So was Reagan. He protested, “But, Louella, my scene has not come up yet. You left too soon!”
***
When Reagan met Glenda Farrell on the set of Hollywood Hotel, he didn’t really want to date her. She had made several flirtatious advances toward him, each of which he had ignored. “She’s practically begging me to take her to bed,” he confided to Acuff, “but she’s not my type. She’s a bit trashy, if you ask me.”
“She got her start in Hollywood working in a whorehouse,” Acuff told him.
“The Blonde from Oklahoma,” as she was sometimes billed, was seven years older than Reagan, having migrated to Hollywood at the end of the Silent era. Her big break came in July of 1930 when she was given the female lead in Little Caesar, starring Edward G. Robinson. Along with another brassy blonde, Joan Blondell, Farrell personified a wise-cracking, hard-boiled, and somewhat dizzy blonde—an on screen archetype during the early talkies.
Farrell carved out a niche for herself playing the articulate and street-smart Torchy Blane, girl reporter. Billed as “The Lady Bloodhound With a Nose for News,” she was shoehorned into one of the limited roles in American cinema that positively portrayed women as competent, career-oriented, and self-reliant. As Torchy, Farrell solved crimes that baffled the police.
When Reagan met Farrell, she was between husbands, and occasionally dating, among others, fellow contract player Humphrey Bogart.
Late one night, when Reagan was alone in his cottage reading a script, there was a knock on his door. When he opened it, he discovered Farrell standing there in a mink coat she’d borrowed from wardrobe.
He invited her in, perhaps beginning to reappraise her. She was more beautiful at night, or so it seemed, standing 5’4”, with devilish blue-green eyes.
It was a cool night in Los Angeles, and she kept on her coat as he went to mix her a drink.
As he shared a cocktail with her in front of his fireplace, she talked about herself, as did most of the actresses he met.
Her father was a horse trader of Irish and Cherokee descent, and she’d made her first appearance on the stage playing Little Eva in Uncle Tom’s Cabin at a theater in Wichita, Kansas. “At every performance, I went to heaven on a pulley,” she said.
Long before Shirley Temple acquired squatter’s rights to Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm (1938), Farrell had appeared in the role as a child actor on a stage in San Diego.
Before she married Elliott Roosevelt, singer Frances Langford (above) was wed to Jon Hall (lower photo), famous on screen for wearing a sarong.
Known as “the swinging duo” of Hollywood, Frances and Jon invited Reagan for a ménage à trois.
After her drink was downed, Farrell stood up before him.
“You’re leaving?” he asked.
“No, but we both have an early call,” she said, “so I figured time is wasting.” In front of the flickering light of the fireplace, she opened the mink coat, letting it glide to the floor. She was completely nude underneath it. “Hop to it, big boy,” she ordered.
***
As a frequent listener to Parson’s “Hollywood Hotel” radio show, Reagan had often heard Florida-born Frances Langford sing, especially her cheerfully upbeat signature songs, “I’m In the Mood For Love,” and “You Are My Lucky Star,” both of which were among his favorites.
Short (5’1” tall), vivacious, and pretty, she had made her film debut two years earlier in Every Night at Eight (1935). He was aware that she’d married the B-actor Jon Hall in 1934. Tall, athletic, and handsome, he was the scantily clad star currently appearing with another relative newcomer, Dorothy Lamour, in The Hurricane (1937), which eventually became a box office success and later, a camp classic.
Over lunch, as the talk drifted to relationships, Langford suggested that Reagan not get married: “Better that you remain the most sought-after bachelor in Hollywood.”
“I fear you flatter me,” he said, modestly.
“I’m finding marriage a roller-coaster ride,” she said. “It’s very difficult maintaining both a marriage and career, too. “
“I plan to get married in the future, as I keep telling people,” he said. “But right now, I’m having too good a time. A wifey and kiddie will have to wait.”
“Jon and I seem to operate on different time schedules,” she said. “When I’m home, he’s off somewhere. First, he’s got to settle on a name. He appeared in pictures first as Charles Locher and later as Lloyd Crane before becoming Jon Hall. He’s not much of an actor, but if he sticks to swashbucklers, fairy tales, Westerns, and South Sea adventure films, he’ll do all right. He’s got a great body, especially when he appears in a male sarong. Speaking of great bodies, you seem to have one yourself.”
“I don’t think it wise for me to strip down here in the commissary,” he said.
“I agree, but why not come over Saturday afternoon and go swimming with Jon and me in our pool, followed by a barbecue?”
“That sounds wonderful,” he said. “I need to make new friends. Right now, my social life consists of a series of dates, no real friends.”
“As actors just sinking their teeth into Hollywood, I’m sure you and Jon will have much to talk about,” she said. “I might even sing ‘You Are My Lucky Star’ for you.”
“That would be swell,” he said. “Should I bring a date?”
“No, just yourself. We can entertain you.”
The following Monday over lunch, Acuff pressed Reagan for details of his Saturday night fiesta with Jon Hall and Frances Langford.
Reagan seemed reluctant to talk about it. “A bomb. I’ve heard about decadent lives in the movie colony. On Saturday night, I experienced it. Frances and Jon are the weirdest couple I’ve met out here.”
“I should have warned you,” Acuff said. “They throw some wild parties and occasionally have orgies. At some parties, Jon strips down and masturbates while a circle forms around him, urging him on.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he said.
“I think I know what happened,” Acuff said. “They tried to lure into a three-way?”
“Right you are.”
“Did you enjoy it?” Acuff asked.
“Like hell, I did,” Reagan said. “After thanking Frances for her barbecue, I got up and walked out the door. I won’t go there again. Even if the setup had been with two gals and me, I still wouldn’t have gone for it. I may be a bit square, but I believe in one man, one woman at a time. Of course, for variety’s sake, there can be two or three ladies within the same week, but only one at a time.”
After seducing Betty Grable, Reagan took on her chief rival at Fox, Carole Landis (above), the “Queen of Cheesecake.”
“At some parties, I’ve seen a guy screwing a gal while another guy bangs him at the same time,” Acuff said. “I might try that myself one night.”
“That’s disgusting,” Reagan said. “Let’s change the subject.”
At that point, Acuff signaled to a young, blonde actress carrying her lunch on a tray to come and share their table. She walked over. He said, “Ronald Reagan, meet Carole Landis, who’s got this bit part in Hollywood Hotel. She’s god’s gift to all cheesecake shutterbugs.”
After smiling and shaking Reagan’s hand, she signaled she’d be right back after rushing off to get a Coke.
When she was out of earshot, Acuff whispered to Reagan. “Carole might be a new experience for you if you decide to take on two gals at the same time. She sleeps with both men and women, so it might be interesting. At least you’d get to see two gals in action at the same time.”
“Eddie, I think you’re one great guy, but did anyone tell you you’re a real sickie?”
***
After meeting Carole Landis, Reagan wasted no time in asking her out on a date. Unknown to him at the time, the blonde goddess (whose measurements were widely publicized at the time as 37-24-35), had launched a torrid affair with Busby Berkeley, whom she called “Buz.” He had been instrumental in getting her a minor part
in Hollywood Hotel.
She concealed that fact from Reagan, but suggested that she did not want to accompany him, publicly, to a nightclub. Presumably, that might have made Berkeley suspicious and jealous.
“In that case, why not drop by my place for a supper?” he asked. “That is, if you like grilled hamburgers and spinach salad, my specialties.”
That night, she arrived promptly at seven for drinks, followed by a simple yet tasty dinner he cooked himself.
He liked to exchange stories and experiences with all newcomers to Hollywood. He told her how easy it had been for him to get a screen test and a contract at Warners.
“Your life seems so conventional,” she said. “My becoming a Hollywood starlet took a more circuitous route. If a film were ever made of my life, it would have to star Jean Harlow.”
Landis’ father had been a “drifting railroad mechanic” from Wisconsin, who had left home before she was born with the name of Frances Lillian Mary Ridste. She had been the youngest of five children. Tragically, two of her brothers had died young and violently. They included Jerome who, as a 17-month-old baby, was fatally scalded to death when a pot of boiling water spilled on him. Later, her 11-year-old brother, Lewis, was accidentally shot by a “gun nut” next door. He had been recklessly firing at some crows perched on his fence.
She told Reagan that just before she had dropped out of high school at the age of fifteen, she had tried to join the football team.
“A girl on the team?” he asked. “That would have caused a riot in the locker room, especially when the guys went to take a shower.”
“That’s what the coach thought, too,” she said, “so I formed an all-female football team.”
Reagan was reluctant to get involved with a married woman, and he pointedly asked her if she had a husband.
“Yes, unfortunately, and I’m still married to the jerk. He stole his father’s car and we eloped to Yuma, Arizona, in January of 1934. He told me his name was Irving Wheeler and that he was a writer. Age nineteen. Actually, his name was Jack Roberts, and he was a part-time usher in a movie theater—and a full-time sleazeball.”
She said that the marriage had lasted for only twenty-five days, and that her mother had arranged for it to be annulled before the end of February.
“Stupidly, we slipped away again and remarried on August 25. That time, the marriage lasted just three weeks. He was into it for the sex. When we weren’t having sex, we fought all the time.”
“Why haven’t you gotten a divorce?” he asked.
“I’ve been meaning to, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
“You should, you know. What if you meet some guy you’d like to marry?”
“You mean, like yourself?”
“I didn’t exactly mean that.”
After running away from her teenage husband, Landis arrived in San Francisco “with exactly $16.82 in my flimsy little purse.”
“I went to all the clubs, trying to find a job as a showgirl,” she said. “Nothing. I got a lot of propositions. Older guys just love to screw teenagers. I’m not proud of it, but for a time, I worked as a call girl. A gal has to do what a gal has to do.”
She revealed why she had changed her name to Carole Landis, the Carole coming from her favorite star, Carole Lombard. “I dyed my hair blonde, and that seemed to work. Two days later, I was hired as a hula dancer at a night club, although I didn’t know my left foot from my right.”
When she’d saved up enough money, she took the train from San Francisco to Los Angeles. “Unlike you, I auditioned for bit parts on the casting couch.”
Then, she revealed to him that she was currently involved in a torrid affair with Berkeley.
“Studio heads like Jack Warner routinely demand sex from their wannabe starlets. Unless you’re a super star, you’ve got to trade sex for a bit part in almost any picture. Right now, I’m, appearing in more films, albeit shitty little parts, than any other actress in Hollywood, all coming from my lying on that damn casting couch.”
[She was not exaggerating. In 1937 alone, the year Reagan started out in films, Landis was cast in at least ten films, maybe more, since some of her scenes in movies ended up on the cutting room floor.]
“Unlike you ladies, being a man, I’ll never be called upon to lie on any casting couch,” Reagan said. “It doesn’t work that way for guys.”
“Like hell it doesn’t!” she answered. “You haven’t been asked to drop your pants because you haven’t worked with a queer director yet. I predict your day will come. With all the homos directing pictures these days, you’ll get propositioned!”
“If any director ever comes on to me like that, he’ll end up with a bloody nose,” Reagan answered.
“You should be more cooperative. John Wayne didn’t have a problem dropping his pants for John Ford. Hell, Gary Cooper got hired as a stuntman by bedding Rudolph Valentino. And later, during the making of Wings, he even had to make whoopee with Howard Hughes.”
“I never knew that,” Reagan said. “It’s hard to believe. They’re such he-men.”
“Those are the ones the queers go after,” she said. “You’re very good looking and— although I’m not entirely sure—you seem to have a great body hidden under all those clothes.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Maybe you’ll see more of it before the night ends. But tell me about some other films you worked on.”
“I slept with Mervyn LeRoy, the director, as a means of getting a part in The King and the Chorus Girl (1937),” she said. “LeRoy kept me busy when he wasn’t balling Lana Turner.”
She revealed that her unwanted husband, then billing himself as Irving Wheeler, once showed up on the set. “I got LeRoy to give him a tiny little part in The King and the Chorus Girl, but Jack has no talent at all. The last I heard from him, he was selling his big dick to queers cruising Hollywood Boulevard. He charges five dollars for a blow-job, more if a homo wants rough sex.”
“During the filming of that chorus girl turkey, I made friends with another chorine named Jane Wyman,” she said.
“There’s that name again,” he said. “It seems everybody I meet has just seen Jane Wyman.”
“Jane and I started out as rivals,” Landis said. “She and I both wanted to be moved to the front of the chorus line. But partly because LeRoy was screwing me at the time, I got the spot. Jane plays around a bit, but there’s no one else like ‘legs apart’ Landis here.”
Over cognac at the end of their meal, she shared some of her ambitions and fears. “I want to prove myself as a real actress and not be known as some curvaceous cutie. I desperately want to be a star, and I don’t want to end up like most film actresses, living in some sleazy rooming house and sleeping on a piss-stained mattress, with an empty liquor bottle beside me, a woman with full scrapbooks of past successes, but with an empty stomach.”
“It’s getting late,” she said, starting to unbutton her blouse. “In case Busby won’t propose to me, you might be interested. I fully believe a man should try out a woman before proposing to her.”
“My mother, Nelle, wouldn’t agree,” he said. “And if I had a daughter, I wouldn’t advocate that. But for myself, I believe it.”
“Then you don’t mind if I sleep over tonight?” she asked.
“It would be a dream come true,” he said.
[In the weeks, months, and even years to follow, Reagan must have found sex with Landis most agreeable. Their affair would continue through the early years of his marriage to Jane Wyman.]
Reagan’s friend, Eddie Acuff, was kept abreast of the Landis/Reagan affair. After all, he was the man who introduced them. He later commented on their special relationship.
“I think they had different reasons for being attracted to each other, aside from the sex, which I heard was good. Carole told me that herself.”
“Although Carole had a brother, Lawrence Ridste, still left, they never saw each other,” Acuff said. “Reagan became not only her lover, but a big brother to
her. She told me that she could depend on Reagan for good, solid advice, even though she lived on the sharp edge of the sword.”
“His attraction to her, however, was harder to figure. Of course, she was a blonde cutie, and that’s enough for most men. But it was more than that. There was a side of Reagan that he never wanted people to know about, a darker side. In spite of his philandering during his early days at Warners, he was still known as Mr. Goodie Two-Shoes. He maintained that reputation regardless of his private life.”
“Carole was that bad girl type Reagan’s mother had warned him about,” Acuff continued. “It was like a Jewish mama warning her little Bernie, or whomever, about the forbidden fruit, a blonde, gentile, Christian Shiksa.”
***
Acuff also became aware of an even more tempestuous affair Reagan launched during the shooting of Hollywood Hotel. It was with another “dress extra” (i.e., “bit player”), Susan Hayward, a fiery, short-tempered redhead from Brooklyn. While he was having lunch with Acuff in the commissary, Hayward came right up to Reagan and sat down beside him.
Her opening line was a new one for him: “This is your lucky day.”
“Hi, I’m Ronald Reagan.”
“And I’m Susan Hayward,” she said provocatively and seductively.
“Is this the beginning of a beautiful friendship?” he asked.
Acuff later recalled, “Susan and Reagan just ignored me, caught up in their own private flirtation. I was witnessing the beginning of his most tumultuous, even violent, affair of the 30s. The question was, was he man enough to handle a firecracker like Hayward? Correction: I mean ‘a stick of dynamite’ like Hayward.”
Chapter Three
Overdressed, Ambitious, & Adorned with Fake Jewelry, “The Hey-Hey Girl” Dances the Night Away
She was just a plucky young woman with a baby face spotlighted by a pug nose. Her talent was wasted in uninspired musicals, clichéd Westerns, insipid comedies, and amateur detective stories. But then the girl discovered she could make you cry in Johnny Belinda (‘48).
Love Triangle: Ronald Reagan, Jane Wyman, & Nancy Davis (Blood Moon's Babylon Series) Page 12