by Cole Porter
DEAR HEDDA. SOMEBODY GAVE YOU AN AWFUL LOT OF WRONG DOPE. I AM NOT OUT OF THE HOSPITAL. I AM NOT GOING FOR A WEEK WITH LINDA TO OUR UPSTATE HOME. I DO NOT RETURN TO HOLLYWOOD IN MARCH. JACK WARNER DID NOT BEG ME TO DO ANOTHER PICTURE. I BEGGED HIM. LOVE TO YOU AND YOUR HAT=COLE
Hopper was not the only one spreading rumours. Less than a month later, on 14 February, Jack Warner wrote to Porter: ‘The statement by Dan Walker§ that we are giving up your picture Night and Day because of lack of drama, comes under the heading of the statement by that great American who said “The story of my demise is greatly exaggerated.”* We are starting picture April 30th. It will be in technicolor† and more enthused about it than ever.’ The same day that Porter wrote to Hopper, he continued his correspondence concerning Night and Day:
16 January 1945: Cole Porter to Arthur Schwartz6
Dear Arthur:
I enclose a letter from Babe Pearce. He used to be Bob Alton’s assistant. Later Fred Astaire found him so excellent in dance routines that he had Babe help him on all his own dances.‡ He is an excellent man and I highly recommend him.
Have written to him that I had sent this letter to you for attention.
All my best,
[unsigned]
Porter had another stint at the Doctors Hospital in January 1945, writing to Sam Stark at the end of the month:
29 January 1945: Cole Porter to Sam Stark7
1/[‘30’ struck through and replaced above with:] 29/45 Docs Hosp.
Dear Sam – Enclosed 400 bucks to pay for diverse items. If this is not enough, demand mo’. If too much, credit me it. Leave Hosp tomorrow (30th)
All’s well.
As ever
(Ah loves yuh)
Cole Enema Potah
Linda Porter reported to William Skipper on 27 February: ‘Cole is back after his second trip to the hospital when they kept him for 10 days: – he “overdid” [it?] at the Waldorf. Saw too many people, answered too many phone calls etc etc – it was difficult to keep him quiet. He is far better, much less nervous and his leg is healing beautifully.’8 In the meantime, Arthur Schwartz, who was producing Night and Day, wrote to Porter concerning some delays and concerns Warner Bros. had with respect to the film:
It’s been a long time since I’ve written to you, and I hope you’ll forgive me. We’ve been having some difficulties, but they are practically all straightened out now. The main one was that the budget for the script you read was astronomical, and all of us were disturbed. Production costs these days are simply unbelievable, as you’ll realize when I tell you that the figure given us as an estimate for total cost was somewhere above $3,500,000.00, without Technicolor.
We have made some cuts in the script and score, and especially in the number of sets, and a revised budget is now being prepared. It should be ready in a few days.
At a long meeting last week, Jack Warner finally gave in to Curtiz and myself on Technicolor. We will have it. That is, unless Cary Grant refuses to give us a postponement of about four or five weeks to get the Technicolor cameras which are not available for the original date we planned. We are working on Cary and his agent now and feel practically certain Cary will go along with us. At this same meeting, Warner said he would allow us a budget of $2,800,000.00, which is, by a wide margin, the largest budget for any picture ever made at this studio.
I confess I’m a little frightened at making so costly a picture, because if we get released in a particularly bad time for business, we may just about break even. But even if we fortify ourselves with a perfect script, and all of the name personalities we are trying to sign, this is the kind of picture that should gross at least $5,000,000.00, domestically. That is, with business conditions around the country being normal, or slightly inflated, as now.
I am giving you all these figures in strictest confidence, Cole. You know how studios feel about having picture costs known by anybody. The fact that Warner is willing to go so far in expenditure assures another important thing: exhaustive exploitation when we get released.
Now that Technicolor seems assured, I am following up on Fred Astaire and Danny Kaye. I just spoke [to] Leland Hayward* a moment ago and he will help us set up the Astaire commitment. I called New York yesterday and spoke to Lou Mandel, the personal representative and lawyer for Danny Kaye,† to see if he could get Goldwyn to allow Danny to do the number without considering it the equivalent of Danny’s outside picture commitment. Do you possibly stand strongly enough with Goldwyn to go to bat for us if he turns it down?
The Mary Martin commitment seems fairly certain now because of her new arrangement with Paramount.‡
For the part of Carol, we have some hope of getting Ann Sheridan (with a dubbed voice). If she doesn’t want to play this small part, we would then go for Frances Langford or Ginny Simms, both of whom want the part very much.§
For the part of Gracie, we like Jane Wyman, who has a very good comedy sense and whose voice could be dubbed as well.¶
I still haven’t got a Gabrielle. The one who comes closest is a girl I haven’t seen, but who is in your show, “Mexican Hayride.” What do you think of Luba Malina? Her still photographs look very good, and I have a couple of home recordings of her voice, which is not bad. People who have seen the show tell me that she is inclined to get too broad.* I would take your opinion as a pretty good conclusion on whether she could do our part.9
A few days later, on 17 February, Schwartz wrote to Porter asking him to put ‘pressure’ on Danny Kaye to sign on to the film. According to a note at the bottom of this telegram, Porter called Schwartz to discuss the matter, adding that in future all telephone calls would be ‘charges reversed’, as they were otherwise too expensive.10
Rumours about Porter’s authorship of ‘Don’t Fence Me In’ also surfaced about this time:
23 March 1945: Cole Porter to Sam Stark11
Dear Sam:
I am feeling much better which is very dull news. I enclose a clipping from VARIETY which I thought might interest you.
The charminh [sic] group picture arrived and I believe I thanked you for it, but I don’t think you look thin at all. Seriously why don’t you settle down and try to get that great bulk off you before I arrive. All it takes is just a little will power.
That’s all, Mr. Gertzen. Goodbye and lot of love from Linda and me,
[signed:] Cole
P.S.
Regarding the article, you may not have heard that Winchell† wrote in his column that I had bought the entire song of DONT [sic] FENCE ME IN from Bob Fletcher. Later, Kate Smith made a broadcast in praise of the song and presented me with a watch. Winchell said that Fletcher had written to Kate Smith saying that if he could not have the money that I made on the song, that at least he deserved the watch. I got lawyers in and tracked the story down. Kate Smith never received a letter from Fletcher asking for the watch. On the other hand Fletcher has been charming about the whole matter. The man who gave Winchell the information which he published is . . . Curley Harris, a man who works for United Artists in New York and to whom Winchell pays $60.00 a week for dirt. This is the end of my story.*
[signed:] C
The article referred to by Porter – an explanation of the circumstances surrounding the writing of ‘Don’t Fence Me In’ and a defence of Porter – had been published in Variety the week before:
A compounding of misinformation has made the trade wonder what there is to the report that Cole Porter bought “Don’t Fence Me In” for $150. Adding some slight weight to the erroneous published statement is the fact that the cowboy song supposedly sounds so foreign to what is accepted to be Porter’s sophisticated songwriting style. All Porter did in 1934, was to buy the rights to a verse by a Montana farmer, titled “Don’t Fence Me In,” strictly at the behest of film producer Lou Brock. This was when Brock had Porter under contract to write a score for “Adios Argentina,” which he (Brock) later sold to 20th Century Fox but which the latter never produced. The Montanan, Fletcher by name, had mailed in this poem t
o Brock, who felt it had the germ for a song. Porter agreed and they paid $150 for the verses. As Herman Starr, head of the Warner Bros. music publishing interests put it, “No question but that Cole got the title from Fletcher and thus was inspired to the ‘flavor’ of the song, but ‘Don’t Fence Me In’ is of course 100% original in melody with Porter, as is the lyric. It’s true, however, that he not only got the title from Fletcher but also used a couple of his lines, but that’s nothing startling. Many a songwriter gets titles from books, plays, films, current phrases, anything of the moment. The only difference is that Porter paid for it.”12
The fabricated flap over the origins of ‘Don’t Fence Me In’ is symptomatic of a public interest concerning the source of Porter’s words and music more generally. Among numerous letters Porter wrote concerning his sources, his account of ‘Begin the Beguine’ is typical:
23 March 1945: Cole Porter to Frank O. Colby13
Dear Mr. Colby:
In answer to your very nice letter of March 14th, this is what I know about the word BEGUINE as I used it in my song BEGIN THE BEGUINE.*
I was living in Paris at the time and somebody suggested that I go to see the Black Martiniquois, many of whom lived in Paris, do their native dance called The Beguine, in a remote night club on the left bank of the Seine. This I did quickly and I was very much taken by the rhythm of the dance, the rhythm was practically that of the already popular rumba but much faster. The moment I saw it I thought of BEGIN THE BEGUINE as a good title for a song and put it away in a notebook, adding a memorandum as to its rhythm and tempo.
About ten years later while going around the world we stopped at an island in the Lesser Sunda Islands, to the west of New Guinea, at a place called “Kalabashi” [sic]. My spelling of Kalabahi is entirely phonetic. A native dance was started for us, the melody of the first four bars of which was to become my song.†
I looked through my notebook, and found again, after ten years, my old title BEGIN THE BEGUINE. For some reason the melody that I heard and the phrase that I had written down seemed to marry. I developed the whole song from that.
Later on in a French dictionary I found that the word “BEGUINE” meant nun.* How the nun ever became the dance I cannot explain, but I believe that this completely covers what you asked for.
Sincerely
COLE PORTER
Although Porter’s memory of ‘Begin the Beguine’ seems to be confirmed by Moss Hart’s diary, in other instances he may have misremembered or slightly fabricated the facts surrounding the origins of some of his songs. The following May, Porter wrote to Abel Green:
25 May 1945: Cole Porter to Abel Green14
Dear Abel:
In response to your letter of May 17th, I can cite the following occurrence:
In 1935 when my wife and I and Monty Woolley were approaching the harbor of Rio de Janeiro, by boat, it was dawn. My wife and I had risen especially for the event, but Mr. Woolley had stayed up all night to see it and during the night had enjoyed a few whiskys and sodas.
As we stood on the bow of the boat, my exclamation was – “It’s delightful!”. My wife followed with – “It’s delicious!”. And Monty, in his happy state, cried – “It’s de-lovely!”. This last exclamation gave me the title for the song which was an outstanding hit of the next show that I did.
I hope this is the sort of thing you meant.
All my best.
Sincerely yours,
Cole Porter
Porter gave more or less the same account to Richard Hubler in 1954,15 but Robert Kimball reports a different version of this story, also deriving from Porter: ‘I took a world tour a couple of years ago, and I was in Java with Monty Woolley and Moss Hart. We’d just been served that famous Eastern fruit – the mangosteen – and were all enjoying it mightily . . . Moss Hart said, “It’s delightful!” I chimed in with “It’s delicious”. And Monty Woolley said, “It’s de-lovely!” and there’s the title of the song.’16
Night and Day, and in particular its casting, continued to be the main topic of Porter’s correspondence through the spring of 1945:
28 March 1945: Cole Porter to Arthur Schwartz17
Dear Arthur:
My underground spies tell me that in spite of what I said to you, you have talent scouts watching Luba Malina with an eye to casting her in the Bordoni part. Once more may I assure you that she stinks.*
Another girl came to my mind who, they tell me, is charming. Her name is Yvette and you probably have heard her on the air.† It seems that she has looks and might fill the bill, so switch your scout, please and give her a “going over”.‡
I read in Dorothy Killgallen, or it may have been Danton Walker,§ that you were leaving Warner Bros. in disgust, so I know it’s not true and that everything is okay.
I still arrive May 2nd.
All my best, dear Arthur,
Sincerely,
[unsigned]
Arthur Schwartz’s next letter to Porter, in which he returns to the topic of Luba Malina and other issues related to Night and Day, is revealing of some important aspects of the production, including Cary Grant’s piano playing, and of the ways piano scores of Porter’s songs were made accessible to the public:
Your “underground spies” must consist of agents for Luba Malina. After our talk on the phone about her, I dropped any idea of using the girl. There is some possibility of our getting Hildegarde,* although the conditions may be too tough.
We have seen tests of Yvette, and I have heard her on the air a good deal. I was for her many months ago, but [Michael] Curtiz thought she was an empty personality. However, we still have a hold on her, and, if no one better shows up, we will probably use her.
I am not leaving Warner Brothers in disgust. Everything is swell except that the strike leaves us without costume and set designers, and until they return we cannot actually start production. I am told that there is hope of a settlement, or a switch of unions, which will bring the men back to work at any moment now, but my own opinion is that it will take some time.†
I have been in touch with Cary [Grant] very frequently, and the other day he came in to demonstrate his piano virtuosity. It’s remarkable that he can play so well. He had studied the published piano part of all the songs he will be seen doing, and plays all the notes as they are written. Since those piano parts are childishly simple in most cases – a device of Sirmay to sell more copies to the public – what I’m doing now is to have some slightly fuller piano parts made so that when Cary’s hands are shown, he will be constantly doing something interesting.
The moment we know our definite production date, we can sign a good many of the specialty people I have been in touch with, and of course I’ll keep you posted closely. The leading candidate for the part of Carol, which, as you know, is a small part, but loaded with songs, is Ginny Simms. We all seem to feel she’s the best-looking of the prominent singers, although she’s not exactly Hedy Lamarr.
In May, Porter wrote again to Nelson Barclift, gossipy and flirty letters of a sort he often wrote to his lovers – different in tone from those he wrote to old friends like Gerald Murphy:
8–9 May [1945]: Cole Porter to Nelson Barclift18
May 8–9
2.30 A.M.
Nelson –
I only wish you could be here tomorrow night because Norma is bringing her ski-instructor boyfriend. She says she found him at Sun Valley but I’m still betting that she took him out of a tree. He’s awful + behaves like a bad waiter. His name is Marty Aerongé. And Norma is so embarrassing about him. She said the other day, for instance, “I used to be Canadian but I’m Free French now!” She shouldn’t say such things, should she.
Otherwise, tomorrow night, it’s just us – Sylvia, Vera, Jean Feldman, the wicked old baroness, Benita, Pat Boyer, Annie Warner, Anita Loos, Fanny Brice, John Conle Rosebud (Vera’s Jewish boy – he’s awful cute in a big way), Cukor, Reggie Gardner, Roger, Sturge, Eddie Goulding, Haines, Jimmie Shields, Michael Chaplin, Ern
st Lubitsch + Old Albert.* I’m putting half of them out-doors for dinner as we’re having those summer nights now. But I’m sorta depressed that Ma Honey won’t be present to supervise everybody’s good time.
But you will be, next year. I spent the evening with Eric Remarque.† He’s locked up every night after 8 P.M. at the Beverly Wilshire so we went over to see him tonight. He thinks the Germans will crack + soon. In fact he talked very convincingly + I’m suddenly bucked up + reeking of optimism.
But it’s bed time [sic] my C[ute].L[ittle]. Nose so goodnight. I miss you like hell.
Please, in spite of the fact that you are merely a frivolous moth, don’t forget me entirely. I realize I date. I know that my trimmings are tarnished. I admit that I’m poor. But be kind, Nelson to someone who really is true-blue.
Albert*
By the way, what colour is true-blue.
17 May 1945: Porter to Gerald Murphy19
Dear Gerald:
The delightful book on clouds arrived. I already had a book on clouds which I tried to study in Williamstown, but it was so difficult. The book you sent me is exactly what I wanted and I am having a lot of fun with it.
The belt made out of Lillian Russell’s garters† has completely re-established me socially in Hollywood. Everybody wants to see me simply in order to see the belt, and I am having a hell of a time. Please congratulate Mr. Dickinson again for his masterpiece.
I shan’t bother you by mentioning California weather, but I must say that it is [sic] made me feel like a new man.
Good-bye, dear Gerald – and great love to Sarah and her husband.
Your old college chum,
COLE
(Dictated, but not read)
In May, Porter had a fourth operation on his legs, which he described in detail in his next letter to Barclift:
21 May 1945: Cole Porter to Nelson Barclift20
Dear Barclift:
Your letter arrived May 3rd and it was a joy to hear from you again after so many months. Please tell Artie not to be upset by the Sophie Tucker book* arriving in sections of 16 and in duplicate. The only idea was to get them to him very quickly and in case of any section being lost the duplicate might arrive safely. It had no importance at all except that I am so tired of hearing from people who receive books months and months after I have sent them.