Love Triangle: Ronald Reagan, Jane Wyman, & Nancy Davis (Blood Moon's Babylon Series)

by Darwin Porter

  An American composer of Austro-Hungarian birth, Erich Wolfgang Korngold was one of the leading composers of Hollywood’s Golden Age, rivaled by Max Steiner and Alfred Newman.

  For the film’s production design, there was no one better than a Connecticut Yankee, William Cameron Menzies. At Hollywood’s first Academy Awards ceremony in 1929, Menzies had won an Oscar for Best Art Direction for his work on The Dove and the Tempest.

  Maria Ouspenskaya, a relic of the Romanov Empire.

  Reagan knew his most challenging moment would be the scene where he wakes up to discover that the sadistic doctor had amputated his legs. “I had to find out how it really felt, short of actual amputation,” he said. “I woke up in the morning, rehearsing the line, looking up at the ceiling. I even rehearsed in front of mirrors in the men’s rooms of restaurants. I consulted doctors and psychologists. Anything to summon up the cauldron of emotions a man must feel who wakes up one sunny morning to find half of himself gone. Ann worked with me over and over again on the scene. I had to get it right.”

  He later said, “Perhaps I never did quite as well again in a single shot.”

  Claude Rains told Reagan “I am Bette Davis’ favorite actor.”

  Reagan replied, “I’m her least favorite.”

  The day he walked onto the set in pajamas and a nightshirt, Jane had come, with little Maureen, to greet him and wish him well.

  He discovered that the prop men had cut a hole in the mattress and installed a structural support, with a void, beneath the opening. Reagan had to sink his legs into that hole.

  “Lights! Camera! Action!” the director commanded at the beginning of the shot

  Then Reagan, as Drake, screams, “Randy!” Again, “Randy! Randy!” In desperation, his hand reached down, grasping for but not finding his thighs. He quivers like a slain animal in his death throes. “Where’s the rest of me?”

  With the delivery of that line, Reagan entered screen immortality.

  Wood pronounced it a wrap after the only one take.

  Playing an almost demented, deeply repressed daughter: Nancy Coleman

  Cummings later recalled, “When Ronnie delivered that line to movie audiences, across the country, at first, they thought his genitals had been cut off, too. There were gasps of horror.”

  Amazingly, Wood revealed that Reagan’s scene of post-amputation was almost cut from the film’s final version. “Too many American servicemen in 1942 were getting their legs amputated. There was a fear that audiences would react in horror to Reagan’s scene, as it was too close to what was going on in the real world. Jack Warner suggested that I shoot the scene so that Reagan discovers that only one leg was removed, but I held out for both legs being amputated. Finally, I persuaded Warner to agree to it.”

  In the movie, unlike events as they transpired within the book, when Drake dies of cancer, Reagan recovers from a deep depression and finds personal redemption through the love and support of his beloved Randy (Sheridan). She helps him become a successful real estate developer, and he recognizes that life is worth living, even without legs.

  Also cast in Kings Row, Judith Anderson had previously appeared in an even more famous movie as Mrs. Danvers, the cold, imperious, and ultimately, psychotic, housekeeper in Rebecca (1940).

  In 1945, the year of his death, the novelist, Bellamann, was working on his novel’s sequel, Parris Mitchell of Kings Row. Katharine, his wife, finished the novel for him, publishing it posthumously in 1948.

  Although Kings Row—Reagan’s greatest screen role—became a classic, it did not get good reviews. Bosley Crowther, writing for The New York Times described it as “gloomy and ponderous.”

  Harrison’s Reports defined it as “A powerful but somewhat depressing drama.”

  In spite of the attacks, Kings Row was nominated for three separate Oscars: Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Black and White Cinematography. But MGM’s Mrs. Miniver carried off all three of those prizes.

  In general, Reagan fared better than Cummings. Crowther, for example wrote, “Cummings looks and acts like a musical-comedy juvenile trying to find his bearings in this heavy Ibsenesque plot.”

  There was talk that Reagan might be nominated for an Academy Award, but Warners decided to throw its powerful support behind Yankee Doodle Dandy, starring James Cagney, instead.

  The American Medical Association strongly attacked the movie because of its portrayal of doctors in such an unflattering glare.

  “Kings Row was the finest picture I ever appeared in, and it elevated me to the degree of stardom I had dreamed of when I first came to Hollywood in 1937,” Reagan said.

  The film developed something of a negative image after its release in February of 1942. “America had gone to war, and Kings Row was hardly a morale booster,” Reagan said. “All the other studios were rushing into production of pictures to lift the American spirit and imbue us with hope of winning the war. Our picture presented a depressing view of small town America, quite unlike those Andy Hardy films with Mickey Rooney. I bet Hitler would have loved Kings Row if Josef Goebbels could slip a pirated copy into Berlin.”

  Before Reagan could really capitalize off his breakthrough role, he’d have to join the Army. He failed to take advantage of his new position as a top star at Warners, and noted to his severe disappointment the juicy roles he lost between 1943 and 1946.

  After the war, his film career would never regain the momentum it had momentarily achieved.

  Reagan to Ann Sheridan, in reference to his amputated legs: “Where’s the Rest of Me?”

  Kings Row had another downside. Jane Wyman later confessed to Joan Blondell. “It may ultimately have contributed to my divorce from Ronnie. He screened it countless times, every time someone came over, although they might have seen it already. Night after night, I had to watch that film. I came to know every line every actor in it delivered. I got so I couldn’t take it anymore. Finally, I told Ronnie, ‘Why in hell don’t you make another movie instead of reliving your one moment of screen glory?’ That pissed him off.”

  Chapter Eight

  Drafted into the Army, Reagan Objects to Medical Personnel Fondling “The Family Jewels”

  In a mink coat with some strings of pearls, Jane Wyman salutes 2nd Lt. Ronald Reagan, of the Army Air Force Personnel Office, in the autumn of 1942. Granted referrals, he had continued to make movies that year until he was finally called up for duty.

  Since he was “blind as a bat,” he was not fit for active duty. Instead, he’d begin to make war propaganda movies.

  In Juke Girl (a secret reference to a prostitute), Ronald Reagan gave Ann Sheridan, his sometimes mistress, the most passionate kiss of his screen career.

  When Jane Wyman saw this publicity still, she lamented, “If only he kissed me this way at home!”

  In the summer of 1941, with Europe at war, many young American men faced being drafted into the military. Millions of Americans believed that the United States could stay out of the war—but not Reagan. He was convinced that an American involvement in World War II was inevitable. But because of his poor vision, he didn’t think he would ever be drafted.

  Actually, he didn’t want to go into the Army. At long last, he was on the verge of major stardom, a dream cherished for so long, and he had a beautiful wife and a baby girl.

  A uniformed movie star with wholesome, Midwestern roots and a mother, Nelle, who adores him.

  Nelle paid a visit in September of 1943 to “Fort Roach,” the headquarters of Reagan’s film production unit. He always responded in anger when someone accused him of “being a draft dodger avoiding danger.”

  He cited how valuable to the war effort war propaganda films were.

  To his chagrin, during the making of Kings Row, his status as a member of the U.S. Cavalry reserve was revoked, thereby making him immediately eligible for active duty.

  He was devastated. As he complained to Dick Powell, “I’ve worked and labored for this moment, and now that it’s here, it seems tha
t the government has other plans for me. If I’m drafted into the Army and spend several years away from Hollywood, I won’t have any fans left when I get back.”

  “That’s always a possibility,” Powell said. “In Hollywood, our replacements are always pounding on studio doors. The old-timers like Clark Gable will return to face a new crowd of good-looking guys at Warners, MGM, Paramount, whatever. By the end of the 1940s, a whole new generation of younger guys will be enlisted as replacements for Errol Flynn, Tyrone Power, and Robert Taylor. The stars of the 1930s will be viewed as over the hill, long in the tooth, and washed up.”

  “Stop!” Reagan said. “You’re just too depressing.”

  In response to a letter he received, Reagan got up early one morning, kissed Jane goodbye, and drove to March Field for his physical. His athletic body passed the medical examination. As he later said, “I didn’t like some young guy, just out of medical school, fondling my balls, but it’s all in the game.”

  Two doctors later, however, bluntly informed him that although he’d passed the physical, “You’re as blind as a bat. If we gave you a gun, you’d probably end up accidentally shooting at General Eisenhower.”

  “And based on your lousy vision, you’d probably miss,” the other doctor said.

  Reagan was given a copy of his medical report. It recommended “Limited service— eligible for corps area service command, or War Department Overhead only.”

  At the time, men so designated were rarely drafted. Reagan told friends, “It’s highly unlikely I’ll ever be called.”

  However, while he was still asleep, on Sunday, December 7, 1941, a call came in from Neil (Moon) Reagan. “Wake up, Dutch!” he shouted into the phone. “We’re at war. The Japs attacked Pearl Harbor this morning.”

  At the time of America’s entry into World War II, Reagan was only thirty years old— and still draftable. Within a week, he was instructed to report to Fort Mason at the port of San Francisco, where warships were launched for action in the Pacific.

  Right after the Japanese attack, young men across America, many of them either outraged or in a state of numbed disbelief and/or shock, lined up at their local draft boards. Based on his association with Warners, Reagan, however, was not among them.

  Lew Wasserman, Reagan’s agent at MCA, called on Jack Warner, asking him to write a letter to the Assistant Secretary of the War Department, seeking temporary deferment. Warner claimed that Reagan was vital to the financial security of his studio. He also stated that he planned to cast Reagan in “propaganda films,” conceived to boost the morale and resolve of the American public.

  Within thirty days, Reagan received notice from the War Department that he would be deferred until April of 1942. Then, after reappraisal, if inducted into the Army, he’d be assigned the rank of second lieutenant.

  The implications of Reagan being drafted meant that Jane would, in essence, become the breadwinner of the household. Wasserman, who was also her agent, managed to renegotiate her contract, raising her salary to $750 a week, although she was still mired in B pictures—and would be for some time.

  With that increase in salary, she could easily afford the $15,000 mortgage they’d taken on their new home in the Hollywood Hills. It called for a payment of only $125 a month.

  Although Reagan’s contract with Warners wouldn’t expire until 1944, Wasserman urged him to let him try to re-negotiate his movie contract anyway. During Wasserman’s subsequent meeting with Jack Warner, the agent pressed his case. “I think that when Kings Row is released, Ronnie is going to move into the top tier of male movie stars. You’d better sign him for another seven years, or I’ll let his contract expire and I’ll freelance him. Louis B. Mayer has already hinted to me that he’d like to make Reagan a boy star at MGM.”

  Warners had seen a sneak preview of Kings Row and agreed with Wasserman’s assessment. The new contract called for him to pay Reagan $758,000 over a seven-year period.

  Reagan had an ally in Col. Lewis B. Hershey, director of the Selective Service, who viewed morale-boosting movies as “essential to the national health, safety, and interest of America.”

  He cited war movies under production as a virtual “second front” in its propaganda wars against both Japan and the Nazis. Now that America was no longer neutral, Hershey requested that all studios, including Warners, make “the Japs the most evil monsters who ever inhabited the Earth and Hitler’s Nazis devil worshippers intent on enslaving the world.”

  Warner told Reagan, “I want to get deferments for you until you’ve made three more pictures after Juke Girl (1942) and Desperate Journey (also 1942). I’ll try to convince the War Department that it’s more vital to have you turning out American propaganda movies that taking some desk job in the Army. With your eyesight, that’s exactly what you’ll become, a paper pusher.”

  “If you can make a lot of films, at least five in 1942 and 1943, I’ll release one a year. That way, your fans won’t forget you. You know, those jerks are a fickle lot, but they keep us in pussy, potatoes, and Porsches.”

  ***

  Reagan immediately went into production on Juke Girl with his favorite actress and sometime lover, Ann Sheridan. She had married George Brent on January 5, 1942.

  Originally, Warner had cast Ida Lupino in the lead, but when Kings Row opened with such success, he wanted to reteam Sheridan with Reagan. “I probably should make five or six pictures teaming you and your Ronnie boy, our answer to MGM’s Spencer Tracy and Hepburn, the faggot and the lesbian,” Warner said to Sheridan. “At least you and Reagan are heterosexuals—as far as I know. In Hollywood, of course, you can never be sure.”

  After Reagan read the script, he was disappointed. So was Sheridan. “This is not exactly a great wedding present from Warners,” she told Reagan.

  As a follow-up to his success as Drake in Kings Row, he had wanted something stronger. Juke Girl was a dreary story about a slovenly group of itinerant crop pickers in Florida, highlighting conflicts between laborers in the field and management’s taking advantage of them.

  “I’d call it the truck farmer’s version of Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath,” Sheridan said. “A grim melodrama.”

  A.I. Bezzerides and Kenneth Gamet had adapted the story from Theodore Pratt. Although Pratt had originated in Minnesota, most of his novels were set in Florida, where he lived. Originally, he’d entitled his story “Jook Girl.” Jook was a reference to a small roadside joint in the southeastern United States where one could eat, drink, and dance to music from a jukebox.

  After reading the script, Reagan called Sheridan. “What in hell is a Juke Girl?”

  “It’s a euphemism for whore,” she answered. “It’s not spelled out in the script, but juke gals work a tavern catering to farm workers.”

  “Sounds like we’re making a filthy picture,” he said.

  “Not at all,” she answered. “It’s more about crops than cocks.”

  Once again, Reagan was helmed by the German director, Curtis Bernhardt, who did not seem happy with his latest assignment. He later said, “I did not like either of the pictures I made with Mr. Reagan, neither Million Dollar Baby nor Juke Girl. He was a sort of unimportant, pleasant, healthy, typically American boy, nothing special about him at all. I did not expect much of a future for him in films. He had a nice smile that might work better if he were an insurance salesman.”

  “The only time he heated up on camera was when he made love to Annie Sheridan,” Bernhardt claimed. “In one love match, shooting began on Wednesday and ended on Friday. She’d just come off her honeymoon, but it looked like she was getting ready for a second honeymoon with Reagan. When I finally finished the scene, I advised the two of them to get a room. It appeared to me that they took my advice, but I suspected that something was going on between those two long before they came together in Juke Girl. I hoped George Brent wouldn’t find out.”

  Cast as Steve Talbot, Reagan played a drifter who arrives in Florida with his friend, Danny Frazier (Richard Whor
f). They seek work in the tomato fields. Their friendship is strained when Steve sides with a farmer, Nick Garcos (George Tobias), in his struggle with Henry Madden (Gene Lockhart), who controls a fruit farm and packaging plant.

  In a complicated plot, the story moves forward with violence, killings, commercial intrigue, even mob justice. Reagan would forever remember the battle of the tomatoes. At one point, he squashed a big, fat, juicy tomato into Lockhart’s face.

  In one scene, hired thugs try to break the resolve of an independent farmer by smashing truckloads of his tomato crates. After wallowing in squashed tomatoes for three nights, Reagan said, “With all the misconceptions about pampered stars, none is so far afield as the belief that physical discomfort isn’t tolerated. On the first night, we used real tomatoes in the trucks. A crew placed them back in the trucks for the filming on the third and fourth nights. By this time, the tomatoes were rotten and stunk like hog heaven. Not only that, but I always despised tomatoes.”

  The film was supposed to take place among crop pickers in the humid heat of Florida. But actually, it was shot in the wintry cold of Central California, the temperature dropping one night to 27° F. Since the actors needed to have sweaty faces, they often rubbed glycerine on their skin to create the illusion. Bernhardt asked some of the men to smoke cigarettes to explain the vapor in the night air. When the breath vapor became too visible, Bern-hardt would have to call for a halt in filming.

  In Juke Girl, Reagan appears in a scene in a bar with George Tobias (center) and Richard Whorf. The dwindling members of his fast-fading fan clubs considered this the “lustiest” picture of him ever taken. “He’s got a gleam in his eyes,” said Brenda Fairfield, president of his Los Angeles Fan Club. “He was never more beautiful, and he seems to be looking at a stripper.”