***
One Friday morning, Carole Lombard called Jane early at her apartment, extending an invitation to drive with her to Palm Springs for the weekend. “Of course, I want you with me, but there’s a motive to this invitation: I want you to be my beard. We’ll look like two playgirls at the resort, having fun on the golf course, dining out, whatever. But secretly, I’ll be shacked up with Clark [Gable]. While the casting for Gone With the Wind is ongoing, we’ve been advised to lay low. Did you get the double entendre, darling?”
Thrilled at the prospect, Jane eagerly accepted. “Should I bring a date?” she asked.
“Skip it,” Carole said. “We’ll have a full house as it is. Robert Taylor and Barbara Stanwyck, another pair of so-called illicit lovers, will be joining us. As for you, I’ll pick up some handsome tennis pro, or whomever, for you. In Palm Springs, you never have to import a stud. The place is overrun with them.”
In Palm Springs, Gable arrived in time for lunch with Carole and Jane. He remembered her from their lunch in the commissary, but still seemed unaware that he had seduced her before that. Two hours after he disappeared into the master bedroom with Carole, they emerged in bathing suits. Jane joined them in the pool.
An hour later, when she went to answer the phone, Gable looked quizzically at Jane. “I think I met you before that day in the commissary,” he said.
“I had a small part in Cain and Mabel,” she said.
“My God,” he said, his memory jogged. “We did it, didn’t we?”
“That we did,” she answered. “But Carole doesn’t have to know.”
“Good thinking, kid,” he said.
When Carole returned to the pool, she told them that Robert Taylor would be showing up alone at ten o’clock that evening. He and Barbara Stanwyck had had a big row, and she wouldn’t be coming.
Taylor arrived at around ten, as promised, after a big Mexican dinner had been served and cleared away by a staff member. He seemed better looking in person than he was on the screen. Jane was entranced by his looks, although he paid little attention to her, directing all his remarks and most of his attention to Carole and Gable.
“Louis B. Mayer doesn’t want Barbara and me to get married. He claims that it will greatly reduce my appeal as a matinee idol. He wants me to remain a bachelor. Barbara disagrees. She says, ‘Fuck Mayer and marry me.’ We had a fight.”
Carole, Gable, and Taylor stayed up way past midnight, comparing notes and gossiping. As Jane recalled, “I was outclassed. I felt left out.”
She retired slightly before midnight, as they continued talking late into the night.
At around 3AM, she woke up, sensing a presence in her bedroom. She switched on a lamp. Completely nude, Taylor stood at the foot of her bed.
“What…?” She was startled.
“Turn off the light and keep quiet,” he ordered. “I don’t want to disturb Clark and Carole. Can I crawl in with you?”
“If that’s what you’ve got in mind,” she said. “I thought you’d come to borrow a pair of pajamas.”
Other than confiding in Carole, and giving only the briefest of details to Joan Blondell back in Hollywood, Jane didn’t fully reveal what happened that night.
Her sexual interlude with Taylor would eventually, however, be discovered. Taylor apparently enjoyed his time with Jane so much that he promised to get her a small role in his next picture, MGM’s The Crowd Roars (1938). She was excited at the prospect of working on an A-list movie after her string of Bs.
On the set of that movie, when it finally got underway, one of the co-stars, Edward Arnold, walked in on Jane and Taylor in his dressing room. “Don’t you know how to knock?” an angry Taylor called out to the pudgy actor.
“Sorry,” Arnold said. “Carry on, dear hearts. I was young once myself.”
[Apparently, Barbara Stanwyck never found out that Taylor had cheated on her with Jane. Stanwyck married Taylor in 1939, and after Jane wed Ronald Reagan in 1940, the two couples became close friends and often visited each other’s homes for dinner.]
***
On the set of Jane’s next film, The Crowd Roars (1938), Richard Thorpe had been assigned to direct a very talented cast of supporting players. Jane’s role was minor, the female lead going to Maureen O’Sullivan, who had previously appeared with Taylor in A Yank at Oxford (1938). The supporting players included Edward Arnold, Frank Morgan, William Gargan, Nat Pendleton, Lionel Stander, and Isabel Jewell.
Taylor told Jane he hoped that this macho prizefight drama would end his press lampooning as an effeminate pretty boy. “I’ve got hair on my chest,” He showed her ashirtless picture of himself with a patch of black hair on his chest. The photo was being released by the MGM publicity department.
In The Crowd Roars, a macho boxing film, Jane’s role was minor, eclipsed by the talents of the female lead, Maureen O’Sullivan.
“No one will think I’m a faggot when they see me playing sock-‘em dead Killer McCoy, the menace in the ring.” Jane noticed that with his smudged face, mussed hair, and truculent stance, he did indeed look credible as a boxer. She complimented him on his hairy legs. “Bob, with legs like that, you’re the male version of Betty Grable.”
Born in Kansas, Thorpe, the film’s director, had begun his career in vaudeville before coming to Hollywood, where he directed his first silent film in 1923. During the course of his long career, he had helmed 180 movies.
The Crowd Roars for Robert Taylor, here successfully portraying a professional, hard-hitting boxer.
Thorpe told her, “The only reason you’re in the picture is because Bob requested you, and he’s got a lot of clout. Actually, I had a much better actress in mind.”
“Thanks for your confidence,” she said. “I’ll try to make you proud of me.”
Jane envied O’Sullivan’s status as the lead opposite Taylor. Despite her jealousy, and with the understanding that they’d be filming a scene together, Jane was most gracious when they met.
Originally from Ireland, O’Sullivan had gone to school with Vivien Leigh. When she had emigrated to Hollywood, she was first signed by 20th Century Fox, but had later gravitated to MGM.
Once there, “Boy Wonder,” Irving Thalberg signed her to appear as “Jane” in a series of Tarzan movies, beginning with Tarzan the Ape Man (1932), opposite that hunk of beefcake, Johnny Weissmuller.
When The Crowd Roars was released, Taylor told Jane, “The picture was therapeutic for me. When the public sees my smudged face, my mussed hair, my boxing stance, and my right crosses, they’ll realize how macho I really am.”
The movie did a respectable box office, and for the most part, Taylor got good reviews. One critic wrote: “He plays the pug with a good deal more command than he has mustered in the past. He takes his place with Clark Gable among the screen heroes.”
Reacting to critics, who virtually ignored her, Jane asked, “Was I in the picture?”
Taylor came to her defense. “She was a sparkling little star on the way up. The director and the cameraman more or less neglected her. I did not!”
Chapter Four
“He’s a Greater Swordsman than Errol Flynn”
It was publicity pictures such as these that caused Warner’s to promote its new rising star, former lifeguard Ronald Reagan, as a “male pin-up,” here depicted teaching Susan Hayward how to swim. When they were shown to Jack Warner, he said, “My God, Ronnie’s got better legs than this redhead from Brooklyn. Her legs are too fat, and she doesn’t know how to pose for leg art.”
Years later, in Fort Lauderdale, Hayward said, “My greatest film role would have been as Scarlett O’Hara in love with Ashley Wilkes, as played by Ronnie Reagan—perhaps with Errol Flynn as that cad, Rhett Butler.”
“I’ve been out with her on only two dates, and already, she’s acting like she owns my balls.”
Bogart and Reagan in Swing Your Lady, a career atrocity.
So said Ronald Reagan on the set of his latest movie, Swing Your Lady (1938). He
was talking to the star of the picture, a depressed Humphrey Bogart, who hated his role. The lady Reagan was referring to was Susan Hayward.
“The trouble with you, “Bogart said, “is that you don’t know how to handle women. You should take some lessons from the master himself, namely, me. Every now and then, you need to sock a bitch in the kisser to remind her who’s boss.”
At the time he made the movie with Reagan, Bogart was locked into his third marriage to the minor but tempestuous actress, Mayo Methot. Their arguments became so public, they became known around Hollywood as “The Battling Bogarts.”
After having starred in pictures, Reagan found himself in this one in a forgettably minor role which he’d shoot in just five days. Once again, he’d been cast as a glib, fast-talking radio announcer, which, of course, had been part of his pre-Hollywood career.
“All I get to do in this stinker is to make unwise wisecracks,” Reagan lamented.
Bogart had been forced to star in the picture that he would later assert was “the worst movie in my entire career.”
In time, film critics Harry Medved and Randy Lowell agreed with him, selecting Swing Your Lady as among The Fifty Worst Films of all Time (and How They Got That Way), a round-up of the most awful atrocities ever cranked out by Hollywood studios.
Although Reagan and Bogart would conflict, politically, in their future, Reagan chose to remember him pleasantly in his first memoir, Where’s the Rest of Me? He claimed that Bogie was a real pro, a very affable man in spite of his tough guy façade. He liked to rib Reagan, always referring to him as a skirt chaser whenever he encountered him in the years ahead, even during the course of his marriage to Jane Wyman.
Joan Blondell was the first to read the script of Swing Your Lady. Ray Enright, who had recently completed directing three separate films with Jane Wyman in bit parts, offered Blondell the role of “Cookie Shannon,” which ultimately went to Penny Singleton. “I detested it,” Blondell recalled. Her refusal to participate in its production forced Jack Warner to suspend her for four weeks.
She had told Bogart, “The picture is crap. A stupid hillbilly romp. You’re supposed to be some barnstorming wrestling promoter in the Ozarks. I didn’t think it was a good idea to jeopardize my health to make this cornpone hee-haw.”
“Just because I was cast as a homo doesn’t mean I am one.”
—Reagan on the set of Dark Victory
Suffering from neuritis, Blondell had recently admitted herself into a hospital. Jane was her daily visitor.
Swinging Ladies: The cast is all here (left to right), the Amazonian female blacksmith (Louise Fazenda), the charming Penny Singleton, Bogie, and a smiling Ronald Reagan, wondering why he was trapped in this clunker.
Unwilling to risk suspension, and needing the money, Bogart accepted the role of the sleazy promoter. From the first day, he feuded with Enright. “My God,” Bogart said, during a phone call to Blondell. “This creepy little guy was a gag writer for Mack Sennett comedies. He once directed the wonder dog, Rin Tin Tin, and now, he’s trying to tell me how to act.”
When Bogart had complained to Jack Warner about the lousy parts he’d been assigned, the studio chief said, “Bogie, I can hardly give you romantic leads. What beautiful gal would want to end up with your ugly kisser in the final reel?”
In his role of Ed Hatch, Bogart, as a wrestling promoter, finds himself broke in a small town in Kentucky. There, he is impressed with a female blacksmith, a muscled Amazon named Sadie Horn, a role played by Louise Fazenda, the wife of producer Hal B. Wallis. Behind her back, Bogart referred to Wallis as “The Prisoner of Fazenda. Imagine his marrying that ugly puss when he could have his pick of any of the beautiful gals of Hollywood.”
Reagan agreed with Bogart’s unflattering assessment of the talented comedienne, who played a country bumpkin with multiple pigtails and spit curls. Clad in calico dresses, she seemed inspired by Minnie Pearl and Judy Canova. She spoke only once to Reagan, telling him, “Hal is not impressed with you at all. He feels you can only play sports announcers—nothing else.”
“Thank your husband for the compliment,” Reagan shot back.
In the script, Bogart decides to stage a fight between Fazenda and a boxer he had promoted, Joe Skopapoulos (Nat Pendelton). Pendleton had recently worked on a picture where he’d tried unsuccessfully to seduce Wyman.
Reagan talked with the always reliable character actor, Frank McHugh, cast as “Popeye Bronson.” Reagan had just seen McHugh’s movie, He Couldn’t Say No, in which he and Wyman were given star billing.
Perky Penny Singleton caught Reagan’s eye. Bogart had told Reagan that “Penny is the only one in this clunker who looks good enough to fuck.”
Reagan agreed, but he acted cautiously because he’d learned that she had recently married a dentist, Dr. Laurence Scogga Singleton.
During Reagan’s second day on the film set, Singleton openly flirted with him. “Unlike Bogart, you are one good-looking man,” she said to him. “How about lunch?”
In the commissary, she told him how unhappy she was in her marriage to the dentist. “After the first month, I realized I’d made a mistake. I’m going to divorce him after I let a respectable amount of time go by.”
“At least you’re getting free dental care,” Reagan quipped.
At the end of the meal, she asked him, “Can I come over to your place tonight and cook dinner for you? I’ll bring the steaks.”
“I know I shouldn’t, but it sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.” Reagan had begun to recant his personal rule of never dating a married woman.
Somehow, Bogart heard about Singleton’s visit to Reagan’s home. Later, Bogart, the voyeur, wanted details. He asked Enright, “What’s your opinion? Did Reagan fuck Penny?”
Enright asserted that in all likelihood, the answer was yes.
At the time of Reagan’s interlude with Singleton, she was a brunette. In time, she’d dye her locks blonde for her appearance as “Blondie” opposite “Dagwood,” the comic strip characters. Partly in honor of that series, she remained a blonde for the rest of her life.
Reagan later said, “Penny was no dumb blonde, as I believed at first. She became the first woman president of an AFL-CIO Union and led a strike by the Radio City Rockettes.”
The dire predictions of Blondell and Bogart about the upcoming doom of Swing Your Lady came true. It took in less than $25,000 at the box office, and Jack Warner pulled the plug on it after its release, nationwide, after only two days, playing to mostly empty houses.
After that, dreading his next film assignment, Reagan actually feared that his contract would not be renewed.
***
Through her husband, the well-connected Dick Powell, Blondell was alerted early to what films Warners planned to produce and who would star in them.
In a call to Reagan, she announced, “Bryan Foy is giving you the lead role in your next picture, Accidents Will Happen (1938)”
“I hope that film won’t be just another accident,” he said.
“I’m sure it will be a big hit,” she said. “I have a personal interest in it. The female role will be played by none other than my sister, Gloria.”
“Is she blonde and beautiful, like you?”
I’m warning you, Reagan. As it pertains to my sister, keep that much used dick of yours buttoned up. Or have you switched to zippers now for faster action?”
Don’t worry about that,” he told her. “That part of my anatomy is worn out now that I’m dating Susan Hayward.”
***
When Susan Hayward first spotted Reagan on the set of Hollywood Hotel, she told fellow starlet, Carole Landis, “When Christmas comes this year, I want that hunk tied with a red ribbon, nothing else, and put under my tree. He’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve seen here since taking the stagecoach from Brooklyn.”
Unknown to Hayward at the time, Landis had more or less the same thoughts about young Reagan, too.
Hayward, the blunt, fiery, and very talent
ed redhead, was born Edythe Marrener on June 30, 1917, at 3507 Church Avenue in the Flatbush section of Brooklyn. She was the daughter of Walter Marrener, a Coney island carnival barker, and his Swedish wife, Ellen. Young Edythe had to rise above poverty and a childhood automobile accident that came very close to crippling her for life.
As a teenager, she hawked copies of The Brooklyn Eagle on the streets of Flatbush. For a time, she was in the stenographer’s pool, deserting that to become a model for fashion photographers. After four months of that, she landed on the cover of The Saturday Evening Post.
From the streets of Brooklyn, a young Susan Hayward developed a philosophy of life, which she later shared with Reagan.
“The only thing a woman should ever be afraid of in her life is not having lived it.”
There, she was evaluated by director George Cukor, who brought her to the attention of producer David O. Selznick, who was searching for a young actress to star as Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind.
Hayward accepted the free train ticket to Hollywood, and—abandoning Brooklyn forever—headed west for a screen test.
As the train rolled toward California, Hayward was determined to make it big, overcoming the disappointments and rejections she’d faced during the course of her frustrated young life. “When you grow up in Flatbush, and you’re poor, you learn to roll with the punches,” she later said.
Hayward, despite her best efforts, still spoke a husky Brooklynese. Cukor immediately ordered her to take elocution lessons.
During the late 1960s, while living in Fort Lauderdale, Hayward spoke wistfully to author Darwin Porter about those long-ago days in California when another rising young star, Ronald Reagan, was included among her first beaux.
Love Triangle: Ronald Reagan, Jane Wyman, & Nancy Davis (Blood Moon's Babylon Series) Page 19