Merv suffered through the screen test with Phyllis, who proved competent in front of the camera, although it was obvious she had no great love affair with the lens the way Marilyn Monroe did. He thought Phyllis had about as much talent as Nancy Davis (Reagan), no great compliment. On screen, he sang, “I Don't Want to Walk Without You.” It was not one of his best numbers and did not really showcase his singing talent.
Despite Merv's misgivings, Warners signed him to a contract at $250 a week after seeing the test. However, Jack Warner insisted that he change his name to Mark Griffin. “Merv sounds like a little old Jewish shopkeeper with a fat wife at home.”
“I'm sticking with Merv,” he stubbornly maintained. “I was named after my father, and it would be insulting to him to change it.”
Jack Warner could have torn up the contract right at that point. But instead he invited Merv to come over to his home that Sunday afternoon. “Maybe we'll play a game of tennis.”
The night after his screen test, Merv drove with Roddy to Rock Hudson's house for an allmale party. Tom Drake was in the back seat sulking, having complained earlier that Merv was not showing him enough attention. Merv secretly suspected that Tom was still daydreaming that he'd get Peter Lawford back.
At the party, both Roddy and Rock once again urged Merv to be seen in public with starlets, getting his picture taken with “arm candy.”
“Those rumors about you being queer are all over town,” Rock warned him. “That's why I date Vera-Ellen. You don't want to end up on the front page of Confidential.”
Roddy joined Rock in urging Merv to publicly date women, and he looked over at a pouting Tom. “When you dump your date back at her door, you can always hurry home to Tom here. He'll be keeping the bed warm for you.” Tom continued to sulk throughout the party.
Reluctantly, Merv called Phyllis the next day and asked her out on a date. She told him, “I'm very busy. Lots of appointments. But I'll try to work you in Thursday night.”
From that unpromising beginning, Merv and Phyllis began to be seen all over town. “That gal had more appointments and more invitations than the Queen of England,” he later said. “She was always rushing here, running there, and some of those appointments called for a male escort. That's where I came in.”
Merv told Roddy that after three weeks of steady dating, all he'd done romantically with Phyllis was kiss her lightly on the lips at her doorstep. For publicity purposes, and without consulting him, she began to play up their dating as a big romance. She'd even vaguely hinted to gossip maven Louella Parsons that “marriage might be around the corner, though there's nothing official yet.”
Merv shuddered when he heard this, as he had no intention of marrying Phyllis, or any other woman at that point in his life.
One night he invited her to an Italian restaurant, Dominick's. When he picked her up at her house, he knew something was seriously wrong. She almost didn't speak to him as he drove her to the restaurant. She was mad at him, and he had no idea why.
Over dinner, and to rescue the evening, he tried to get her to talk about herself, knowing that few ambitious young actresses could resist that temptation.
“You know,” he said, “I've been hearing all this talk about us, and it occurred to me that I know almost nothing about you.”
She addressed him as if talking to a newspaper reporter about her life. “My parents were Danish. I grew up in Syracuse, New York, as Phyllis Kirkegaard. I had several jobs slinging hash and once I sold perfume at a counter in a department store. I later became a model while studying acting under Sanford Meisner, a great coach. He helped me get cast in a Broadway play in 1949. I played a French maid opposite Jean-Pierre Aumont, who seduced me both on and off the stage.”
She claimed that a talent scout had discovered her, which led to her going to Hollywood and signing a contract with Samuel Goldwyn, who'd cast her in Our Very Own.” Goldwyn lent me out to MGM but didn't renew my contract,” she said. “That's how I ended up at Warners.”
The rest of their short evening was devoted to talking about her upcoming film. She'd been cast opposite Vincent Price, who played a maniac sculptor in House of Wax (1953).
She told Merv she'd been given the female lead, playing a character originally created by Fay Wray in the 1933 Mystery of the Wax Museum. “I'm being forced to do the role, but I don't want to become another Fay Wray. Hell, they'll remake King Kong with me doing love scenes with a big, hairy gorilla.”
The film was to be shot in the revolutionary 3D, which Warners was hoping would bring hordes back into movie theaters. “As far as I'm concerned,” she said, “3D is just a gimmick. I don't want to appear in a film that uses a gimmick to lure audiences in.”
Years later she told a reporter, “I hated it when I was cast in House of Wax, although Vincent Price turned out to be a delight. The irony of it all is that throughout the rest of my life, this is the one film I am remembered for.”
Merv listened patiently to her brief resumé, but still wanted to know why she was mad at him. He decided to be blunt and ask. “Just why are you pissed off at me?”
“With stardom on the way, I've got to think of my career and who I'm seen out with. A scandal could wreck my plans.”
“What sort of scandal?” he asked, growing uncomfortable. “I mean, we haven't even gone to bed with each other. How could I knock you up?”
“I'll be frank,” she said, sliding slightly away from him on the red leather upholstery. “I learned some disturbing news about you today. I won't tell you from whom. But I've got to ask you a question. Are you a homosexual?”
He looked flabbergasted, putting down his fork. “I definitely am not, and I resent such a question. I don't know what asshole told you that.”
“Were you the lover of Roddy McDowall in New York, and are you the lover of Tom Drake here in Hollywood?”
“We're just good friends,” he said, acutely embarrassed. He'd never been confronted with such a question from a woman before.
“I was told that you're dating me just to get publicity for yourself,” she charged. “To fool the public into thinking you're straight. One of those Tab Hunter/Debbie Reynolds things.”
“That's not true!”
“Then what are your intentions?” she asked. “Do you plan to marry me?”
“Well … marriage is something I haven't thought about. I think we should just continue dating like we've been and see what happens.”
Suddenly, she stood up, flashing anger. “You're using me. I was falling in love with you until I learned the truth about you today. You're lying to me right now. You are a homosexual. I refuse to be a part of your sick publicity campaign to fool your public.” She picked up her platter of spaghetti and tossed it over his head before storming out of the restaurant.
The many witnesses in the restaurant, fellow diners, spread word of this confrontation around Hollywood. Merv attempted a coverup, claiming that Phyllis had discovered that he'd been seeing another woman.
In his memoirs, Merv came up with a completely different story. He claimed that Phyllis was always talking about her busy schedule, and that she carried an appointment book around with her at all times. At one point during their dinner, Merv allegedly told her, “Now, you're not going to read me all your appointments, are you?” He falsely maintained that it was because of that question that she picked up that platter of spaghetti and dumped it over his head.
***
Despite that episode, Merv did not hold a grudge against Phyllis and would occasionally encounter her on friendly terms in their future. He applauded her success when she was cast as Nora Charles opposite his friend, Peter Lawford, in the hit TV series, The Thin Man, which ran for three years (195759). Privately Merv confided to Peter, “Let's face it: Phyllis is no Myrna Loy.” Merv might also have said that Peter was no William Powell.
Years later, Merv was saddened to learn that Phyllis had to abandon her film career. As a child she'd battled polio, and throughout the rest of her li
fe, had trouble walking. During the early 1970s, she fell and broke her hip, which deteriorated even further her ability to walk without limping. Partly because of her walk, directors would no longer hire her.
During her final years — she died in 2006 — Merv noticed that Phyllis was no longer as selfenchanted, and that she devoted much of her time to liberal causes under the banner of the American Civil Liberties Union. As he migrated more and more to the right, she went left. They especially differed in their beliefs about capital punishment, which he favored and which she adamantly opposed.
After Phyllis's break from Merv, he began to date Rita Farrell, a performer he'd met when he was appearing with the Freddy Martin Orchestra. Vivacious and irreverent, she appealed to him as a “fun gal” to date. They were seen around town together, and she later joined his act when he was booked for singing gigs by his agent. Rita and Merv made appearances together in Chicago, Houston, Reno, and even at a church benefit in Hartford, Connecticut.
Once Merv and Rita appeared on CBS's “The Jane Froman Show,” singing “I Like the Look of You” with the fabled host of the show. Jane had been the subject of a hit movie, With a Song in My Heart (1952), starring Susan Hayward.
Romantically, Merv never took Rita seriously. She became another one of his “gal pals.”
Merv was just filling in his time before he was cast in his first big musical at Warners. Bill Orr called him and told him that “it was almost certain that he was going to appear with Doris Day in her next picture, Lucky Me, the first Cinema-Scope musical. Phil Silvers, whom Merv had met through Tallulah in New York, had already been signed, as had Eddie Foy Jr. and Nancy Walker. One day on the Warners lot, Merv was introduced to actress Martha Hyer who had also signed to do the picture. A blonde, she was furious that the studio was going to force her to dye her hair red so as not to conflict with the blonde tresses of Doris herself.
Merv's hopes for his first big chance on the screen collapsed when the upcoming director of Lucky Me, Jack Donohue, saw Merv's screen test. “The kid's out of the picture,” Donohue said. “Christ, he photographs like he's nineteen. Doris will look like his mother.” The director cast Robert Cummings in the part instead, liking his “everyman appeal” and his bright speaking voice.
“Lucky Me, indeed!” Merv said. Despite the rejection, he added the song to his repertoire of night club standards. During his solo appearances, he'd warble: “Lucky me! Down the fourleaf clover highway, all the signs are pointing my way.”
Just when he began to think he'd never be cast in any film, Bill Orr called with good news. Lucky Me had been postponed, and Doris was going to film By the Light of the Silvery Moon (1953) instead. She had seen his screen test, and thought he'd be ideal playing opposite her as her romantic interest. “She didn't think you looked too young at all — she thought you were just right,” Bill assured Merv. Not only that, but she'd invited him for a facetoface in her dressing room the following afternoon.
“I felt like I was the King of Hollywood that night,” Merv said, “Bigger than Clark Gable. A better singer than Bing Crosby. The only thing I feared at Warners was running into Gordon MacRae. He was liable to make mincemeat of me when he learned that I'd replaced him opposite Doris.”
As Merv later recalled, “And then who did I run into that very night at a Hollywood party?”
***
Bill Orr and his wife Joy were throwing a party at their house for some of the employees of Warners. The gathering was mainly for the behindthecamera staff. At the party, Merv presumably would be meeting the technicians he'd be working with when he became the leading man opposite Doris.
“I invited the big diva stars but when they heard it was mostly for technicians, they cabled their regrets,” Bill told Merv over the phone. “Doris is too busy to attend, and Miss Joan Crawford has a headache. Actually, I know for a fact that she plans to spend the evening fucking Steve Cochran.”
Before putting down the phone, Bill gave a stern warning to Merv. “The invitation is only for yourself. Don't bring Tom Drake. I figured the best way for you to meet your fellow coworkers is to sing to them. I'll have the piano ready. About five numbers should do just fine. Oh, yes, and don't forget the Coconuts ditty.”
As Merv put down the phone, he was stunned with the realization that Bill knew about his affair with Tom. He called Tom to tell him that he was deliberately not invited to the party. In anger, Tom said, “Accept one of those singforyoursupper invitations if you must. At least you'll provide the evening's free entertainment. Jack Warner pulls those stunts all the time, even getting Judy Garland to sing at his private parties.”
At the Orr house, Sammy Cahn, the lyricist and songwriter, befriended Merv. Merv was impressed with Sammy's previous output of Broadway songs, and the fact that both Frank Sinatra and Doris Day had recorded many of them, sometimes transforming them into hits. Sammy welcomed Merv to Hollywood and exchanged stories with him about working with the big bands.
Sammy was very interested to hear that plans were being activated for Merv to replace Gordon MacRae. “For all I know, if this changeover occurs, you and Doris might be recording my next big hit.” In 1948 Doris had introduced “It's Magic” in her film, Romance on the High Seas, and in 1949 she'd performed the same honor for Sammy's hit, “It's a Great Feeling” in the movie of the same name.
Merv was anxious to get to know Sammy and become his friend. The lyricist had been born of Jewish immigrants from Poland and grew up on Manhattan's Lower East Side, but Merv believed that Sammy had amazingly captured the essence of American romanticism. He just knew that if he could convince Sammy to write a song for him, he might have another hit, even bigger than Coconuts.
“Ever since I was 13 and saw my mother pay the musicians at my bar mitzvah, I realized there was money to be made in producing music,” Sammy told Merv.
“Don't you have another one of those Yiddish songs your mother taught you that you could adapt for me?” Merv bluntly asked. He was no doubt referring to a specialty number, “Bei Mir Bist Du Schon” (“Means That You're Grand”). The song sold more than a million copies for The Andrew Sisters.
“No Yiddish,” Sammy said, “but I do have a song for you that I think could be a big hit. It's called ‘Three Coins in the Fountain.’”
“Could I hear it?” Merv eagerly asked.
“I'm still working on it,” Sammy said. “But drop by my house late tomorrow afternoon, and let me hear you sing it for me … at least what I've written of it so far.”
Merv showed up the following afternoon, and thought “Three Coins in the Fountain” was one of the most romantic ballads he'd ever heard. He also learned that Jule Styne was working on the song with Sammy. After Merv sang for Sammy, the lyricist said, “We've got a hit. You were great!”
To Merv's great disappointment, he later read in the trade papers that Frank Sinatra had signed to record Three Coins, and that Frank would introduce it in the film of the same name. Three Coins in the Fountain eventually won an Academy Award. “If only it had been me,” Merv told Tom Drake. “I dropped my coin in that fountain, but I came up emptyhanded. That fucking Sinatra. All songwriters give him their best material first.”
“Welcome to Hollywood,” Tom said. “At MGM my case was even worse. Louis B. Mayer gave Peter Lawford, my lover, all the parts I wanted to play.”
Back at the Orr party, Merv diverted his eyes from Sammy to see Gordon MacRae approaching. This was the moment he'd been dreading. He didn't know if Gordon had heard that he was going to be Doris Day's new leading man.
During their brief talk, Gordon gave no indication that he viewed Merv as a rival. Maybe he hadn't heard the gossip going around the Warner lot.
“So, what brings you to Hollywood?” Gordon asked with such innocence that Merv thought he might not have heard about what he'd just signed with Jack Warner.
“Don't you know?” Sammy asked. “Merv's in town to replace you in Doris's next picture.”
Gordon looked startled before
turning and walking away.
No sooner had Gordon left than Bill Orr approached Merv, telling him it was time to start singing. All the guests were assembling around the piano in the Orr's spacious living room. Before coming to the party, Bill had sent over the music and lyrics for five songs that Gordon had already recorded.
Merv had expected to sing them out of earshot of the star himself. He whispered to Bill that he wanted to change the music, but Bill practically pushed him into the spotlight, telling Merv that it was too late for that since he'd also hired five Warners musicians to accompany him.
Public and private views of
Gordon MacRae
Fearing disaster, and with knees knocking, Merv entered the room and headed for the piano. He scanned the room but saw no sign of Gordon. Maybe, he thought, the Gods were merciful and the angry Gordon had gone home.
No such luck. After Bill introduced Merv to mild applause, Merv began to sing the first lines of “On Moonlight Bay.” Suddenly, Gordon mysteriously appeared through the sliding glass doors from the garden. He took the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, I met Merv earlier this evening. He told me he wasn't in good voice tonight. So why not hear these songs from the star who originally recorded them?”
Humiliated and embarrassed, Merv was virtually shoved from the piano as Gordon launched into the song himself. Frank Sinatra had humiliated him in a similar way at the Cocoanut Grove.
Unknown to Merv at the moment, Judy Garland, late as usual, had entered the living room. Even though she'd married Sid Luft a few months ago, her husband was nowhere to be seen. Judy was accompanied by Peter Lawford.
Almost for protection, Merv gravitated to their side. Both Peter and Judy kissed him on the lips as Gordon finished his first number. Merv told Judy what had happened. Saying nothing, she kissed him once again for reassurance.
Merv Griffin- A Life in the Closet Page 18