We were from the same neighborhood. He was a little older than me, and we didn’t hang out together, but we both worked for the same guy, even back then. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know,” Lana answered. “It’s just that I did the screen test with him and you have similarities – both of you seem to have that same kind of attitude, sorta’ laid back, ‘I don’t care’ attitude. Most people would be devastated if they didn’t pass their screen test, but you don’t really care, do you?”
“This test?” Swifty laughed. “This is bullshit. This don’t mean nothin’ to me. What I care about is becoming the welterweight champion of the world, that’s what I care about.” Lana looked surprised.
“You really are a fighter?”
“Sure,” he said. “Twenty–nine fights. Undefeated.”
The three of them sat in the commissary, killing time, waiting to be summoned back to the set and to Larry. Two cups of coffee later, Swifty heard his name over the studio intercom. He was asked to report to Larry Bernstein’s office. Swifty made his way back across the various studio lots and into the building that housed the executive and his team. Before he could settle completely into his seat, Bernstein slid a pile of paperwork – a contract – with pen resting on top, across the table to the boxer.
“Read it, if you like,” Bernstein said, “but sign the last page in the two places where the X’s are marked in red. Swifty glanced at the contract but his eyes fixated on his salary – eight hundred fifty dollars a week beginning the first of the month. Swifty tried to act unfazed but Bernstein noticed him studying it and added, “Your salary for this month will be prorated from the date this contract is signed. It will increase to fifteen hundred dollars a week after your fourth picture.”
Swifty wasn’t worried about the words in the contract. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that Bernstein wouldn’t cheat Big Red. Nobody cheated Red. It was just understood so without hesitation, Swifty signed. He was now an official employee of Larry Bernstein and Columbia Pictures. Bernstein gathered the papers, pressed his intercom button and asked his secretary to have Marla bring in a script for Swifty.
“This is a rough copy of your script for your first movie as it stands now. As an actor, you’ll learn that a script is never finished until the scene’s been shot and sometimes not until we’ve called a full wrap, so just like in the boxing ring, you have to adapt. Shooting starts Monday morning seven am, sharp. Study your lines and don’t be late. Marla will …” his sentence was cut short midsentence as Marla entered with a script marked The Prize Fighter. “Ah, we were just talking about you,” Bernstein said and then turned his attention back to Swifty. “Marla is our drama coach. She will assist you if there is anything that you don’t understand about the script. That’s her job. She’s the best in the business.” Bernstein’s compliments were normally reserved for the director. Marla, hearing praise from the man who rarely gave it, stood a little taller and expanded her chest a little fuller in response.
“Swifty, pay close attention to what I’m about to say,” Bernstein said. “A few years ago I thought I was doing Big Red a favor by giving one of his men a screen test. Little did I know at the time that it was he who was doing me the favor. James Roman turned out to be a superstar who died well before his time. I’m giving you that same opportunity – to become the studio’s next superstar. This script was written specifically to match your profile as a prize fighter. I hope to capitalize on that talent by having you essentially play yourself. I saw what you did during your screen test.”
“What was that?” Swifty asked.
“You lost it when the script called for you to throw the fight.”
“Yeah, I guess I did get a little carried away. Sorry about that.”
Bernstein smiled. “No, don’t be sorry. That’s exactly the reaction the script called for. That’s what convinced my staff that you would be good in the part. Continue to think of the character you’re playing as a real life character and think and feel what you would do if you were him and if all this was really happening. Do that and we’ll have a hit. We’ll start by shooting some on–location exterior scenes on Monday in Queens. Your very first acting job, you’re starring in. I’m taking a chance by putting you in the lead. When we finish the interior shots at the studio, we’ll move on to The Starlight Club’s interior. I’m sparing no expense and I’m backing you up by putting some of our more popular stars in supporting roles and by giving the female lead to Lana. She starred opposite James Roman in two of his pictures and I think she’ll be perfect in this part. She’s your age and after seeing the screen test, I know the chemistry between the two of you will scorch the screen, so good luck and remember . . . if you need coaching, see Marla. I’m assigning her to this picture. She’ll be there at all times watching you at whatever location. If she sees anything that needs correcting, she’ll show you how to fix it for the next take. Your director is Sam Peckinpah who is as exciting a director as you’ll find anywhere. Listen to him. Do you have any questions?”
“None at all,” Swifty replied.
The script was finished. It looked pretty good to Swifty, but he didn’t know a good script from a bad one so he placed his trust in his director who he liked. Peckinpah, the director, was a hard drinker, a rough kind of guy who was never one to back away from a fight, whether it was a debate or a bar drunk who was misbehaving. Peckinpah instantly took a liking to Swifty. Swifty was respectful to his director. The results of that relationship showed as the director took extra special care to retake scenes that weren’t flattering to Swifty. He collaborated closely with Shorty Davis for the maximum camera angles to secure the best dramatic effect. In preparation for one scene, Shorty recounted a brief shot in Body and Soul. In that scene, John Garfield had been knocked down and rested on the ropes, totally exasperated, just breathing heavily. It became the publicity clip that echoed around the world. James Wong Howe, the cinematographer, had won an award for that picture and Shorty wanted to recreate the same drama for this shot. Shorty shared his idea with Peckinpah and the director readily agreed.
As for Swifty, he took direction easily and got along well with the cast and crewmembers.
The interior studio shots were completed within a week. It was now time to move on to Queens where the rest of the picture was about to be filmed. Shorty Davis was quite happy to be going back to the old neighborhood to see Red and all his buddies.
chapter thirty-one
The second unit director shot exterior scenes of The Starlight Club and collected some community B–roll. He had his stagehands set up the boxing rails in preparation for the scenes of the club. Meanwhile, over at Stillman’s gym, Swifty made sure that his buddies, Henri and Gonzo, were included in some of the movie’s shots.
Shooting for the third day was scheduled to be shot on the west side of the El (the above ground train) on Roosevelt Avenue. It was a beautiful June day in nineteen sixty–four and shooting was moving along, keeping pace with the schedule. Swifty and Lana had finished shooting their scene and were waiting to be called for the next one. Peckinpah went to his trailer while the two actors stood relaxing with their backs resting against the brick wall of a private home, chatting about nothing in particular. The peace of the moment was disrupted by a loud disturbance. The actors turned to see that a fight of some sort had broken out. Shorty, stationed about thirty feet away, was fiddling with his camera. Suddenly, out of the crowd, a big black man wearing a fez stormed over to Swifty. The man was too caught up in the moment to notice that Shorty had lightly swung around his jib and trained his camera toward the source of the noise and the site of the action.
“You don’t belong here, you white piece of shit. Get your white ass out of this neighborhood, our neighborhood,” the man barked at Swifty.
The man wasn’t finished with Swifty. Taunting Swifty further, he turned toward Lana and said, “You can stay right here, with a real man honey, and get away from this honky loser.” Lana began to tremble and pressed herself closer to Swifty. The big guy tugged at Lana and tried to pull her away from Swifty while attempting to shove Swifty out of the way. That did it! Swifty yanked the guy’s arm off of Lana, gave Lana a slight shove to get her out of the way, slammed the guy with a hard right hand to his gut, grabbed him by his jacket collar and hit him again, and again, and yet again, until the bloodied man fell to the ground, unconscious. Swifty pulled Lana close to him, his arms cradled around her. Her face was pale with fear and she was scared, but not so scared that couldn’t spot from the corner of her eye, two men running full speed toward Swifty, yelling at him for hurting their friend. The guys looked to be bodyguards or something. They tag teamed Swifty, boxing him in – one behind him and the other in front. When he tried to defend himself from the guy in front, the guy behind hammered away at him, but . . . . Swifty was in fighting shape . . . and these guys weren’t. These were big guys, with big guts – they had more brawn than brains. Swifty knew he had to think fast. He slowly backed up a few feet toward the brick wall of the house until his back was flush against it. Now, he had the men in front of him, but he had to be careful because they were strong, and if one of them landed a lucky punch that staggered him, that would give both of the guys the opening they needed to come at him from both sides – Swifty wouldn’t be able to defend himself from the punches. One of the men immediately rushed Swifty but Swifty blocked his punch and landing a one –two combination. The man doubled over, but Swifty couldn’t follow up because, bam, the other slammed him with a sucker punch – he never saw it coming. Swifty took that pretty well but now thug number one was back on his feet. Apparently, he had seen an opening. That was a big mistake. Swifty bobbed and weaved, rolling with the punches. He came back with a left–right combo to the gut and chin that knocked the man, once again, off his feet. The guy jumped right back up and joined his buddy. Together, the men came at Swifty – two against one. Swifty bent down into a crouch. He looked for the one big lug that he knew he had to go after first and once that guy got into range, Swifty hit him with a left hook on his chin, followed by another left. He then surprised the other guy with a roundhouse right that landed right on the sweet spot on his chin. He laid out both of his attackers, right there in front of him, bringing it to a grand total of three unconscious men on the ground, in full view of Swifty, Shorty, Lana, and the rest of the crew. He took a deep breath and looked around, searching for others that might be a threat but there were no more takers. He rubbed his hand gently against his eye to see if there was blood but there was none. The message was clear – Swifty was a force not to be reckoned with.