In Smart Blonde, Jane as a hatcheck girl is trapped in a bit part between the picture’s two stars, Barton MacLane and Glenda Farrell.
The director of Smart Blonde was Frank MacDonald, a railroad employee who had quit his job and begun working for Warners in 1933 as a dialogue director. He told Jane that her voice was weak, but that because she had only a line or two of dialogue in the film, “It doesn’t really matter, because your scene will probably end up on the cutting room floor.”
She was not impressed with MacDonald, and neither was Jack Warner. MacDonald eventually drifted over to Poverty Row.
Wayne Morris: Aviator, movie star, and patriot.
***
Jane’s first impression about the possibility of finding a lover, or even a suitable date, on the set of Smart Blonde seemed virtually non-existent
How wrong she was. At the last minute, Wayne Morris was assigned a bit part and showed up on the set. He invited her for a weekend at a friend’s vacation retreat in Palm Springs. She’d heard a lot about the place, but had never been there and was anxious to go.
She almost canceled her commitment to the plan when she saw him once again emerging from Farrell’s dressing room.
He realized that she had spotted him and he walked over to her immediately. “Listen, babe, remember our agreement.”
“I remember,” she said. “But I’m still jealous of that bitch.”
“Honey, she means nothing to me. But she’s the star of the picture. Like many of you chorus gal types, a man with a body like mine sometimes has to lie on the casting couch, the same as you babes. You won’t believe some of the big names at Warners who have wanted to play with Jumbo. “
“I’d believe it,” she said, sarcastically.
She couldn’t stay mad at him for long, and she left the next morning for the hot, sticky drive to Palm Springs.
The town evoked a desert landscape and movie stars sipping cocktails around pools attached to lavish homes. Back in the days of Rudolph Valentino and Theda Bara, the resort had become a mecca for discreet, off-the-record weekends.
Jane fell in love with the place. [It would become her hideout in years to come. Eventually, she leased a house there after her divorce from her third husband, Ronald Reagan.]
Once they arrived inside the two-bedroom house, Morris pulled off all his clothes and jumped into the pool. He urged her to strip down, but she refused. She finally agreed to swim topless with him, but she retained her bottom. “I may be a chorus girl, but I’m still a lady,” she said.
That Saturday night, he told her that he’d invited four other couples over for drinks and a swim in the cool of the evening. She put on a cocktail dress and returned to the pool area, finding him still lying, nude, on a chaise longue.
“Aren’t you going to get dressed?” she asked. Then, she heard the doorbell. “For God’s sake, throw a towel around you.”
Jane answered the door and greeted Morris’ friends. He hung out with people on the fringe of the movie industry—grips, technicians, a wardrobe woman, no big stars. She ushered them onto the patio.
Morris’ bath towel fell down as he was mixing drinks for his guests. He didn’t bother to recoup it. “He was stark raving naked in front of the women and their dates,” she later told Blondell.
“Soon, all the couples were stripping down and jumping into the pool,” Jane said. “Wayne urged me to get naked and join them. Instead, I retreated into the house until they left. I feared the whole thing would turn into my first Hollywood orgy, but it didn’t. I learned something about Wayne—it was my first encounter with an exhibitionist.”
Later that evening, he told her, “In Hollywood, it pays to advertise your best assets. The news will spread. A lot of the producers and directors in this town are homos, and this kind of word of mouth will lead to steady work in films, maybe even a major role.”
“Dear one, don’t you see that that makes you a whore?” she asked.
“It’s Hollywood, baby, where a pretty boy doesn’t have to go hungry.”
Morris had completed his brief appearance in Smart Blonde, and he agreed to call her in a few days. “Something big is cooking for me.”
She felt lonesome and abandoned on the set that Monday morning. She read a book until it was time for lunch, as she had nothing to do.
Later, as he was strolling into the commissary, she encountered a tall, very good looking man who held open the door for her. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Craig Reynolds. Where have you been hiding all my life?”
“I’m Jane Wyman,” she said.
“Since we both appear to be alone, why don’t you share a bite with me?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she said.
“He was drop dead gorgeous,” as she’d later tell her friend, Lucille Ball. “When he trained his left eye on me, I melted.”
She didn’t mention anything about his right eye. “It was one of those ‘if you blow in my ear, I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth,’” Jane said.
“Craig was creamy, dreamy, my kind of man, the ideal beau I’ve been seeking in Hollywood, but never found,” Jane claimed. “By the time the blueberry pie was served, I was ready to roll if he wanted me, although I feared my passion for him was not matched.”
She had never met him before, even though she’d played bit parts in two of his movies, including Here Comes Carter, which had starred her friend, Ross Alexander, as well as Farrell. Reynolds had also played minor roles in her just-completed Stage Struck and, before that, in Rumba, with Carole Lombard and George Raft.
“Well,” he said, “on the occasion of this, our fourth picture together, it’s time I remedied that with a hot date tonight.”
“I’m game,” she said.
“Craig and I began dating that very night,” Jane told Blondell, who had become her confidant. “When Craig took off his clothes, I nearly fainted. He’s an Adonis, the type high school girls dream about. Unlike Clark Gable, he’s got an impressive piece of equipment and can go all night.”
Craig Reynolds, an early love of Jane Wyman’s. When he “turned it on,” his left eye was said to be the most seductive in Hollywood.
Jane began to learn more about Reynolds, a native of Anaheim, California, over breakfast the next morning. Fortunately for her, he was unmarried, and would remain so until 1943. In his early films, he’d been billed by his real name, Hugh Enfield.
In many ways, his career at Warners evoked her own. Both had used their original names in the beginning, and now they were being evaluated by Jack Warner as potential stars. Previously, Reynolds had been cast as the second lead in Paris in Spring (1935). Although he was nine years older than Jane, he looked much younger.
[In 2014, an online fan, identifying herself as “Caftan Woman,” was still raving about Reynold’s sex appeal. She, too, cited his seductive left eye, evoking Jane’s comment in the late 1930s. Caftan Woman defined Reynolds as “Versatile, energetic, tough, and as dashing and charming as Errol Flynn.”
Caftan Woman went on to write: “In 1936, Reynolds was at home on the range as the villain opposite Dick Foran in Treachery Rides the Range. He seemed born to the tuxedo in the Warren William comedy, Times Square Playboy. Stage Struck (1936) was a fine showcase for Reynolds as Gilmore Frost, a ham actor with a way with the ladies. He had the opportunity to display his comedic talents along with his good looks.”]
When Stage Struck opened in Pasadena as a sneak preview, Reynolds escorted Jane to see it, later taking her back to his apartment until dawn broke over Los Angeles.
“I wanted to marry him, but he never asked me,” Jane recalled to Blondell. “I was at least willing to move in with him, but he had time for me only two nights a week. He was busy on those other nights, but never told me how. It was obvious that he was leading a double or even a triple life.”
All the people who had worked with Jane and Reynolds were predicting stardom for them. It was even suggested that Reynolds and Jane might co-star together in their o
wn series of films, based on the detective character created by Erle Stanley Gardner.
Eventually, however, Reynolds ended up getting cast in The Case of the Black Cat (1936), playing in a minor role. Ricardo Cortez was cast as Perry Mason, with June Travis as his secretary, Della Street, the role Jane coveted.
Jane would later learn from Carole Lombard, during the filming of an upcoming movie, Fools for Scandal, that Reynolds and she often joined “my homo pals, Ricardo Cortez and Cesar Romero, for wild nights on the town at the queer bars.” The outspoken Lombard told Jane that “Reynolds and Cortez had been taken with each other during the filming of the Perry Mason movie.”
“At least I know how Craig occupies some of his nights,” Jane later said. “But there are still nights unaccounted for. In gossipy Hollywood, I was sure to find out sooner than later.”
***
Based on her familiarity with the other actors in its cast, Jane referred to her brief appearance in the 1936 release, Gold Diggers of 1937, as “old home week.” It brought her together again with previous stars on whose films she had worked, notably Dick Powell and her friend Joan Blondell, now a happily married couple. Once again, she encountered a very icy Glenda Farrell, cast in the third lead. The director, Lloyd Bacon, had helmed Jane’s brief appearance in Clark Gable’s Cain and Mabel.
Blondell with then-husband Dick Powell, in the swing of things.
Another familiar face, Busby Berkeley, arrived on the set to direct what evolved into some of the decade’s most lavish musical numbers. Among other composers, Harold Arlen contributed to the music.
Joan Blondell singing one of the great but thinly disguised odes to socialism after WWI, “Remember My Forgotten Man.”
[Blondell’s stirring rendition of “Remember My Forgotten Man,” the keynote song within that movie, became an anthem for the frustrations of the unemployed and the government’s failed economic policies, especially those of Herbert Hoover. “I Can’t Sing Worth a Damn,” Blondell said, “but in that Forgotten Man number, I mostly talked and acted my way through what evolved, in terms of socialist propaganda, at least, into a very important and controversial song.”]
Blondell seemed concerned for her future. “Right now, I’m one of the most sought-after actresses in America. But how long can it last? Wrinkles and gray hair are on the way. But I’m excited by my upcoming movie. I’m going to appear opposite Errol Flynn in a film aptly entitled The Perfect Specimen.”
“Remember me to that perfect specimen,” Jane responded. “He’s probably forgotten me by now. After all, Errol is king of the one-night stand.”
“You don’t have it so bad, kid,” Blondell said. “At least you can call Craig Reynolds honey one or two nights a week.”
Jane finally received a copy of the script of Gold Diggers of 1937, wondering what was in it for her. Character actor Victor Moore was cast in it as a meek, aging hypochondriac who thinks he’s dying. He plans to back a Broadway show, but finds that his partners have lost his capital in bad stock market investments.
Cast as one of the chorus girls, Jane soon discovered that the script granted her only one line of dialogue. It consists of the words: “Girls, we’re saved!” shouted to her fellow chorines when the money for the show is finally raised.
The movie’s theme song was, “With Plenty of Money and You.” Identified by its secondary title, “The Gold Diggers Lullaby,” it became a big hit.
The film’s finale, an elaborate chorus-line-dance-number, quickly evolved into a major-league Busby Berkeley spectacular. Jane appeared in it as one of 104 women wearing white military uniforms, tapping in military formations and geometric patterns, singing “All’ s Fair in Love and War.”
During the Academy Awards that followed the release of this film, and based on this lavish production number, Berkeley was nominated for an Oscar for Best Dance Direction of the year.
At the end of filming, Jane was anxious for news and details about her next assignment.
“I got you a part in The King and the Chorus Girl,” her agent, William Demarest told her.
“I hope I get to play the chorus girl,” Jane said.
“No such luck,” he said. “That role goes to the co-star, Joan Blondell. I think you know her.”
***
Actor Craig Reynolds continued to date Jane, taking her out at least two nights for dinner every week, followed by a sleepover at her apartment. For some reason, he never invited her to his own apartment. She kept hearing reports of his various involvements with both men and women, but she never confronted him about it. Neither had pledged fidelity to the other.
Double Trouble: Billy (left) and Bobby Mauch. Before actor James Craig came along, these twins were Gore Vidal’s “ultimate sexual fantasy.”
Reynolds at that point in his life claimed, “I’m shooting skyward in Hollywood.” It certainly seemed so at the time. In 1937 alone, he appeared in a total of eleven films, either in bit parts or in starring roles, including Smart Blonde with Jane.
“I must be setting a record with the number of film appearances. If this keeps up, by 1939, I’ll be a household word throughout America.”
He invited her to a sneak preview in Pasadena of his latest film, Penrod and Sam, in which he had been cast as “Dude” Hanson, a gangster with a mean streak. She noticed that he sat nervously on the edge of his seat, waiting for his image to appear on the screen.
Although she found his brief appearance riveting, she felt the film actually belonged to Billy Mauch, one of the famous Mauch twins. The other twin was Bobby, and both of them had starred with Errol Flynn in Mark Twain’s The Prince and the Pauper (1937).
The plot of Penrod and Sam, was based on the short stories of Booth Tarkington. It concerned a gang of junior G-Men, a secret club where all the members were sworn to uphold the law and turn in crooks.
During their exit from the theater, Reynolds spotted Billy Mauch, who had slipped into the theater, unnoticed, to catch the final cut of his performance. He introduced the twin to Jane, before inviting both of them to join him for late night hamburgers.
Over a beer, Jane found the young Billy to be winsome and blue-eyed. She had seen the Errol Flynn movie. “Were you the prince or the pauper? I couldn’t tell the difference.”
“Neither can our mother, although she claims she can,” Billy said. “Sometimes Bobby and I secretly trade roles. We tricked Flynn that way, even the director and crew.”
[Bobby and Billy Mauch would reunite to film two more movies based on Tarkington’s tales, Penrod and His Twin Brother and Penrod’s Double Trouble. They’d flip a coin to see which brother would play which role.
During World War II, they’d serve in the military together. After the war, the sun set on their film careers. Billy, however, would appear on the screen for a final cameo with Ronald Reagan and a chimpanzee in Bedtime for Bonzo (1951).]
***
With so little work, Jane continued to visit actor friends on the sets of their respective movies. Other than as a means for passing the time, she had a motive for these visits. She was hoping that one of her friends would introduce her to the right director, who’d say, “You fit perfectly into this choice role I haven’t cast yet.”
When an invitation to visit Bing Crosby filming the Depression-era musical, Pennies from Heaven (1936) arrived, she eagerly accepted.
The Crooner warmly welcomed her, inviting her to his dressing room, where he indulged in heavy petting with her. Called to the set, he said, “I promise there’s more to come later tonight.”
She got to hear him sing, “Ev-ry time it rains, it rains pen-nies from heav’en.” Later, Down Beat magazine reported that the recording was among the best-selling in America for three solid months.
When he broke for lunch, Crosby asked Jane to join him in the commissary, where he introduced her to Louis Armstrong. The jazz trumpeter and singer was also appearing in the film. Noted for his flashy cornet and trumpet playing, along with his raspy singing voice, the Afric
an American musician was a favorite of Jane’s. Crosby admitted that Armstrong’s velvety lower register and bubbling cadences in such songs as “Lazy River” had exerted a powerful influence on him.
After the closing of Harlem’s Cotton Club in 1936, Armstrong had moved to Los Angeles, where he was appearing at the local Cotton Club, along with Lionel Hampton on drums. Jane and Crosby were invited to watch them perform.
Paramount executives didn’t want to hire Armstrong to perform within the movie, but Crosby had insisted. The trumpeter was consequently featured within a musical number and as part of two comic exchanges. He was among the first black stars to get billing in an otherwise white picture. Crosby had wanted to perform a duet with him, but the bosses at Paramount rejected that idea, a bow to the segregated color line of that era.
Armstrong told Jane, “I could run my mouth all day about My Man Bing. He’s got a heart as big as the world. Carry on Papa, I say.”
After work, Crosby drove Jane to his new house at 10500 Camarilly Street, telling her that “Dixie and the boys are away.”
As his car pulled into his driveway, she asked him, “Is this a mansion or a palace?” It was the first of dozens of invitations to come, where she’d be invited to the home of a movie star. At the time, in 1930s dollars, Crosby was making $150,000 per picture, plus $3,500 for a radio broadcast.
To her, that was a vast fortune. “I don’t think I’ve ever been known to carry more than fifty bucks at a time,” she said.
After offering her a drink, he took her on a tour of the grounds, which included a bathhouse next to a luxurious swimming pool, along with a tennis court. Back in the house, he escorted her downstairs to his den and bar, which was adjacent to a playroom and a living room, complete with fireplace and a large Murano chandelier. The house was a mixture of styles, ranging from Regency to Victorian. In all, a very informal style.
Love Triangle: Ronald Reagan, Jane Wyman, & Nancy Davis (Blood Moon's Babylon Series) Page 14