The Life and Times of Mickey Rooney

by Richard A. Lertzman

  By 1931, Mickey had established himself as a bankable child star. For him and Nell, the series provided a comfortable life and the security they’d lacked. The steady paycheck and other streams of income enabled them to live comfortably in a middle-class section of Hollywood without having to scramble overmuch to come up with the rent money the first of every month. Seven years of steady work is an eternity in the film business. Nevertheless, working for a Poverty Row studio like Darmour’s did not provide the stability of working for the large film studios such as MGM, Paramount, or Universal.

  By 1931, Mickey was appearing in films other than the McGuire series. While he was still legally able to bill himself as “Mickey McGuire,” he appeared uncredited in The Last Parade in April 1931 (with Jack Holt and Constance Cummings). In November 1931 he did a film with Noah Beery Jr. (remembered later as James Garner’s character’s dad, Rocky, on The Rockford Files), The Kindling, for Columbia. In December of 1931 he was in a Buck Jones film, also at Columbia, called High Speed, which came out the following year. Harry Cohn was impressed with young Mickey McGuire and wanted to sign him to a contract. However, Mickey was still under an exclusive agreement with Darmour, according to columnist Jimmy Starr in the Los Angeles Evening Herald Express, on December 3, 1931.

  For most of these non-McGuire films, Mickey received a relatively low salary. In the 1932 Tom Mix film My Pal, the King, Universal paid him $250 for a ten-day shoot, and gave him a rare second billing, even though his was actually the central role. In the film, Mickey plays the seven-year-old—he was really eleven—boy king of “Alvania,” who takes an interest in Tom Reed’s (Mix’s) Wild West show and the two become friends. Palace intrigue ensues when Mickey’s character takes Tom’s sage advice instead of that of an evil count. Double-crossed, the count kidnaps the young king, but finds his plans thwarted when Tom learns that the king has been abducted and rides off with his troop of men, without any real bullets for their guns, to rescue him. The film features a notable cast member, Native American Jim Thorpe, an Olympic champion and professional football player for the New York Giants. (The town, Jim Thorpe, in Pennsylvania, is named after him.)

  Mickey opened a lot of eyes with his role in My Pal, the King. He carries the acting load and pulls off a very flimsily plotted picture almost single-handedly. For his part, Tom Mix, who gained glory as a hero in silent Westerns, seems to have difficulty with the dialogue and gives a very wooden performance. Mix was not a gifted actor, rather more a personality. This was one of his last roles. After 276 films, he would finish his contract with Universal the next year and appear in only six more films before his death in an auto accident in 1940. He was fifty-two at the time of this film, and no longer the youthful performer of the past.

  It was My Pal, the King that brought Mickey to the attention of Universal founder Carl Laemmle, when Mickey received some positive reviews. The New York Times wrote on October 4, 1932, “Little Mickey McGuire appears as Charles and he does quite well.”

  As he approached the age of twelve, when most children experience a growth spurt, Mickey started to get concerned about his height. He was not growing. Despite Nell’s nourishing meals—she was an excellent cook—he was four inches shorter than an average boy of eight. Larry Darmour and Al Herman, though, were happy he was not growing. Ever concerned that he would outgrow his Mickey McGuire part as he got older, they were always on the lookout for a replacement. However, no one ever approached the energy and charisma of Mickey.

  As he watched other children he knew shooting up in height, Mickey tried all sorts of stretching exercises to induce growth. He slept on a hard bed. He answered scores and scores of advertisements that guaranteed “at least an inch a month.” However, the line on the measuring tape did not move. He could, and did, lick many boys who towered over him, but his pride was suffering. He also resented the cracks made to him at the studio, especially by Al Herman who constantly called him Shorty or Runt. He threatened to quit if Herman persisted in his insults.18

  By 1932 the McGuire comedies had run out their string. Whereas in 1931 the box office was still strong for the films, in 1932 they dropped like a thud. Audiences were tiring of the redundant plots, the familiar chases, the same tricks and stunts. Exhibitors reported that men, women, and even children were growing weary of the tough boy in the derby hat who, though short for his age, was getting too large to be “cute” like the Mickey McGuire of old. The fickle public stopped coming to see him. The grosses of the comedies took a resounding dive, and the losses to the studio mounted. Theater owners squawked and refused to run any more of the comedies, the bankers shuddered, and Larry Darmour began looking for another property.19

  On August 7, 1932, just after returning from their summer tour, the unsuspecting Nell and Mickey received a legal letter from Larry Darmour’s attorneys Loeb and Loeb stating that the services of Mickey McGuire, “Esq.” were no longer required. Second, it demanded that the name of Mickey McGuire be returned to its copyrighted owner Fontaine Fox. (Darmour had given up the battle to keep the name, since he was ending production on the series anyway.) Good-bye, good luck, and don’t let the door hit you on the way out. Darmour had shot enough shorts to distribute well into 1934, and no longer needed the services of Mickey/Sonny/Joe.

  Nell understood that there was an end to every gig. However, she exploded in anger at the demand that Mickey give up the name she had legally acquired for him. After hiring her own attorney, it was agreed that while he would have to relinquish the McGuire surname, no one had a legal right to force him to change his first name. For the time being, he would use the name Mickey Yule.

  Nell thought there would be more gigs. But through Weber, she learned very quickly that Mickey was no longer a hot property. He had been stamped as the tough, dark-haired Mickey McGuire with whose character the public had grown exhausted. Other studios had very little interest in hiring the typecast actor. Weber suggested to Nell that they reinvent Mickey for a new generation of motion picture roles. Accordingly, Nell let her son’s hair grow out to its natural blond, in the hope she might be able to reintroduce Mickey to casting directors. She and Mickey both hoped he would grow taller, so he could slide into teenage roles. Mickey auditioned all over Hollywood. Then Weber suggested they retry a vaudeville tour. After some legwork, he was able to talk veteran producer Will Morrissey into a spot for them in the Midwest tour of the Will Morrissey Revue.

  Will Morrissey was a legendary name in vaudeville. He had a career as a song lyricist, performer, playwright, and theatrical producer. Based in New York City, Morrissey was also a frequent stage personality and producer on the West Coast and in Chicago. He had one of the early radio programs on the CBS network, and his vaudeville shows featured a mix of comics, singers, acrobats, and other performers—a typical early twentieth-century vaudeville revue.

  Mickey and Nell were offered a weekly salary of $750 for an indefinite tour, an opportunity they grabbed. They played on the bill for Morrissey with the young comic Milton Berle and his straight man Robert Cummings, who would go on to become one of Alfred Hitchcock’s favorite actors.

  “Rooney was a very talented kid,” remembered Berle in an interview with us in 1992. “He sang a few songs, told a few burlesque jokes that were real creakers, and did some imitations, like Tracy and Gable. I remembered he did a Mae West imitation of ‘Come up and see me sometime’ in a dress with pearls and a boa. It’s hard to follow a kid like him.”

  Berle certainly liked Mickey, but the reviews of Mickey’s act in the Morrissey Revue were not kind. The Chicago Sun-Times called his performance “tired” and “dated.” The audiences had bought tickets to see Mickey play the character they were familiar with from the two-reelers, Mickey McGuire, not some tired burlesque act from the 1920s. But Nell feared legal action, and purposely didn’t have Mickey use the McGuire character, instead relying on their old routines. But with the lukewarm reviews, both realized that if they wanted to continue on the tour, they’d have to make a drastic chang
e. Thus, they decided to use a disclaimer to skirt the legalities while giving the audiences what they wanted

  Each night, Mickey would step to the footlights and explain to his “friends” in the audience that “While I no longer have the legal right to call myself Mickey McGuire [the lawsuit was well publicized], still and all, I am Mickey McGuire.” The audiences ate this up, and he was able to segue into his songs, dances, and imitations. No matter how corny, they laughed and applauded for more. Soon, Mickey started to draw big audiences in Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit, Pittsburgh, Milwaukee, St. Louis, and other stops in the midwestern tour.

  WHEN FONTAINE FOX HEARD about Mickey’s vaudeville act billing as McGuire, he called his lawyers, who sent cease and desist orders to Nell and Mickey, and to Will Morrissey. They were forced to stop the Mickey McGuire part of the act, and once again the audiences dried up. The country was also in the throes of the Great Depression, which had put a stake in the heart of vaudeville. The show closed, and Mickey and Nell were out of work.

  Despite the cease and desist letter from Fontaine Fox, a desperate Nell tried to squeeze every bit of value out of the McGuire name. She took Mickey to grocery store openings, department stores, and restaurants across the country. They would get appearance fees of between one hundred and five hundred dollars for a couple of hours of singing, dancing, and signing.

  “Mickey was like a trained monkey,” recalled his friend Billy Barty in our interview. “I felt so bad for him. I know that Nell was just trying to earn a living, but he was dragged everywhere to make appearances in the McGuire getup.”

  In August 1932, feeling beaten and tired, Mickey and Nell returned to their modest home in Hollywood. Nell called Harry Weber and pleaded with him to find Mickey work at the studios. Former McGuire writer Gerald Beaumont recommended Mickey to Universal for a film he was writing called titled Fast Companions. While it wasn’t a starring role, it did star box office attractions Tom Brown and Maureen O’Sullivan (Mia Farrow’s mother and Tarzan’s Jane).

  In September, Universal founder “Uncle Carl” Laemmle was quite impressed with young Mickey at his audition for Fast Companions. He called Harry Weber and offered Mickey the pivotal role of Midge, and a six-year studio contract. Nell was thrilled that they had steady employment once again. Yet, after the injunction filed by Fontaine Fox, Laemmle was cautious regarding how to bill Mickey. Since Darmour had released him from his contract in August, this was the only obstacle to signing Mickey to a long-term agreement.

  A hearing was held to decide if Mickey could retain the McGuire surname. Reporter Joe Crow of the Hollywood Citizen-News covered the hearing:

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  TWO MICKEYS OFFER PUZZLE TO HOLLYWOOD

  (Los Angeles 2/11/33)—The McGuires, the Yules, the Stephenses, the Fontaine Foxes, the Darmours, the Laemmles and two or three judges—to say nothing of the poor newspaper people—were in a sorry muddle today over a matter of names.

  It all centered around the question of which two Mickey (Himself) McGuires is really Mickey himself.

  Also, it became known today through the w.k. Inside informant, a third Mickey—a Mickey Brown, whose name, with the qualifying statement that he is “professionally known as Mickey McGuire”—appears on a brand new six-year Universal contract now waiting court sanction.

  One of the Mickey McGuires goes by the name Marvin Stephens in private life. It is this Mickey McGuire who is now playing Mickey for Larry Darmour Productions.

  Baptized Joe Yule

  The other Mickey McGuire was baptized Joe Yule Jr. who created the original Mickey roles, with Marvin Stephens in the featured part of Katrink. After his legal name change, he was known in private life as well as on screen as Mickey McGuire, being so called by his schoolmates and so billed in personal appearances.

  Three weeks ago Fontaine Fox brought an injunction against the 11-year-old lad restraining him from the use of the name of the two-fisted cartoon character which Fox made famous.

  But Mrs. McGuire [still Mrs. Wynn Brown at that time] came forward today to announce that the injunction had been dissolved by Judge Walter Gates in Superior Court, and that she intended to put the dispute to trial in order to clear her son’s asserted right to professional use of his legal name.

  What Fontaine Fox and Larry Darmour will do about the matter was still in the dark.

  Meanwhile the Laemmles of Universal are going ahead, it was reported, with plans to cast Mrs. McGuire’s boy in The Jockey Kid, probably in the title role. The McGuire’s [sic] and Laemmles have agreed to the stipulations of a six-year contract, it was understood, although both parties have been waiting for a definite outcome to the name dispute before making the signing public.

  Played with Colleen

  The Jockey Kid role will be the most ambitious Mickey has essayed since he came to California five years ago to play with Colleen Moore in Orchids and Ermine, in which he played the midget, being dubbed in the film “the big hog man from Walla Walla.”

  Mickey made his first stage appearance when he was 15 months old, his mother says. As a wee he did a vaudeville act with Sid Gold, a one-time partner of the legendary Babe LaTour. When he was four, he had a special permit from Governor Al Smith to play New York.

  He played recently in City Sentinel at MGM, in High Speed with Buck Jones, and in Riffraff.

  A natural blonde, Mickey, or Joe Jr., was forced to dye his hair black for the Mickey roles. Now he plays “straight.”20

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  When Universal discussed how Mickey was to be billed, Mickey and Nell had to make a decision. They certainly wanted to keep the first name of Mickey. However, “Mickey Yule” did not flow quite right. The Universal publicity man suggested something that ended with a y that would fit the first name. He suggested Maloney, Downey, even Looney. When he mentioned Looney—it was essentially as a joke—it reminded Nell of an old friend from vaudeville, Pat Rooney. Like McGuire, it gave him an Irish last name. After the PR guy ran it by the producer, they all agreed upon the last name of Rooney. According to Mickey, he was told, “Well, kid, that’s your new name, ‘Mickey Rooney.’ ”

  “Making the transition [from McGuire] was not a problem for me,” Mickey wrote in Life Is Too Short. “After all I was going to play kid parts for the next twenty years.”21

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  Ma Lawlor and Universal Studios

  Sonny Yule dons his first tuxedo at age two to perform in burlesque.

  PHOTO COURTESY OF ROBERT EASTON.

  The newly christened Mickey Rooney was a source of profit for Laemmle and Universal. He was a versatile child performer who had great energy and such diverse talents that he could be used in a multitude of films. Not only could he sing and dance, and exuded a great natural charisma, but he had the chops to perform comedy or drama. So Laemmle could both have him act in Universal films and loan him out to the other studios for a handsome profit: While his starting salary at Universal was $175 per week, he could command fees as high as $3,000 in loan-outs. So even though Mickey was making far less than he had with Darmour, his talent, Weber hoped, would eventually bring him a larger salary. Weber told Nell they could “pick up the difference” in the fast-fading but still relatively lucrative small theater vaudeville gigs.

  While Mickey was working on his first official films for Universal, Fast Companions and My Pal, the King, the Mickey McGuire comedies continued to be released, because Darmour had stockpiled his films. By 1934, when Mickey was two years into his Universal agreement, Darmour was releasing the shorts through Columbia Pictures. However, any hopes of his continuing the series through Columbia were dashed with the arrival of a young Jules White, who became head of the new Columbia shorts department. White was determined to release only shorts produced at Columbia’s Gower Studios. He had discovered a young comedy team called the Three Stooges, who would anchor the Columbia shorts for the next twenty-four years. Mickey knew the Stoo
ges well. He had toured with Ted Healy and His Stooges throughout the Midwest in the summer of 1932.

  Mickey Rooney settled into his new home at Universal, at least for the ensuing year and a half. At that time, Universal Studios had hit hard times along with most of the studios facing dwindling audiences due to the ongoing Great Depression. While Universal was doing well with its stable of horror films such as Frankenstein and Dracula and their respective sequels, and with B pictures and dramas such as Imitation of Life and All Quiet on the Western Front, it faced several financial challenges, which culminated in its 1936 financial collapse. Yet while the studio was teetering, Mickey was making progress.

  His next feature at Universal, Fast Companions, was loaded with some wonderful performers: Maureen O’Sullivan was loaned from MGM, character actors James Gleason and Andy Devine added color, and Tom Brown was cast as the romantic lead. The film was quite successful, and the critics applauded Mickey’s performance. Film critic Jack Townley of the Hollywood Citizen-News wrote, “A surefire heart interest angle is introduced in the jockey’s [Tom Brown] befriending a hungry young urchin (Mickey Rooney) who thereafter refuses to leave his side. It is through the kid’s idealistic hero worship that the jockey turns straight. Mickey Rooney, known in short comedies as Mickey McGuire, is splendid as the youngster.”1