Meanwhile, author Roger Kahn was hired by Putnam Books to collaborate on Mickey’s autobiography, under terms that would split the $55,000 advance with Mickey. Kahn told us:
I flew out to Los Angeles to interview Mickey for the book. I came out to the Coast for three weeks and Mickey was never available . . . [I]t was costing me money so I flew back to New York. I had to sue Mickey to work with me, as the publishers were demanding the manuscript. Finally, Red Doff apologized for Mickey and begged me to fly back, which I did. I was staying at the Chateau Marmont. When he finally met with me, he couldn’t remember his life. I know the publishers wanted some salacious info on Ava, but all he could remember was that she was a virgin and that Martha Vickers was frigid. When we would start in the morning at ten, Mickey was already mixing martinis. Then he hated working in the house and we’d drive around. Once we went to the track where I lent him $600 . . . [H]is attorney Dermot Long went crazy when I told him that. He said “He’ll never pay you back.” [He did.] I got much of the info from his mother Nell when she wasn’t going to the races. She hated all of his wives . . . [S]he showed me a check of Mickey’s that he wrote to Vickers with her lipstick on it. Nell said, “See the minute she married Mickey, she’s kissing his checks. That’s all she loved about him.” Nell was a tough old lady. Mickey was impossible to talk to about his life. Lots of made up stories. Lots of pure bullshit. I wrote the book with all this bullshit for material.23
In the end, Kahn had a nightmare with the book. He had to turn down a lucrative offer of $25,000 from The Saturday Evening Post for an excerpt when, as he told us, Barbara Rooney screamed at Mickey, “Don’t you dare take it—Cary Grant got $100,000 for his story.” Eventually they sold excerpts to Look magazine for a three-part story, for less money. Then Mickey called Kahn and said that he was “too young to write my story.” Kahn sued Mickey for $75,000 for breach of contract. Mickey settled the suit by having Kahn read him the manuscript, for which Kahn was paid $1,500 per day, all expenses, and first-class airline tickets. Mickey hated the manuscript and made drastic changes to it. Kahn wisely had his name taken off the project when (as he foresaw), the book, titled i.e., An Autobiography, with Mickey as the sole author, was savaged by critics. Los Angeles Times book editor Robert Kirsch wrote, “Mickey Rooney’s biography is written unfortunately from a hundred Rooney scripts and interviews . . . Rooney should never have written it. This thing is soggy with sentiment, gritty with one-liners . . . I think the material deserved a better writer.”
Kahn told us, “It was then I promised myself never to write another biography of a celebrity.”
Mickey’s new television series at ABC, now called Mickey, went into production in July 1964. Mickey was happy that it was being shot on the MGM backlot. Nevertheless, it had a rocky start. Mickey gave the producers countless problems. He argued with Marx and Fisher over the scripts. The network wanted him to wear a toupee, to make him look younger, which he refused. He wore a yacht cap instead.
“He was unhappy. He wanted to do a film called ‘The Great Race’ for his friend Blake Edwards that starred Jack Lemmon. The show prevented him from doing it,” recalled Arthur Marx. “And we learned that if he wanted any script conferences, we had to schedule them before the first race at Santa Anita.”24
Director Dick Whorf remembered, “He just treated the show as a sideline. One day he just talked about building a theater in the round in the Valley where he and Judy would play ‘Girl Crazy.’ He even had me draw up plans. He would sit on the set reading a Racing Form and ignored any rehearsal. The trouble with Mickey Rooney, I decided, was that Mickey couldn’t keep his mind on the main job at hand.”25
Marx wrote that Mickey was often very moody. He wrote, “Once Mickey showed up in an ugly mood. He said, ‘I can’t stand my wife and she can’t stand me.’ Later Bobby Van explained that Mickey had spent the weekend in Palm Springs with Peter Lawford, another fellow, and three high-priced young ladies at a friend’s house—and that Barbara had found out about it.”26
The series Mickey started with strong ratings, but eventually suffered a precipitous drop against The Dick Van Dyke Show. He hated the selection of the shows and complained, “ABC is fucking me. They’ve fucked me about our music, our titles. They fucked me on the time slot. And now that we had a chance to get an audience, they throw in the wrong show and fuck me again.”27
Despite the ratings decline, ABC was happy with the program and expected strong competition against Van Dyke. One of the show’s attractions was actor Sammee Tong, whom audiences had loved since his Bachelor Father performance with John Forsythe. The byplay between Mickey and Sammee worked well. However, Mickey’s dire prediction at the mid-season wrap party that the show would get the axe affected Sammee Tong, who was a desperate gambler and owed substantial money to the Las Vegas and Reno mobs. Hearing Mickey’s words, Tong saw no possibility of ever paying back his debts and, in a fit of depression, took his own life.
“It was unfortunate,” Arthur Marx recalled to us, “as Mickey was wrong. ABC told Seligman that they liked the Rooney/Tong matchup and would have picked up our option. However, with Sammee gone, they did cancel the series in November. They said with Sammee gone, what was the use?”
Mickey, along with his television series, did a number of guest appearances on television throughout the decade. On January 1, 1960, he starred in The Mickey Rooney Show as part of the Revlon Revue on CBS, directed by Abe Burrows, creator of Guy and Dolls and father of famed television director James Burrows (Fraser). Later that year, on CBS, he did another special, The Many Sides of Mickey Rooney, with Gloria DeHaven, that drew strong reviews. Later that year, he appeared on the TV Western Wagon Train, with Ward Bond; and on General Electric Theater, in a piece costarring his third son, Teddy. In 1961 he appeared in the series Checkmate, with Sebastian Cabot and William Schallert.
“I was excited to act with Mickey. He always had advice, but he was wonderful to work with,” recalled the great character actor William Schallert (The Patty Duke Show, Star Trek), whose father, Los Angeles Times critic Edwin Schallert, had praised Mickey in a review of his stage act that helped him get the part of Mickey McGuire back in 1927.28
Mickey stayed busy on television in 1961, appearing in Hennesey with his old friend Jackie Cooper; in an episode of The Dick Powell Show that became the pilot for the later Burke’s Law, starring Gene Barry; on The Investigators, starring James Franciscus; in another Dick Powell episode, this one with Warren Oates and directed by future film director Arthur Hiller (Love Story); and on Naked City, with Maureen Stapleton and Paul Burke, in an episode also directed by Arthur Hiller. At a lunch with other writers, directors, and performers at Factor’s Famous Deli in Los Angeles, Hiller said, “Mickey always had ideas—many of his ideas were actually fairly good and constructive.”
Red Doff kept Mickey busy in a variety of television roles in the next several years. For a week of work, Mickey was able to command a high-end salary for each appearance, from five thousand to ten thousand dollars or more. In 1962 he appeared in Frontier Circus, with Chill Wills and John Derek; Pete and Gladys, with Harry Morgan and Cara Williams; and another couple of Dick Powell Shows, one with Barbara Stanwyck and Powell’s wife, June Allyson, and another with Frank Sinatra as a guest host stepping in after Powell’s death. Mickey remained busy in 1963 with the Alcoa Premiere with John Forsythe and Fred Astaire as host; Rod Serling’s The Twilight Zone, in the episode “The Last Night of a Jockey,” a one-man morality play and psychodrama written especially for Mick by Serling; and in the Kraft Suspense Theatre, in an episode directed by future film director Robert Altman and costarring James Caan and Bruce Dern. Mickey did not slow down in 1964, either, with appearances in Arrest and Trial, with Ben Gazzara and Chuck Connors; reprising Bob Hope’s film role in The Seven Little Foys on Bob Hope Presents the Chrysler Theatre, with Eddie Foy Jr. and Mickey as George M. Cohan; on Rawhide, with Clint Eastwood; and on Combat!, with Ramon Navarro. After his series in 1964, he made only one
appearance in 1965, on another Bob Hope Presents the Chrysler Theatre, with Jack Weston. In 1966 he made only three appearances, all with old friends: the first was with David Janssen in The Fugitive; then with Lucille Ball on The Lucy Show, where he reprised his Mickey McGuire role; and finally with director Dick Quine, for The Jean Arthur Show.
The last show he did in the 1960s was a pilot called Return of the Original Yellow Tornado, with Eddie Mayehoff, in which he plays a retired superhero. The program, a precursor to superhero shows such as Mr. Terrific, Captain Nice, and The Greatest American Hero, was shot at Universal. The producers later brought Mickey, Mayehoff, and costar Eileen Wesson back to shoot extra footage, to expand the show into a feature film created by Dick Wesson (Eileen’s father) and Mel Tolkin. Wesson was a creator of The Bob Cummings Show; produced and wrote the The Beverly Hillbillies, Green Acres, and Petticoat Junction; and played Rollo on The People’s Choice, with Mickey’s old pal Jackie Cooper. Wesson was an old golfing and racetrack buddy of Mickey’s for many years. His daughter Eileen, a prominent character actress and Universal contract player, was known as “Queen of the Pilots” because she’d appeared in seventeen pilots for proposed television programs and later played Judy Barton in Airport. Of Original Yellow Tornado, Eileen said:
My dad and Mickey played cards and golfed together. I grew up around all these comedians. I drove the golf cart for my dad and his buds, who included Bob Hope, Jackie Gleason, Rooney—and the list goes on. I knew them all very well. I do remember going back to shoot more scenes on The Tornado, to develop a love interest for my character and make me more of the one who was always getting Mickey and Eddie out of trouble. It was very fun . . . [N]never a dull moment, and no one stuck to the script. Eddie and Mickey were so funny no one could stop them. I costarred as Eddie Mayehoff’s niece. I do remember laughing so hard [off camera] while watching Eddie and Mickey play off each other that I ripped my super hero outfit, a lot! . . .29
I went countless times with my father and Mickey to the racetrack. The racetrack was their kingdom. They were the court jesters and had the attention of everyone in the clubhouse with their antics. They were in their element where they could let loose, do shtick, drink, pick up “broads,” and gamble. Their pattern was that they would get to the racetrack and announce they were going backstage. To them that meant they would go back to the paddocks, commiserate with the trainers, the jockeys, the stable boys, and get the inside information or even “fixes” to bet on. Then they’d go back to the clubhouse, bet big dollars on the tip they discovered, and almost certainly end up losing the bet. Then the pattern would repeat itself over and over. They were the life of the party, the center of attention, and they loved it. . . .
My father was always loyal to his buddies. My father was a performer, director, producer, writer, and show runner for programs such as The Beverly Hillbillies and Petticoat Junction, with Paul Henning. When he was lured to Universal to be a show runner and script doctor, he created the Original Tornado, which allowed him to cast his pals, Mickey, and another old friend, Eddie Mayehoff. It was such a hoot to work on. My dad gave them full rein and just let the cameras run, to catch all of their bits of business. We couldn’t stop laughing at Eddie and Mickey playing off of each other. They were absolutely hysterical with each other. I had to play straight woman to both of them. And with my father there, it was this big party. . . .
Guys like my father and Mickey were truly educated on the stage. They were two street smart guys who were always on. They loved attention. They were wired differently. I once taped them at home. When my dad watched this, he was outraged. Mickey and my father never saw themselves as they were. They lived by this code of old vaudevillians. It was an old boys’ fraternity. They thought they knew everything about women, and it was always the next conquest. It was always booze, girls, money, and gambling. They loved the constant action. It was from their upbringing in burlesque. Mickey and my dad loved each other for years and would each try to make each other laugh and outdo each other. My dad and Mickey would work on routines at the track or playing golf. They did an act onstage as well. However, with both of them, while they were very on and up for everyone around them, they also crashed. Mickey had breakdowns. My father had five nervous breakdowns and eventual shock treatments that would sap his energy, creativity, and his mind. They were products of being children from burlesque. They were performers and only performers. That was their life.30
Ellen also revealed to us that, like Mickey, her father never got out of hock to the mob. As a result, he worked for them until he was too old to make the rounds.
Throughout the taping of Original Yellow Tornado, Mickey’s on-again, off-again relationship with Red Doff continued. Mickey had returned to Doff from a short stint with manager Bullets Durgom, whom Gleason had recommended. As ever, he sought more roles, anything to keep income rolling in to pay off former wives, back taxes, and bookies. Doff himself had faced his own demons, and the codependent relationship between the pair, with each enabling the other, may have strengthened their bond.
As the sixties drew to a close, Mickey was at yet another crossroads. The decade had been hard on him, harder than the fifties, even though he had enjoyed critical success. He was turning fifty; was balding, with a paunch; and was forced to wear glasses. Also, he no longer could shed his public persona as a temperamental womanizer with a penchant for gambling, drinking, and pills. All this had exacted a physical toll on him. He now looked his age and was not going gently into what critics thought would be his long good night. However, despite his name losing some of its luster, there was still recognition and respect for his talent.
MICKEY’S SECOND WIFE, B. J. Rase, herself a remarkable personality—her career as a backup singer for some of the biggest recording talents in the 1950s spanned decades, and some say she had an affair with Elvis Presley after her divorce from Mickey—left her stamp on Mickey’s life, giving him children who went on to pursue their own careers in the entertainment and recording industries. They crossed paths with some of the top rock bands of the 1960s, including the Rolling Stones, and with the reclusive Howard Hughes, and orbited the periphery of Charles Manson’s world. It’s a heretofore unknown story that B.J.’s stepson (and friend of the Rooney brothers), Dan Kessel, was one of the most important music producers in America, alongside his friend Phil Spector.
“Timmy really resembled Mickey most of all,” recalled Pam McClenathan, who watched after Timmy for almost eight years at her home near Hemet, California. “He was a talented musician and toured with his brothers as the Rooney Brothers. Mickey rarely saw him throughout the years. Betty Jane was a wonderful mother, [but Timmy] battled his demons.”
Tim also battled disease. For five years before his death, he fought dermatomyositis, a condition that most often strikes adults between forty and sixty and results in progressive muscle weakness, making it difficult to move, swallow, or even breathe. For Tim it must have been a frightening reminder of the paralysis that affected him as a child, when he contracted polio. According to Pam, he bore this affliction in good spirits before his death on September 23, 2006.
Teddy Rooney, Mickey’s son number three, with third wife Martha Vickers, also wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. Teddy was a blond-haired, precocious, ambitious youth—but fated to a life of addiction. In one of the last interviews he was able to give, speaking to us from underneath his respirator in his hospice bed, he told us in an interview:
I was hoping for a chance to do something with my father. He was rarely around. But I idolized him. The short times we had together I worshiped him even though my father certainly never set a good example. When I was thirteen years old, my dad’s birthday gift was taking me to a hooker that he knew. . . . When my mother heard about the part of Andy Hardy Jr., she suggested using me for the part. Mickey and Timmy were already too old for an eight-year-old. I loved acting. Red Doff got me a good role in a Doris Day/Jack Lemmon film It Happened to Jane. By the time I did Andy Hardy
with my dad, I’d done a Playhouse 90 on television with my mother, did some other shows, and the film with Doris Day. She was such a great lady and was very sweet to me. We stayed in contact for years.
In 1966, Teddy and his brothers Mickey Jr. and Timmy formed the band the Rooney Brothers, establishing their own independent career in the recording industry and in films and television. Their story has become part of rock ’n’ roll cult legend. Their interest in music was not surprising. Apart from having a song-and-dance man as a father, the three had expert training as musicians from their stepfathers, B.J.’s two husbands after Mickey, Buddy Baker and Barney Kessel. Baker had a long career as the director of music at Disney; he was also a composer for countless Disney films. B.J.’s third husband, legendary jazz guitarist Barney Kessel, was extolled by musicians from John Lennon and George Harrison to Eric Clapton. Esquire magazine once called him the number one guitarist in the country. Kessel was a member of the group of session musicians informally known as “the Wrecking Crew,” who played on countless albums for iconic musicians such as Charlie Parker, Billie Holiday, Oscar Peterson, and the Beach Boys. (Barney Kessel’s sons from an earlier marriage, Dan and David Kessel, grew up as brothers to the Rooney boys. The Kessel brothers themselves became noted musicians and music producers with rock ’n’ roll icon Phil Spector.)
Teddy Rooney remembered a great story about Kessel: “Timmy was playing pool with George Harrison. When Harrison found out that Timmy’s stepfather was Barney Kessel, he went berserk. He begged Timmy to call Barney and let George jam with him. Timmy called Barney and Barney said, ‘Sorry, son. I don’t jam with amateurs and hung up.’ ”
Throughout the 1960s, the Rooney Brothers toured the country, gaining a strong following. While the Rooney name opened doors for them, making the most of those opportunities didn’t always come easy. The brothers discovered that because of their famous name, they had to work twice as hard to prove themselves.
The Life and Times of Mickey Rooney Page 39