Hump had one-hundred dollars in his pocket, and he’d demanded the best-looking woman in the bar. When he left with a beautiful boozy blonde for a room in a nearby hotel, he was falling down drunk.
He had to report to duty at five that morning. As he later remembered it, his new-found girl friend had agreed to wake him up in time. The next morning her clock revealed that it was ten o’clock. The Olivia had sailed at seven that morning.
Putting on his trousers, Hump rushed to Naval Headquarters in Hoboken where he turned himself in. He was officially placed in the brig and fed a diet of only bread and water.
Branded a deserter, he very cleverly decided to call in a favor from none other than Franklin Roosevelt, then assistant secretary of the Navy. He wrote Roosevelt, recalling their meeting and their night together at Seneca Point. True to his word and eager to return a kindness, Roosevelt intervened and got Hump’s offense changed from deserter to “absent without leave.”
Because of Roosevelt’s intervention, Hump—despite his status as a deserter—received an honorable discharge at the Brooklyn Naval Yard on June 18, 1919, with a ranking as seaman second class—not the rank of quartermaster that he had hoped for. All that he had to show for his time in the service was twelve dollars in his pocket and a Victory Medal—an award that was routinely given to every serviceman who had completed a term of duty in the Armed Forces.
At the Bogart home on his first evening back, he found the atmosphere even chillier than when he’d left. His sisters were away at school, and all Maud could manage was another handshake. Belmont was away working as a ship’s doctor on a cruise to Florida.
“We can’t help you at all,” Maud told Hump. Their rich life with a house full of servants was over. “There is no more money, only debts.” He learned that the summer home at Seneca Point had finally been sold, the profit having gone to pay off mounting debts. Belmont had invested the family money in a get-rich-quick scheme in Michigan timberland and had lost every penny.
Because of his severe drug abuse, his once-flourishing medical practice had fallen off severely as patients drifted away. That’s why he took assignments as a ship’s doctor aboard cruises for long periods of time.
Wandering alone on the streets of New York, Hump found himself in the same situation as many returning veterans. He was out of work, relatively uneducated, and not qualified for most professions.
He longed for that overdue reunion with the Bradys, knowing that loving and supportive family might help him decide what to do with his life. He especially missed Bill. But all of the Bradys, including Grace and Alice, were out of town touring with a roadshow.
Hump wrote Bill in Philadelphia. “Hurry back to New York and be my best pal once again. I miss you something awful. My life’s a waste. I’m a failure.”
***
In desperation and out of cash, Hump tried to find a job. He was hired to work in the mail department of the National Biscuit Company for $25 a week. After a month, and after showing up late for work four times in only two weeks, he was fired. An entire month went by before he found a job with the Pennsylvania Tug and Literage Company, where he was hired to trace shipments reported lost. Part of this job involved inspecting tugboats. Hump had distorted his Navy service record, and had claimed during his job interview that he was qualified as a boat inspector, which he wasn’t. After sending in a number of reports that his boss called “nonsensical,” Hump was fired.
Out of work and unable to find another job, Hump asked Belmont for help. Belmont’s ill-fated investments were handled by the Wall Street firm of S.W. Strauss & Co. Belmont’s longtime friend and investment broker, Wilbur Jenkins, was a vice president of the company. After Belmont appealed to Jenkins, the company hired Hump as a “runner” for $30 a week. He was charged with delivering securities and stock certificates to brokerage houses and banks.
When Bill Jr. returned to New York, Hump told him that he “was going to start out like Horatio Alger and work my way up to becoming president one day.” Although Hump hated the runner’s job, he held onto the position because he needed the money to party with his friends. The post-war era had arrived, and Hump expressed his desire “to become a Jazz Age baby.”
As much as he hated his temporary jobs, Hump loved the rediscovery of his old friend. Although both men actively pursued girls, Hump and Bill Brady seemed more bonded than ever. Their boy/boy sexual flirtation with each other was about to enter a new phase. Although Hump was still considered very good looking in an unconventional way, Bill had grown into a remarkably handsome man, eagerly pursued by both girls and older women.
The dashing Stuart Rose had returned from military duty and had resumed his friendships with both Hump and Bill. He spent most of his time dating Frances. When Frances was at school, Stuart joined Bill and Hump on their jaunts to the Playhouse, a theater that William Brady Sr. operated on West 48th Street.
Sometimes, Stuart invited Hump and Bill to one of his equestrian classes at the Squadron A Armory. Originally Hump had been afraid of horses, but he trusted Stuart and responded to his teaching. Stuart pronounced him the best pupil he’d ever had.
Bill was much more interested in “the theater and girls,” although he still joined in the rides. On Sunday rides in Central Park, they would sometimes be joined by John Cromwell, the director.
The only problem was that Maud insisted on dressing Hump in fashionable riding gear that she’d seen in English sporting magazines. Hump stood out as a bit of a dandy and terribly overdressed.
It was a time for making new friends and going to social gatherings in Greenwich Village. Bill and Hump learned to love parties in the village where they felt a part of bohemian life for the first time. If given a chance, Hump would sing at these parties. He had made another friend, Kenneth Mielziner, who was an actor using the name “Kenneth MacKenna.” Although he could not have known it at the time, Kenneth was to become one of Bogie’s closest confidants during his first attempt at a film career in Hollywood. Kenneth shared a brownstone on Waverly Place in Greenwich Village with his brother, “Jo” Mielziner, who was slated for future fame as one of America’s leading stage designers.
Kenneth later recalled that he and Hump “liked the same type of woman,” although the breed was never specified, since Kenneth’s taste ranged from blondes to redheads, from tall, skinny girls to shorter, more fully rounded ones. “When I was through with a girl, I would pass her on to Hump. My attention span with women was short at the time, and I quickly became bored. I picked up girls with greater ease than Hump who was still a bit shy around the fairer sex. He was all too eager to date my discards.”
By 1938, the situation would reverse itself when Kenneth married one of Bogie’s “discards,” his second wife, Mary Philips.
Hump was finding it harder and harder to report to work as a runner on Wall Street. Nights were for frequenting speakeasies, listening to jazz, smoking, drinking bootleg hooch, and chasing after pretty women. Stuart remained faithful to Frances, but partly because of their promiscuity, Kenneth, Hump, John Cromwell, and Bill nicknamed themselves “the pussy posse.”
If a woman had a choice of these men, she usually opted for Bill Jr., since he possessed great charm and personality. If a girl couldn’t get Bill, she settled for one of the other young men. Perhaps because he was smaller and less dynamic around women, Hump was often the last to get picked for a date.
For a very brief time, a young actor, James Cagney, joined the pussy posse. Hump and Bill felt uncomfortable around Cagney but Kenneth insisted on inviting him. Unlike Hump’s “sissy” upbringing, Cagney, a man of the streets, had joined gangs as a kid and had learned to use his fists. He was the tough city kid, actually living the role that Hump would play at Warner Brothers when he often vied for the same parts that Cagney garnered, or else co-starred with him. Cagney told Hump that he could not make up his mind: he wanted to be either a song-and-dance man or else a farmer.
Although Cagney exuded masculinity, when he first m
et Hump he was appearing as a “showgal” in a revival of a production called Every Sailor. Originally conceived as a morale-booster for members of the Navy far from home, its cast included many recently discharged sailors. As in the original, all the female parts were played by men. When one of the cast members got sick, a friend introduced Cagney to the producer, Phil Dunning, who hired him on the spot, providing he’d appear in drag.
“Listen, for $35 a week, I’ll come out nude if they want me to,” Cagney told Hump. Cagney claimed that he looked great as a gal, especially when he painted his mouth in scarlet red in a “sort of bee sting,” like screen goddess Mae Murray. Hump couldn’t believe that Cagney could transform himself into a gorgeous dame. Cagney said that he’d show up for their next night on the town in full drag. “The men will flock around me like moths to the flame.”
Indeed Cagney showed up two nights later dressed as a woman, and the pussy posse was stunned. Bill claimed that he would have asked Cagney for a date if he didn’t know he had a dick under that gown.
Cagney demonstrated his skill as a vamp by capturing the attention of the handsomest man at the speakeasy. On a dare, Cagney disappeared two hours later with a young Wall Street broker. What happened later that night remains unknown. Cagney never told the pussy posse how the evening ended, and in his authorized biography, James Cagney, he makes no mention of having known Hump in their early days.
The next morning, hung over from an all-night party, Hump showed up late for work and was severely chastised by his boss on Wall Street. He was given documents to deliver to a firm ten blocks away. On the way there, he recalled having a splitting headache. Deep into his hangover, and barely able to continue down the block, he opted for breakfast at a coffee shop, hoping that would cure his pain. Shortly thereafter, three blocks from the scene of his ham and eggs breakfast, he realized with horror that he’d left the valuable documents in a briefcase perched on the coffee shop’s coat rack. He hurried back, only to discover that the briefcase had been stolen.
“Knowing I was going to get fired when I returned to the office, I decided not to go back,” Hump later recalled.
On an impulse and having given it no thought beforehand, he rode the subway to the theatrical offices of William Brady, Sr. Hump felt that he should have checked with Bill before asking his father for a job but there was no time for that.
William Sr. welcomed Hump into his office as he had remained a family favorite. Telling the elder showman of his plight, Hump found him most sympathetic. “I just happen to have an opening,” Brady said. “As an office boy. The pay’s $35 a week.”
Hump eagerly took the job and was thrilled to be making that much money in 1920. “As you know, sir, Bill and I both love the theater. To be a part of it in some way would make me very happy.”
“Cut out all of this I-love-the-theater crap,” Brady said. “The Broadway stage is just fine, and I guess it’ll go on forever. But the future of mass entertainment lies in the flickers. From now on, I’m a movie producer.”
***
Hump found his new job as an office boy exciting, as he would relate to an attractive brunette, Ruth Rankin, who he was dating at the time. He’d given her a handsome picture of himself in his full dress Navy uniform, and she kept the photograph by her bedside, which was always there to greet him during his frequent visits to that much-used bed.
Although Hump humped her frequently, he confessed to Bill that, “I don’t really love her.” Bill chided him, “You don’t have to love a gal to fuck her.”
After working for Brady for only a month, Hump was promoted to production manager of the Brady film studio at Fort Lee, New Jersey, his pay raised to $50 a week. His duties included renting props and paying off the actors in cash.
When Brady Sr. saw the first rushes of a film, Life, that he’d commissioned, he fired the director, Travers Vale, and assigned Hump to take over the job.
Knowing nothing about acting or directing, Hump found a beret and a pair of black boots in the wardrobe department and showed up the next day, thinking himself a budding Erich von Stroheim or Cecil B. DeMille. The stars of the film were Arline Pretty, Nita Naldi, and Rod La Rocque.
When Bill Brady Jr. visited the set on the second day of Hump’s tenure as director, he immediately fell in love with Arline Pretty, launching a hot, torrid affair that lasted exactly three days, until Nita Naldi reported for work. Bill immediately dumped Arline and chased after Naldi. Hump called his friend a “lovesick pup,” while denying that he was attracted to Naldi himself. Actually he wanted her and was jealous of Bill for capturing her so soon.
The witty and glamorous Naldi was Hump’s first experience with a screen vamp. Ironically, like Alice Brady herself, Naldi had been raised in a convent in New Jersey, where the Mother Superior happened to be her great-aunt. For someone with such a sheltered background, Hump thought Naldi had “street smarts.” On the first day of shooting, Naldi informed her young director, “Even though I’m supposed to be a vamp in this pisser of a flick, I don’t want to be photographed looking like Theda Bara buried for two-thousand years and just dug up.”
After five days of filming, Bill invited Hump to join him after work at a speakeasy in Fort Lee for a private conversation. “I’m in love with Nita and she’s in love with herself. I’m having the time of my life, but she says we can’t go on unless you get involved.”
“What in hell does that mean?” Hump asked.
“She wants you to join us in bed. Otherwise, it’s no dice.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Hump said.
“C’mon,” Bill urged. “It’s not like we haven’t known each other real intimate like. We already know that both of us are made of sugar and spice.”
Hump didn’t hesitate for long. A few drinks of bootleg gin lowered his inhibitions. He desperately wanted to seduce Naldi. Figuring if this was his only chance, and considering that Bill was such a close friend, he agreed to meet that night in Naldi’s hotel room.
For the next ten days, shooting on Life slowed down considerably, as Bill, Naldi, and Hump spent as much as two hours a day in her makeshift dressing room. For reasons of her own, Naldi could no longer see either man at night.
She’d later confess to her Hollywood comrade and sometimes lover, Natacha Rambova, the second wife of Rudolph Valentino, that she’d let Bill get on her first before allowing Hump to mount her. “I wouldn’t let either of them stay on long. When they started getting too excited, I’d make one get off and the other get on. I’d string this out for a long time before letting them have their well-earned climaxes. No woman in New York was more sexually fulfilled than I was.”
Born Donna Dooley in New York City two years before Hump, Nita Naldi was the first of many screen vamps Hump would seduce. Fresh from the convent, she’d acquired an immediate job as a clothes model at $15 a week before joining the chorus line at the Winter Garden’s Century Roof.
Hump might have fallen for Naldi, but the male star of the film, Rod La Rocque, had fallen for his director.
Born in Chicago of an Irish mother and a French father, Rod had played mainly “boy parts,” often at a dollar a performance, before Brady Sr. cast him in Life. At the time he met Hump, he was living at a local YMCA with another aspiring actor, Ralph Graves. A closeted homosexual, known for his good looks, elegant profile, and—years later—for a real-estate fortune he developed by buying up then-undesirable California real estate, Rod quickly became a factor in young Hump’s life. La Rocque had already appeared in a Brady theatrical production, Up the Ladder, with Brady’s daughter, Alice. The play had bombed, but Brady Sr. was sufficiently impressed with the actor to give him a chance on film.
As Hump tried to direct Rod, the male star of the film had eyes only for Hump and not the camera. Rod even suggested that Hump direct him privately so he’d know how to play his love scenes with Nita Naldi. “I can play Naldi’s part and you can be me in the love scenes.”
Fellow sailors during his military duty had
put the make on Hump, but he’d never been pursued by a homosexual as aggressively as he was chased by La Rocque.
“The fucker even sends me roses and buys me chocolates,” Hump confessed to Bill. “Like I’m his best dame or something. He begs me to go out with him. I’m too nice a guy to punch him out. Besides, he’s the star of my picture, and I don’t want to mess up his face.”
Hump didn’t become La Rocque’s lover but offered some good professional advice when the actor came to him to discuss screen billings. “Here is my choice of names,” La Rocque said. He’d written down suggestions for screen credit on a piece of paper which he handed to Hump.
Roderick La Rock. Rodney La Rock. Roderick La Rocque. Rodney LaRocque or Rod LaRocque. Hump studied the sheet, then wrote, “None of the above. Make it Rod La Rocque. It’s catchy.”
When Brady Sr. back in New York saw the first footage of Life directed by Hump, he was horrified. In several scenes, the drunken cameraman had actually put Hump into the frame, frantically directing his players. “The fucking director is being photographed directing,” Brady screamed out in his office.
The news that came in that day was even worse. Two of Life’s bit players filmed in a speeding car were supposed to be fighting for control of the steering wheel as the vehicle raced toward a stone wall. Hump had instructed the actors, Betty Furnall and Adolf Brunnen, to wait for a signal from him, at which point they were to swerve the car out of harm’s way, avoiding the wall. Hump miscalculated.
When he finally signaled, the car had gone beyond the point of no return. It crashed into the wall, and an ambulance was summoned to take the two victims to a hospital. Although injured, they survived the crash and lived to send Brady their medical bills.
The next day Brady drove over to Fort Lee and personally fired Hump, taking over as director himself.
That same day, Nita Naldi informed both Bill and Hump that she couldn’t see them any more. While dancing at the Winter Garden in the chorus, she’d been spotted by none other than John Barrymore. She claimed that he had fallen in love with her and was going to cast her opposite him in his flicker, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
Humphrey Bogart Page 7