by Cole Porter
I know nothing about Cole Porter except that he has written some damned good songs, but I very much doubt that his life has been as exceedingly dull as it is made out to be in “Night and Day.” According to the plot, Mr. Porter started out with thousands of dollars and a talent for writing music, and wound up with millions of dollars and his talent unimpaired. The fact that his legs were injured in an accident is hardly as dramatic as Beethoven’s deafness, but the Warner Brothers seem to think it is. I never expected to see another biographical film quite as dismal as the one the Brothers produced about George Gershwin,* but this hash of Mr. Porter’s career makes the Gershwin epic seem, in retrospect, a dazzler. Still, the picture offers a lot of Cole Porter music, and no matter what Hollywood may have done to Mr. Porter’s life, his songs are always good listening.51
In late September, Porter did a radio interview with Louella Parsons, the script of which survives among Sam Stark’s papers. Among other songs, it discusses ‘Night and Day’. More importantly, perhaps, it shows how scripted Porter’s interviews could be and the extent to which he personally intervened – the script as it survives includes ‘stage directions’ in Porter’s hand:
PORTER: That’s my trouble. I don’t know how to write songs that people like immediately. I wrote “Night and Day” in 1932 for a Fred Astaire show. I had a terrible time getting Fred to sing it – and as for Monty Wooley [sic] . . .
PARSONS: WHAT’S HE [struck through by Porter and replaced with ‘Monty’] GOT TO DO WITH IT?
PORTER: Monty was the first person to dislike it. One day I was working on it, at the piano, while Monty was reading a book. He finally glanced at me and said, “You certainly don’t think that tune will be a hit! I advise you to give it up.” [struck through by Porter and replaced with ‘Give it up.’]
PARSONS: COLE, THE WORLD’S MIGHTY GLAD YOU DIDN’T. IT’S A CLASSIC NOW.
PORTER: Oh [added by Porter above: (Laugh)], I never give up Louella.
In early November 1946, Porter wrote to Jack Warner and Ray Heindorf, to thank them for recordings of Night and Day:
8 November 1946: Cole Porter to Jack Warner52
Dear Jack:
The recordings of “Night and Day” arrived, and when I asked to pay for them I was told they were a present from you. I deeply appreciate this.
Sam Gertzen [Stark] and I will be in Hot Springs in about ten days. I shall telephone you before arriving in the hope that you are there and can persuade the manager to give us rooms.
In the meantime, don’t forget my gratitude.
Best,
[unsigned]
8 November 1946: Cole Porter to Ray Heindorf53
Dear Ray:
The wonderful recordings arrived and I thank you very much.
I wrote Jack Warner thanking him.
Best luck to you.
Sincerely,
Cole Porter
About the same time, Porter asked his cousin and accountant Harvey Cole for financial information relative to his dealings with his landlord, possibly in connection with a lawsuit he was considering concerning the lease of Haines’s house at 416 Rockland Ave. in Los Angeles.*
26 November 1946: Cole Porter to Harvey Cole54
Dear Harvey:
Will you get for me from the Wabash Valley Trust Company all cancelled checks made out to either
William Haines
or
Williams, [sic] Haines, Inc.
from January 1, 1943 on, and send them to Miss Moore, 41-E Waldorf Towers.
Best regards,
[signed:] Cole
Surviving letters from early 1947 are mostly addressed to Sam Stark:
3 January 1947: Cole Porter to Sam Stark55
Dear Scamp That You Are:
What a wicked little boy you were to send me those three wonderful books. You should save your earnings for more serious matters and not waste them on me. I’m enjoying them, however, an awful lot.
New York misses you. Your letter about your Christmas party was very welcome.
My new Cadillac has arrived and it looks like a very big jewel. Don’t forget when I start my trek back to California, you are coming East to motor back with me in the old Chrysler.
Lots of love from us both,
[signed:] Cole
6 January 1947: Cole Porter to Sam Stark56
Sam – I’m so ill. I have what scientists call The Common Cold but if this is common, how much do I sympathize with the human race! I don’t go in for colds, even aristocratic colds. So to be sunk to such depths by a vulgar common cold, all I can ask is “What next?”
You might like it here, with us. We go out. People ask us to dinner + we accept. This is all so new to me after so . . . [a page missing here]
. . . enough. Even if I came back to the coast where my heart is, this urge to work would still – but enough of my lament. And how are you, you naughty boy? And what are your troubles?
[Howard] Sturge[s] left today to stay in Palm Beach with Consuelo Balsan.* He prefers deaf duchesses for some reason + Consuelo is the deafest of them all. Elsa† telephoned yesterday from Cannes to say it was so cold there that she and Annie Warner‡ were ski-ing today to Monte Carlo. Jean, la Feldman came in to call. She looked better than anyone had ever looked. She is up to no good but I couldn’t find out which gender of “no-good” it was. Millicent Hearst§ gave a great brawl last night for all the visiting British stage stars. After dinner, Bea Lillie sang the funniest song I have heard in years called “Maud – let’s admit it, you’re rotten to the core”!¶
I could go on + on but I’m very ill + en plus, I have no work. What I have, however, is Hope so don’t worry about me.
It was nice taking up your time.
Please give my best wishes to John who sent me such a nice Christmas wire + to Stanislas [Stanley Musgrove] who wrote me a wonderful letter.
And if you see the young man** who works for that clip-joint at the Bel Air Hotel give him a big goose de ma part. I’m afraid he wouldn’t respond to an ordinary one.
And goodnight, Mr Stark.
Your admirer
Cole.
And Allan’s [sic, Allen Walker] admirer, aussi!
8 January 1947: Cole Porter to Sam Stark57
Stark – I ordered for you today the album of Finian’s Rainbow.* Mine came yesterday + I have played it without cessation ever since. This seems to me the most attractive music + lyrics since Oklahoma† so when it arrives don’t throw it at someone you dislike.
The show opens Friday night, next. It has been enchanting Philadelphia for the last two weeks. What’s more, it has been knocking all the Broadway ticket brokers for triple loops. Therefore I was so happy to hear that Linda and I were invited “By The Producer” to sit in the first row for the premiere for free! We accepted quick quick + you can’t imagine what finery we are both whipping up.
The doctor came today to look at my “Common” cold + decided I wouldn’t die. Thank God I won’t die below my station!
I enclose a letter from [Nelson] Barclift. I don’t believe this letter about Mr. Fly. Do you? All this worries me. I’m so afraid that Barclift through merely knowing Fly will end up in a major jail.
Goodbye, Butterfly + my best to Allan [sic, Allen Walker]
Your pal –
Porter
13 January 1947: Cole Porter to Sam Stark58
Dear Mr. Gertzen [Stark]:
I can’t send you sheet music of the Bea Lillie song because it is private material. Nor can I send you a recording of “See that you’re born in Texas” as a recording was never made.‡ Nor can I give you the moon.
Love,
[signed:] Cole
Having already heard the recording, Porter on 13 January finally saw Yip Harburg and Burton Lane’s Finian’s Rainbow, which had opened at the 46th Street Theatre on 10 January:
13 January 1947: Cole Porter to E. Y. (‘Yip’) Harburg59
Dear Yip:
You gave us a wonderfu
l night in the theatre last Friday night* with your delightful book and lyrics and this is a mere note to congratulate you and to thank you for allowing the public to appreciate your great talent.
And thanks also for the NIGHT AND DAY plug.
Sincerely,
[signed:] Cole Porter
15 January 1947: Cole Porter to Sam Stark60
Sam – In my frantic desire to keep up with the Gertzen set, I have been reading Steve Canyon.† But Steve must improve an awful lot or the next time you see me I shall look like one of Bobbie Raison’s old zoot suits, that is, from your prejudiced eyes.
I saw Tito [Reynaldo] tonight. He was at 1-2-3 at the next table to me. When I greeted him he was very-far-away. But I paid no attention as I like him so much.
Linda + I go out quite a lot. I think I told you this. And it’s sort of a nice contrast to the years when, on account of my conspicuous legs, we couldn’t. But we do it very carefully + between each evening with the “gratin,” we dine simply at the Old Pav. with a buddy or two. To finish this week, we Windsor it‡ on Sunday night. Then on Monday, our private little polar expedition takes off. Max + Helene§ in my Cadillac + Linda + I in hers. The objective is my cottage at Williamstown. There we will dig in for a week. According to all the weathermen we can be sure of constant Ma Moses landscapes.* Also I have moved all my recordings up there so Linda will hear all the music from Bach to Berlin. And the great thing about Linda is that she will like it.
Pep is very hurt that Judy didn’t even acknowledge his present to her.† Everytime a letter arrives from you, he grabs it from me ravenously, ever hoping for even one little word. But no, – silence.
Gossip – I saw Vincent Astor‡ + Alice + David Bouverie§ last night. Alice + David looked very happy. Vincent is so upset that Minnie has left him that he has lost his voice. When he whispered this to me, I told him I liked his new voice better. The inner sanctum low-down is that Minnie who went to the coast with Annabella (but I don’t believe this is a lesbian tie-up) is so fed up with Vincent’s drunkenness that she may never come back. The crazy angle about it all is that Vincent went to cry on his first wife’s shoulder (Mrs. Lytle Hull) + Helen Hull is doing all she can by telephone to persuade Minnie to come back to the family hearth. What’s more, Helen says that Minnie has behaved outrageously! Work this out. And tell only Kitty.¶
Goodnight, Stark. I miss you – my best to Allan [sic, Allen Walker] + to John + to Stanislaus.
Your fan
Cole
22 January 1947: Cole Porter to Sam Stark61
Jan 22 ‘47. Night + 10° below zero.
Sambambino –
Miss Moore telephoned today that a letter addressed to Mr. Pep Porter had arrived at the Waldorf, forwarded from here which is Williamstown. This, despite warning the P.O. here that this would be my address until Saturday next. She is forwarding it back. How exhausting it is, the white collar!
As I wrote Robert earlier, Linda + I went for a spin this afternoon in my new Cadillac. Pep drove. And a spin it was indeed. For the roads are completely covered in ice. The more important roads have a slight gravel surface furnished by the State of Massachusetts but our road, i.e. the one from our little home to the village, is a good stand-in for the Cresta Run.* Such fun!
Goodbye, Stark. If they were only non-meltable, I would enclose such attractive icicles. One of them is hanging from my nose. The other? – but you couldn’t take it.
Good hunting to Bobbie [Raison] + Catharine [d’Erlanger]. And happy semesters to John + Stanislaus. To Allan [sic], my best + to you, my scamp, a terrific kick in the ass.
Always your serf
Cole
25 January 1947: Cole Porter to Sam Stark62
Saturday night.
Sam The Wham!
Thank you for your letter of Jan 18th with all it’s [sic] news.
I’m so fresh from Berks. That all I can tell you is that Harry [Krebs] + I dined au Pavillon tonight. Gilbert + Kitty Miller were opposite. You know that Kitty was Jules Bache’s daughter. She had a sister, Hazel, who’s [sic] 2nd husband was Freddie Beckman. Hazel died last week + left her entire estate to her children by her 1st marriage except for her life insurance, 100 grand which she left to Freddie. Who can live on 100 grand? Ask Bill [Haines] + Jimmie [Shields] about them. They entertained us all when we were in Mexico.
Freddie B., before he married Hazel – now, get me straight, not Allan’s [sic, Allen Walker] Kitty’s sister – was kept by a series of lonely, rich gentlemen, one of whom was Mr L[en] C Hanna + Freddie was so good at “collecting things” that by the time Mr Hanna threw him out, Mr. Beckman had added quite a lot of objets d’art to his collection.
So the biggest question in NYC today is “who will keep Freddie Beckman next?”
Louella Parsons [sic] news about Dorothy Frasso + the Villa Madama is very incorrect. Dorothy sold it years ago to Mussolini.* All she has left is a small cottage on the place where Carlo (that was her husband) was allowed to live, after the sale + it’s a moot point whether she has any right to this cottage or not. She is also trying to get all the lire that she was paid, out of Italy. If she does, she is a fool because, as you know, a lira isn’t worth –
But why do I write you all this? I came back to find a most puzzling letter from Col. Bill Shinley. But never a word from [Robert] Raisin [sic]. What have I done? I wrote him such a nice wholesome note.
A postcard arrived from you + John + Stanislaus + it was cheering to realize that all you kids still remembered me.
Pep† was definitely embarrassed to receive Judy’s illiterate letter. I don’t believe he had ever associated with bitches like that before. Even by mail. I admit he has been too sheltered what with Helene + Weston to “maid” him, Max to valet him, Paul + Ernest to take him driving + Linda and me to clean up his shit.
Goodnight, Stark. My best to Allan, + to John + Stanley my respects + to you, my old-fashioned devotion.
Cole.
2 February 1947: Cole Porter to Sam Stark63
Sunday night Feb 2nd 47
Stark, The Lark!
First, to correct certain errata:
1) Dorothy Frasso doesn’t maintain that she still owns a cottage on the Villa Madama acreage. It is a far bigger item, the stables.
2) I saw Gilbert Miller. Hazel didn’t leave poor Freddie Beckman $100 000 in life insurance. She left him a million in life insurance. Now we’re talkin’ . . .
Tell Bobbie Raizon [sic, Raison] that I can’t remember ever having written him a letter even one with “foreign” words in it. By the way, what are “foreign” words? “Foreign” to what?
The book Scientists Against Time* isn’t so damned profound. It is at times too technical for my purely academic education but otherwise it’s a lot of nice clean fun. Please delve.
Finian’s Rainbow has been sent by Liberty. The delay was due to a slip – my slip. There have been distractions and unpleasant distractions.
The memorial service for Grace Moore† at the Rockefeller church on Riverside Drive was beautiful + mostly arranged by Clifton Webb. Have you ever seen the interior of that church? It is incredibly fine!
I envy you, your trip to Ense[?] with John + Stanislascovitch.‡ That is one of my pet spots + what a spot it must have been with such delightful pets.
This is called answering a letter. I’m in a bad mood. I want to come west so god-damned much but on account of good reasons it can’t be done yet. Linda is a joy + our jaunts to Williamstown are idyllic but they can’t be staged often enough or for a long enough time. We are off again Wednesday for a five days respite . . .
Paul [Sylvain, Porter’s chauffeur] is nearly well again but Miss Moore has a skin disease due to wearing a black slip. The dye was defective. She appeared Monday painted clown-white. She is still in bed, where I sent her quick [?]. Her whole body is painted clown-white now, she tells me. I don’t know whether her doctors are the Ringling Brothers* or not.
[Howard] Sturges, The Tea-Cu
p Rattler arrives from Palm Beach tomorrow.
Tidbits for Kitty [Miller?]: Bill Paley is wooing (+ apparently successfully) the divorced Mrs. Stanley Mortimer.† He is the owner of the Columbia Broadcasting Company. She is one of the three Cushing sisters. The other two are 1) Mrs Vincent (Minnie) Astor + 2) Mrs Jock Whitney (the former Betsy Roosevelt.)‡ In the meantime, Clare Boothe Luce§ is hitting the hay with Jock. She gives as her reason that she wants to make Jock more politically minded.
That’s all, Sammy. My best to Allen [Walker] + John + Stannie [Musgrove], my blessings.
As for you, Mr Gertzen, I’m still your vassal
Cole
15 February 1947: Cole Porter to Sam Stark64
Saturday Feb 15, ‘47
And you, my poppet! How are you?
I have no news apart from the fact that I am slowly planning to turn on New York like a snake toward the 23rd of March + head west either by motor or by boat. Would that divert you too much from your endless orgies, caro mio?