The Life and Times of Mickey Rooney

by Richard A. Lertzman

  Was this written at the request of or as a favor to Mayer? Can we see the hands of Eddie Mannix and Howard Strickling at work here, Strickling pulling the strings of the Hollywood media and Mannix with his connections to mob figures in the entertainment industry? Probably. While Wilkerson was known to have a sometime contentious relationship with Mayer, Warner, Zukor, Cohn, and other studio bosses, he was at their mercy as well. So the Reporter in those years was, in essence, a company newsletter. While Wilkerson did draw some ire a few years later when he supported the Hollywood blacklist and attacked the studios, the studios were far stronger during this period.

  An all-out attack on Rooney by the Hollywood Reporter was a major event. Was Rooney aware of this story when he was in Camp Siebert, Alabama? Was he told about this assault by Stiefel and Briskin? Apparently he was completely in the dark. Mickey wrote, “I soon learned that while I was away, my professional life had taken a wrong turn. Sam Stiefel had taken charge of Rooney Inc., and now he seemed to own me—and my family. He renegotiated my contract with MGM nearly a year before.”1

  Louis Mayer’s College of Cardinals suddenly became panicked at this challenge to what had been standard studio procedure. The studio attorneys raised the possibility that “nobody can be quite sure how Briskin’s claim will be interpreted by the Courts. We therefore advise that the studio ought to exercise its option and protect our interests and put him back on salary.” Accordingly, Mayer, Thau, and Mannix decided to begin paying Mickey immediately. They had Floyd Hendrickson, who was vice president for business affairs for MGM, inform Briskin that they would exercise their option immediately and resume paying Mickey. They explained that this was without precedent, but they wanted no hard feelings from Mick.

  The studio response signaled weakness to Stiefel, who, in creating his successful theater chain, had learned to play hardball. He told Briskin that Mayer was “running scared” and that he and Briskin had them exactly where he wanted. If Stiefel was a legitimate business manager and was representing Rooney as a client, he would be well worth his fee. However, as Mickey would ultimately discover, that was not the case. Briskin requested a meeting with Benny Thau to discuss a new contract. Thau immediately agreed. Briskin recalled, “Sam wanted the whole ball of wax. He knew that Mayer and his group wanted to hold on to Rooney, and [that] he could squeeze much more out of them. He had a rather keen awareness of both human nature and business. He was right on the target much of the time.”2

  The meeting was held on October 11, 1944. Benny Thau represented MGM, Sam Stiefel, Mort Briskin, and Abe Lastfogel of William Morris represented Mickey. They put their demands right on the table: Mickey gets the right to host his own radio show, the ability to make personal appearances, and a new weekly salary of $7,500 with a forty-week guarantee, or $300,000 a year flat. Thau said that while this was “preposterous,” he might be able to negotiate a new pact they could all live with. The negotiations proceeded for the next few months. There were a lot of volleys back and forth, most of them on friendly terms. This was important to Stiefel, who was in this for himself, using the negotiations to raise his profile with the Hollywood power elite.

  The new agreement was reached on February 4, 1945, while Mickey was slogging through the freezing mud in Belgium with Patton’s Third Army. On February 5, 1945, it was announced in the New York Times, whose theatrical page reported:

  Mickey Rooney, now a private somewhere in Belgium or France, will resume his screen career for Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer after the war at a salary of $5000 per week. Under his new contract, the 24 year old star receives a number of unusual concessions in regard to radio and stage appearances, which conceivably could double his annual film earnings. In addition to the weekly salary, which runs forty weeks a year, the corporation receives a bonus of a hundred and forty-thousand for signing the deal; half of this amount has been paid; the remainder is payable in two years. The contract covers seven years with yearly options, and provides that MGM must exercise the first option (for the second year) thirteen days after Rooney is discharged from the Army. Among other concessions, the actor is allowed to do 39 weeks of radio a year plus four guest appearances. While MGM can limit these radio appearances to 26 weeks, if it is believed they are injuring his screen value. Rooney can resume broadcasting the following year, if MGM exercises its option for the succeeding forty weeks.

  This was certainly not a Strickling news release, and most likely came directly from Stiefel and Briskin. While on the surface this looked like a win for Mickey, who now had strong representation, in actuality it would return even less money to him, because he was shouldering a 50 percent partner with massive corporate overhead and huge loans to pay back, including the $150,000 debt his mother and her husband had incurred during his tour of duty. Meanwhile, Stiefel was running stars such as Peter Lorre and singer Andy Russell, and his stable of racehorses, which did more eating than racing and would have made more money in a glue factory than on the track—and he was charging the whole thing to Rooney Inc., right off Mickey’s new MGM salary.

  By February 12, 1946, Mickey had amassed enough points to qualify for a discharge. On February 15, General Eisenhower awarded him the Bronze Star for “exceptional courage in the performance of his duties as a performer.” His citation for the medal stated that “His superb personal contribution to the morale of the Armed Forces in the European Theater of Operations cannot be measured.” Then, like his father before him, who had come on a troop ship from Europe after the World War I Armistice, Mickey returned to America.

  In theory, he had a lot to look forward to. He had a newborn son, a young wife, and a brand-new contract guaranteeing him $6,250 per month while he was in the service. He was also planning a weekly radio program that would pay him more than his film contract. The New York Times on March 5, 1946, wrote, “Mickey Rooney said he has plans for a new radio program on NBC. He said that his partner, Sam Stiefel has signed an agreement with Campbell Soup to sponsor.”

  While Mickey was serving his last days in the service, his mother was watching after Betty Jane and little Mickey Jr. She was also entertaining with Fred, holding lavish parties at El Ranchita. Harrison Carroll, in the Los Angeles Evening Herald Express, as far back as January 5, 1945, wrote, “Mickey Rooney’s Ma, Nell Pankey is throwing a party at the ranch for 20 girls in the Coast Guard’s ‘Tars and Spars’ show.” On January 9 he wrote, “Mickey’s bride, Betty Jane, watched a showing of ‘National Velvet’ at the studio with Mickey’s mother, Nell Pankey. It will be followed by a reception at the ranch.”

  Meanwhile, Sam Stiefel was generating a stream of news releases about Mickey for the entire eighteen months he was in the army. Most extolled the virtues of Stiefel himself and how he had negotiated a big new contract for Mickey—such as the press release that appeared in a Louella Parsons syndicated column for Hearst on February 16, 1945, which stated, “If Mickey Rooney and MGM were ever seriously pouting about his contract, it’s all over now. Through his partner, Sam Stiefel and the William Morris Agency a new big contract was signed between the Mick and Metro on Tuesday calling for a big increase in salary.”

  An interesting entry was released on March 15, 1945, by Harrison Carroll in the Los Angeles Evening Express about Stiefel: “Wait until Mickey Rooney comes back from the Army and sees the office that his business partner, Sam Stiefel is fixing up for him. It has everything that Mickey was crazy about—a grand piano, a recording machine, etc. On the door is the following sign: ‘No admittance until Mickey Rooney returns.’ ”

  News releases from Stiefel became routine, with Mickey as the hook in each one. On March 22, 1945, Harrison Carroll, of the Los Angeles Evening Express, wrote, “Mickey Rooney’s partner, Sam Stiefel is signing a Mickey discovery . . . 19 year old vocalist, Marion Marett.” On March 26, 1945, the Hollywood Citizen-News printed this: “Mick is ‘sold on singer/composer Andy Russell, for Mickey’s business partner, Sam Stiefel.” On April 4, 1945, Harrison Carroll wrote, “Mickey Rooney ran into the nephew o
f his partner, Sam Stiefel, in Germany. Nephew’s name is Irving Epstein and he managed two Stiefel theaters in Baltimore before the war.”

  Stiefel, meanwhile, was holding bashes at his new house in Bel Air. “My father, Bernie Stiefel, told me of the lavish parties my grandparents held at their home and the great stars that attended,” recalled Stiefel’s granddaughter Adrienne Callander.3

  Ostensibly, the parties were held to “publicize” Mickey, but Stiefel invited other clients (such as Andy Russell, to sing). Nell and Fred Pankey were regular guests, too, as was Betty Jane Rooney. The parties, of course, were then charged to Rooney Inc., which Mickey would be required to pay back out of his own salary.

  On March 6, 1946, Mickey walked down the gangplank of the USS General G.O. Squier transport ship in New York Harbor. He was first greeted by Sam Stiefel, who wanted him to stay in New York a few days to garner some publicity, and see some shows. “No, Sam. No shows,” Mickey said he replied. “The only show I want to see is in my living room, where my wife and my son, Mickey Rooney Jr. are waiting for me.”4 He then jumped on the Super Chief to the West Coast. Nell and Fred were waiting at the station for the train to pull in, along with Betty Jane and the new baby, a child they’d conceived on the one night of their honeymoon during his two-day weekend pass. Mickey was still in his army uniform, his chest was covered with service ribbons and his Bronze Star. He had seen Betty Jane for only those few days, when they met and were married when she was only seventeen. Now, when he saw her, he was astounded by her size. “At seventeen, she had only been a couple inches taller than I. Now, more than a year and a half later, she seemed to tower over me by almost a foot,” Mickey wrote.5

  “Having survived the Nazis, I thought I’d have an easier time when I came back to Hollywood. I was mistaken,” he wrote.6 The very next day, Sam and Mort Briskin took Mickey to Hollywood Park to watch “their” horses and to bring Mickey up-to-date on the goings-on at Rooney Inc. Mickey had heard about the new MGM contract, the proposed radio show, and the appearances he would make. Then Sam started to talk about the business, describing in great detail the new plush offices for Rooney Inc., at 8782 Sunset Boulevard. He told Mickey of the staff they had hired, and about his own personal office. “I soon learned that while I was away, my professional life had taken a wrong turn,” Mickey recalled. “Sam Stiefel had taken charge of Rooney Inc.” He realized that the decisions made around him and his career had put him in more debt than he had been in when he first went off to war.7

  In the Rooney Inc. private box at the racetrack, Sam gently explained to Mickey that while he was serving his eighteen months, Nell had “borrowed” almost $160,000 for “living” expenses. She was unable to live on Fred Pankey’s salary. (In 1946 dollars, that was an extraordinary amount, about $1.9 million in 2015 dollars.) “There are a few matters,” Sam said. “First there is the money I lent you before the war—you remember—at the track, to pay off bookies, to buy Ava that car. Then we opened our offices. I took the money we received from Metro and reinvested in our stable here. Although they haven’t returned any bucks, the upside is high.”8

  Mort Briskin laid out the great deals they’d pulled off in negotiations with Metro: the $5,000 per week for forty weeks, the $140,000 bonus, the right to do thirty-nine weeks of radio and personal appearances, the selling of his image for merchandising, a possible record deal, and the production of their own independent films. Rooney Inc. would be a thriving industry, they told Mickey; the future was indeed bright. Never mind that their entire stream of revenue would come from Mickey Rooney. All Mick had to do was keep making pictures, show up in theater venues, host his radio show, and produce his own movies. All would be well.

  Sam was a master at warm chatter, the prototype for generations of multilevel marketing managers recruiting members for their “downlines,” a process by which those recruited pay their recruiter’s commission from their own work. In this instance, Mickey would do the work, pay back what Sam had advanced, cover Sam’s overhead, and pay him a percentage on top of that. Stiefel, the ultimate confidence artist, completely overwhelmed Mickey, who, although streetwise from his upbringing on a burlesque stage, was completely ill equipped to deal with sharks like Sam Stiefel and Mort Briskin.

  After the two raptors, converging on the just-repatriated army veteran in a pincer movement, painted a rosy, robust picture of the future, Stiefel lowered the boom. When Mickey asked about the money he owed Stiefel, Sam gently suggested, “Listen, why don’t we just split everything fifty-fifty until we’re even?”

  Mickey later wrote, “What the hell, I thought. There was no limit now to the money I could earn on my own. And soon, I’d be on my own, an independent producer of my own movies and a star on network radio to boot. ‘Sure Sam,’ I said.”9 After all, Mickey had no reason to distrust this man who had just renegotiated his MGM contract and swung this great deal, who had watched after his mother while he was gone, and who’d given him money when he was short. No reason at all.

  On the home front, Mickey moved back into El Ranchita with Betty Jane and baby Mickey Jr., yet, according to Sid Miller, “He really was still in love with Ava.”10 Ava, though, had become the fifth wife of bandleader Artie Shaw the year before. Mickey now had his own new wife and baby son. He had the responsibility of his own firm with several employees.

  Mickey did not know Betty Jane at all, even after their marriage. They were the same strangers they had been upon their first meeting in Alabama, when he was drunk during their one-day courtship and wedding immediately after. She had spent the following year getting to know his mother and enjoying life in Hollywood, but when Mickey stepped off the train and joined her in Los Angeles, the two found they had nothing to talk about. He was excited, though, at having a young son who had many of his features, and he became determined to make the marriage work. When Betty suggested they move into a home of their own, Mickey acquiesced. He was reluctant to leave El Ranchita again, but he agreed that they needed their own space. He hired a realtor and they went house shopping.

  Columnist Sheilah Graham wrote on June 22, 1946, in the Hollywood Citizen-News, “Mickey Rooney paid $90,000 for the Alan Hale home in the Valley. Pictures have certainly paid off for Rooney.”

  Sam Stiefel offered to “loan” Mickey the money for the down payment. He was more than happy to front the money for his “partner.” Why not? As Harrison Carroll wrote on June 24, 1946, in the Los Angeles Evening Herald Express: “Look for Mickey Rooney to make a fortune on a personal appearance tour in the fall, according to his partner, Samuel Stiefel.”

  After Mickey and B.J. moved in and set up housekeeping in their beautiful new home, Betty Jane strove to become a part of Mickey’s life. Yet when he brought over his old cronies Sid Miller, Sig Frohlich, Dick Paxton, Dick Quine, and new addition Jimmy Cook to drink, play poker, and swap war stories, they ignored Betty Jane as if she were a piece of furniture. Mickey started going out at nights as well.

  “Betty didn’t like my friends, not even my very oldest and best friends,” Mickey wrote. “She knew nothing about my world and apparently she didn’t care to know. . . . [W]hen Betty Jane conceived again, in May, about two months after I arrived home, I was surprised it took as long as two months, I thought all I had to do to get Betty Jane pregnant was hang up my pants. I kept Betty Jane home, barefoot and pregnant.”11 For her part, Betty Jane felt like a fish out of water. She had all the expectations of a nineteen-year-old girl from a humble working-class background, who wanted to become a performer in her own right, married to a movie star and living in Hollywood. But her existence had become mundane, and she had very few friends. Mickey would return from the studio moody and argumentative, much as he was with Ava during their marriage. If B.J. had expected to attend glamorous parties and premieres, the reality was these were few and far between.

  Worse, Mickey was embarrassed by their size discrepancy. Columnist Sidney Skolsky wrote on May 18, 1946, in the Hollywood Citizen-News, “Mickey Rooney’s wife is mu
ch taller than Mickey, and people wonder why, when they go out together, she generally wears a tall hat that makes her appear much taller.” Skolsky wrote on June 22 of that same year, “Mickey Rooney at the ball game with his tall wife who is wearing a tall hat, and Mickey is telling the frau, ‘I don’t care that you’re taller than I am, but don’t wear such tall hats.’ ”

  Mickey was now only twenty-six years old. He had a wife and son, mother and stepfather, and business and staff to support. He had a partner in Sam Stiefel, who was using the income Mickey was generating to run the business, while charging him interest on loans like a ticking taxi meter—with Mickey constantly borrowing money just to keep up. He also had his crew of friends, whom he kept afloat. And then there was his old life of gambling and drinking, which was again beckoning him no matter how hard he tried to resist its calls. The financial and social pressures were mounting.