Merv Griffin- A Life in the Closet

by Darwin Porter

  Just when Merv thought his film career had come to a grinding and permanent halt, Rosemary Clooney arrived at his doorstep with big news. She'd been cast in the film Red Garters, to be directed by George Marshall, and she'd be appearing opposite veteran actor Jack Carson, who'd be playing the male lead. “The third lead, the character of Reb Randall, is ideal for you Merv, and George has agreed to test you for the part,” Rosemary said. “You ride into town—a singing cowboy like Roy Rogers—chasing the villain who murdered your brother.”

  “Hell's bells,” Merv said, “I have to ride a horse? When Guy Mitchell and I used to go riding, I was always falling off.”

  “Oh, you just did that so he'd pick you up in his manly arms,” she said. “You'll get to sing, baby, so don't worry about it. It's more of a musical than it is a Western. George thinks it'll photograph like a Broadway musical filmed in a theater. We'll do a number together.”

  “Will I get to wear a red garter?” Merv jokingly asked.

  “No, but Edith Head is designing one just for me, sweetie,” she said.

  Each of Merv's friends predicted that Red Garters might do for him what So This Is Love with Kathryn Grayson didn't do—and that was to make him a star.

  The director of Red Garters, George Marshall, gave Merv a screen test and concluded that he'd be ideal as the third lead. “All my disappointments have been worth the wait,” he said in a phone call to Rosemary that night. He later told his friends, “I'm on my way up. You guys brought me luck. Stick around forever.”

  There was one nagging fear he had, although at the time he didn't share it with anyone. Red Garters was to be shot on the Paramount lot, where Barney Balaban still yielded great power. The studio honcho would have to approve Merv's contract, and he knew that Barney absolutely loathed him because of memories associated with his attempt to elope with his daughter, Judy.

  Bullets Durgom, Merv's agent, was a good friend of Barney's and was convinced that he could talk the executive into signing Merv. “After all, Judy is happily married now. I bet he's forgotten all about it.”

  On the following afternoon, Bullets phoned Merv. “Barney's memory is long,” he said. “His exact words were, ‘Merv Griffin will never set foot on the Paramount lot as long as I'm around.’”

  “Oh, shit!” Merv said, “my losing streak goes on and on. That really pisses me off. Who's getting the damn part. Gordon MacRae no doubt?”

  “That singer, Guy Mitchell,” Bullets said.

  “I met him years ago and should have figured that he and I might be competing for the same role one day,” Merv said. Later that night he called Rosemary. “How are you and Jose doing tonight?”

  “Just sitting here all by my lonesome,” she said. “Mr. Ferrer is out tonight fucking June Allyson. How you doing?”

  “Crying in my beer,” he said. “Thanks for all you did for me, but losing that part to Guy hurts like hell. Why did they have to cast my former lover in my part? That's salt on my wound.”

  “It's called show business and get used to it,” she said. “I did what I could for you. I'm sure you'll get another part—an even bigger one—and soon.”

  “What are the Las Vegas odds on that?” he asked. “I'm not giving up, but I'm getting the hell out of this town as soon as I can. New York here I come.”

  “There's another side to show business,” she said. “Just when you think you'll never work again, the phone rings with the break of your life. Just ask your buddy, Judy Garland.”

  Rosemary was a prophet. The very next afternoon, Bullets called him. Knowing how disappointed he was at losing the role in Red Garters, he'd come up with another part for him, that of the ensign, Willie Keith, in The Caine Mutiny, which Stanley Kramer was going to direct at Columbia.

  “I'll take it!” Merv shouted into the phone.

  “There's just one thing,” Bullets said. “How shapely are your legs?”

  “They're not like Betty Grable's,” he said, “but I can walk on them.”

  “In one scene you've got to strip to your underwear, and there's a closeup of your legs.”

  “I can do that,” Merv said, “providing the closeup is of my legs and nothing else.”

  Bullets promised to send the script over in three days. That night Merv boasted about his upcoming involvement in the film to his houseguests. As a diversion that evening, each of them piled into Johnny's yellow convertible and drove to a dingy little club in West Hollywood where Rosemary had secured a gig for Bill. That evening Merv was vastly entertained watching Bill impersonate Judy Garland, Peggy Lee, and Carol Channing, with only fifteen minutes to transform himself between the various impersonations.

  A few afternoons later, after returning from a privately negotiated tryst with Henry Willson, Paul showed up at Merv's apartment looking bedraggled. “I did it!” he shouted at Merv and his friends. “I survived a night with that lecherous beast without throwing up. He started by slobbering in my ears and ending up sucking my toes. He must have wasted a gallon of spit on me. I have to get rid of all that slime.” On the way to the bathroom, he called back to Merv, “If anyone asks, my new name is Lance Hart. Henry Willson renamed me. He's going to make me the next Rock Hudson.”

  When the script of The Caine Mutiny arrived, Merv tore the package open and feverishly read it before getting up off the sofa. He wasn't sure which role Jose Ferrer was going to play but the part of the ensign was a small one. Yet he felt it could be a careermaker. Hours later, when he was playing tennis with Howard Hughes, he told him of his lucky break, hoping Howard might use his influence to guarantee him the part.

  Howard seemed familiar with the script and urged Merv to go for it. “You can't be doing voice-overs all your life,” Howard warned him. That made Merv wonder why Howard hadn't gotten him cast into something before now. After all, he owned a studio.

  After a game of tennis, a sweaty Howard rather nonchalantly asked Merv, “Do you have a copy of the script?”

  “Right by my bedside,” Merv said. “It's pretty dogeared by now.”

  “There's a great kid in town I want you to meet,” Howard said. “Robert Francis. I'm teaching him to fly. He's probably the bestlooking piece of meat to hit Hollywood since Jack Buetel.” He was referring to Jane Russell's costar in The Outlaw. “Mind if I give him your number and have him give you a call?”

  “Are you setting me up, Howard?” Merv asked.

  “In this case, let nature take its course.”

  Merv returned home to hear his phone virtually ringing off the wall. Picking up the receiver, he heard, “Merv Griffin, this is Robert Francis.” The voice sounded seductive. “I've been dying to meet you.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Merv said, a bit cautious. “Howard mentioned that you might call, but I didn't expect it so soon.”

  “I couldn't wait,” Robert said. “I want to see you. I'm sitting out here on my sundeck putting oil on the biggest hardon of my career.”

  “That sounds exciting,” Merv said. “I'm busy this afternoon but call me the next time you get out that oil.”

  “How about tonight?” Robert asked. “Have you got a date?”

  “Not exactly a date,” Merv said. “I'm joining friends for a drink.”

  “Great!” Robert said. “Then I'll be your date. If I show up at eight, is that okay? I know where you live. I drove by your house three times today.”

  “Yeah, I guess it'll be okay,” Merv said. “I'll be ready and waiting.” As he hung up, he had an ominous feeling. If Robert Francis was as good-looking as Howard had promised, no gay man would turn him down. On the other hand, he seemed a little too aggressive for Merv's tastes. But he figured that if he didn't click with Robert, perhaps Johnny, Paul, or Bill might.

  Robert Francis

  After notifying his friends that his date would be joining them for the evening, Merv found himself taking extra care to make himself as attractive as possible. Almost exactly at eight o'clock, the doorbell rang. Nervously, Merv opened the door.

  In
a pair of white slacks and a white shirt that was unbuttoned to reveal his chest was a stunning looking man. “Hi, I'm Robert Francis. You must be Merv Griffin. Or, am I dreaming?”

  As Merv later described it to Johnny, “There, right before my eyes, was the man I'd been waiting for all my life.”

  ***

  Cleancut and All-American looking, Robert Francis had a swimmer's build and a fashionable 50s brushcut. Before he'd arrived at the Griffin household, Merv had already called Henry Willson for the low-down on this rising star.

  It was Henry who'd introduced Robert to Howard Hughes at one of his pool parties. “Robert's going to be one of the biggest stars in Hollywood,” Henry predicted. “After all, Humphrey Bogart, Tyrone Power, Errol Flynn, and especially Bogie remind a lot of gay men of their daddies. I've got to recruit hot new guys to replace these old farts. Robert represents the brash new face of the 50s. The gals will go wild for him, not to mention some of us guys. I still haven't bedded him, but Howard raves about his performances after dark.”

  Up close and personal in Merv's living room, Robert was soft spoken, not like the aggressive personality Merv had heard over the phone. A native Californian from Glendale, he was gorgeous but wooden in his movements, a trait Merv considered ideal for military roles. Robert's good looks and warm, engaging nature won over Merv's friends as well as Merv himself. Once again Merv and his boys, this time accompanied by Robert, piled into Johnny's yellow convertible to see Bill's second and final drag appearance at that West Hollywood dive.

  As an added bonus that evening, the club was also conducting an amateur allmale striptease. Merv was surprised when Robert volunteered as one of the contestants. The young actor seemed to have two sides to him—one of them rather reserved, the other with a streak of aggressive exhibitionism. Onstage, in front of the allmale audience, Robert began one of the most erotic and provocative stripteases that Merv had ever seen, not that he'd seen that many.

  Under the glare of a spotlight, against a background of catcalls and screams of approval, Robert's personality seemed to radically change. He slowly removed his coat, his tie, his shoes, and his pants, revealing a tightfitting pair of underwear with a promising bulge, beating the other men competing that night and walking off with first prize.

  After Merv and Robert retreated to the privacy of Merv's bedroom later that evening, Merv learned just how promising that bulge really was. As he'd later confide to Paul, “Until I met Robert, men were mere boyfriends. Robert Francis, however, is husband material.”

  “Merv, you darling!” Bill said. “You have an endearing ability to fall in love with a guy after less than five seconds. It takes me at least an hour.”

  When Merv woke up the following day, he sleepily felt for Robert in bed, finding him missing. He eventually located Robert beside his pool reading the film script for The Caine Mutiny. “I hope you don't mind,” Robert said, jumping up to give Merv a kiss. “I woke up early and wanted something to read.”

  “Feel free,” Merv said. “My agent's getting me the role of Willie Keith.”

  “I've read that part,” Robert said. “I bet you'll be terrific in it.”

  Merv spent most of that day in bed with Robert. As he later confessed to Bill, “Robert and I made love again and then made love again and then again. For me, it was a world record.”

  “Can I be a bridesmaid at the wedding?” Bill asked.

  “What else?”

  After a second night of passion, Merv woke up on Monday morning, reaching once again for Robert, but finding him gone, as before. Since he figured his new boyfriend was an early riser, he was not unduly alarmed. He took a leisurely shower and tried to spruce up his face, as he looked bedraggled after the weekend workouts. He put on coffee and, with two steaming cups on a bar tray, he headed for the pool where he expected to encounter “the new love of my life.” Robert was nowhere to be seen.

  A search of the house revealed no one—not even a note. Even a peek into the guest room turned up only Bill and Paul still asleep. Outside, Robert's car was missing from the driveway.

  Settling in for the morning, Merv decided to read the script of The Caine Mutiny one more time. He searched for it but couldn't find it, even though he distinctly remembered placing it on his nightstand after Robert had finished going over it. A slight apprehension came over him. Had Robert taken the script?

  By early afternoon, even though Merv had heard from Johnny, who was off in Laguna shacked up with a new conquest, Robert still hadn't called.

  The next day Merv called Bullets, his agent, to report on the missing script and to ask if he'd arranged his screen test for The Caine Mutiny.

  “Sorry, but I just learned that the role's already been cast,” Bullets said. “I was about to call you. Van Johnson's been signed for one of the leads, and he's promoting this handsome young actor for the role of the ensign. Van got him a screen test, and he's got the part.”

  “Let me guess,” Merv said. “Could that young actor be Robert Francis?”

  “So, you've already heard?” Bullets asked.

  “Yeah, something like that,” Merv said, suspecting that Howard Hughes—not Van Johnson—had been instrumental in Robert's getting cast.

  When The Caine Mutiny was finally released, both Merv and Rock Hudson agreed that Robert was a striking screen presence within it. Rock, in fact, viewed him as future competition, and Merv conceded that Robert had photographed beautifully and sexily, especially in that scene when he'd pulled off his sailor pants to reveal his shapely masculine legs.

  Merv never encountered Robert again, although he heard he was being pursued by Spencer Tracy on the set of Tribute to a Bad Man. Despite feeling betrayed by the young actor, Merv was still saddened to hear that on July 31, 1955, his weekend lover had been killed when the small aircraft he was piloting crashed after takeoff from the Burbank Airport. The plane had suddenly lost power and exploded upon violent impact in an abandoned parking lot.

  Merv skipped the funeral which was conducted two days later at Forest Lawn Cemetery, but showed up with Bill Robbins the following day with flowers for Robert's grave. “No hard feelings, old pal,” Merv said to the newly dug grave. “You were great in The Caine Mutiny. Better than I could have done it. You could have been big in this rotten town.” Just prior to his death, Robert had been voted one of Screen World 's “Most Promising Personalities of 1954.”

  ***

  When Johnny finally returned from his adventures in Laguna, he had to drive immediately to San Francisco after packing his clothes. There was no time to see Merv. “For your hospitality, I've left you a housewarming present,” he told Merv in a call to the studio. “You'll find it in your bed with a red ribbon tied around it. Your surprise is waiting but you've got to enter the room exactly at six o'clock. The gift is perishable and has to be eaten at once.”

  “Okay, I'll be there,” Merv promised. “Exactly at six. Perishable? Exactly what is this gift? A banana split?”

  “Something bigger and tastier,” Johnny promised before ringing off.

  Keeping his word, Merv arrived home right at six. Finding no one in his living room, he headed for his bedroom and threw open the door to discover his surprise.

  There lying in the middle of his bed was a goodlooking blondhaired young man with a Davidesque physique. Like Johnny had promised, a red ribbon had been tied around Merv's gift, which in this case was a humongous erection.

  In a seductive voice, the stranger said, “Hi, I'm Hadley Morrell—your new livein lover.”

  ***

  In the dawn light of another day, Merv studied Hadley's body as he lay nude on top of the sheets. His frame was long, lean, and well muscled without being of the beefcake “Henry Willson” variety. There was a gracefulness and undeniable masculinity to Hadley, as evoked by his strong chest, long arms and legs, and trim waist. To Merv, he was like some blond Olympian. He exuded sexuality.

  Merv attempted to get to know Hadley better, since he showed no apparent willingne
ss to leave. It just seemed to be assumed that after such a great night in bed, Hadley would be moving in. Merv wasn't even sure at that point that he wanted a livein lover, and there was a slight resentment that his life was being directed by Hadley and, from afar, by Johnny Riley, who had instigated this setup in the first place.

  As Hadley ate, he looked over at Merv's poolhouse. “While you were cooking, I checked that place out,” he said. “It would make a great little livein suite. An extra bedroom if you have company. I'd like to renovate it for you. After all, I've got to do something around here while you're away making movies.”

  “So you're good with your hands?” Merv said, suddenly realizing the implication of what he'd just said. “And I'm not referring to last night.”

  Merv's attempt to learn the details of Hadley's past failed that morning as well as during the days and nights to come. Hadley was almost obstinately vague about what he'd done during the first twentynine years of his life. He said he was from Minnesota, but at one point, Merv suspected that despite the fact that he spoke perfect English, he might be foreignborn, perhaps from Holland. Merv wasn't even sure that Hadley was his real name. Merv was left with the distinct impression that Hadley was running away from something.

  In spite of these misgivings, erotic sensuality won out. Hadley, based on an unexpressed but mutual consent, was definitely moving in on Merv. What was agreed upon for the immediate present, however, was that since there was no work for Merv at the studio that week, Merv would drive with Hadley down to Laguna Beach to retrieve his meager possessions. They were stashed in a room at the motel where he'd previously been shacked up with Johnny Riley. With the understanding that Merv and Hadley would spend a few days together at the beach, they headed south in Merv's car.

  With Merv at the wheel, they drove along the coast under a sky that shone brightly over deep blue Pacific waters. It was just assumed that from now on Merv would be paying Hadley's bills. He brought fabulous sex to the relationship, but not a bank account.