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(A Real Hollywood Production!) |
By
AUDREY YEAGER
of TheColumnists.com
In the 1940's and 50's, would-be entertainers busing in from
every hill and hollow in the U.S. gathered in Hollywood, the
hub of the California movie industry. Worn suitcases wrested
from attics and basements held their elocution certificates and
their tap shoes. Hopeful mothers de-trained into the melee with
kids as capable as years of singing and dancing lessons could
make them.
My sister and I had the lessons all right. They worked for her.
She came out of the endless exercises as an accomplished song
and dance entertainer. I made plenty of noise with both endeavors,
determined to pattern myself after both of my idols, Ginger Rogers
and Betty Grable. My claim to fame is on an old home movie, which
is actually physically painful for me to watch. After all, I
had seen the masters at work. The grandkids think it's hilarious.
We will never know what might have happened with my sister's
very real talent. Our family couldn't afford the trip to Hollywood
just then. As for me, it wasn't until years later that I finally
made it to Hollywood and stood in front of Lucille Ball's home,
breathing deeply of that magic air. There was a "Guide to
the Stars Homes" pamphlet in one of my hands and a camera
in the other. Surely, there was nothing left for me to want in
life.
The Hollywood of those years had a lot to live up to, like Eliza
Doolittle in "My Fair Lady." The small town "girl"
had come from lowly beginnings, little more than a miniscule
oasis in the desert. But she learned her lines and carried out
her pretensions with every bit as much panache as the Cockney
Doolittle. Her pastel tinted bungalows, nightclubs with the tropical
names and handprints in the wet sand of Graumann's Chinese Theater
were lifestyles away from Duluth and St. Louis, or my own Tacoma,
Washington.
Nowhere
else in the world could you dine inside of giant hotdogs and
derby hats.
One of Hollywood's biggest assets was Shirley Temple. The revenue
from her movies filled a huge part of the coffers that paid for
the crowns and thrones of the film sovereigns. While an army
of American girl children were dressed, coifed and groomed to
look and act as much like Shirley as possible, dancing teachers
in all the 48 states hit their stride.
But all of the lessons in the world couldn't compete with God-given
ability. Little Miss Marker was one of a kind. Not only could
she dance and sing as if trained on a stairway to Heaven, she
also memorized dialogue as well as any adult Metro Goldwyn Mayer
brother or sister.
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I think I had my mouth open all the time I was on the downtown streets of Hollywood, so my expression didn't have to change much when I saw my second celebrity. (The first had been Rita Hayworth at a March of Dimes rally in Tacoma when I was small.) Phil Silvers crossed the street right in front of me. I was too stunned to lift the camera.
In the Hollywood of those days you lived some of your fantasies. A song from the era asked the question, "Have you ever seen a Dream Walking?" And I had. When introduced (by one of my gutsy cousins) to the effervescent Hawaiian entertainer Hilo Hattie, she actually hugged me. That lovely lady must have known I was doing some dream walking of my own and decided to add her special pizzazz.
Even the California orange I bought, "Picked ripe right from the tree" at the Farmer's Market, seemed to be covered with a bit of gold dust. How could I eat a dream? It finally rotted away on my closet shelf.
The second evening my cousins took me to the back door of a theater where two stars were to make a guest appearance. They may not have had to carry me away from there, but I was very nearly overwhelmed. Virginia Mayo and Dana Andrews walked by close enough for me to smell her perfume. The stars had "struck" again.
Those encounters were going to have to last me for a long time. I had to return home, eventually marry, and move to California before any more movie stars came my way. A few did too, and the nicest one was a fellow who nearly knocked me down.
In the meantime, right around the cinema corner, a whole troupe of "method" actors was waiting to ply their dramatic trade. The days of the dancing, singing, high-expectation wannabe's was slowly passing. My generation saw the last trailing vapor of that era as it slipped into history. However, to a young woman with a wisp of that magic net still clinging to her, movie theaters had an irresistible aura. I was an usherette in full satin and spangled regalia at the Rialto Theater in downtown Tacoma, Washington, and later, at the Granada in Santa Barbara, California.
My husband's work took us to Santa Barbara, which is about 90 miles north of Los Angeles, and that's where we lived for 12 years. The beautiful beach town, with its Spanish influence, its mission and its masses of flowers has been called the prettiest town in Southern California, and I wouldn't argue the point. A number of movie people felt the same way and many of them lived there and commuted.
Over time, I sat next to John Ireland at the Palace, a Santa Barbara night spot, and sang along with Noah Berry, Jr. -- I won't swear he was actually singing -- at a piano bar at Santa Claus Land, a tourist attraction four or five miles down the coast.
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A meeting with Joe E. Brown took place at the El Patio dining room, a restaurant along the beach. I was his waitress and he wasn't happy.
There were more "sightings." A person could hardly live in that area without seeing an occasional celebrity, but an encounter that the star himself might recall was a "hands-on" experience.
Montecito, with its quiet, stately atmosphere, is an especially gorgeous area bordering on Santa Barbara. There used to be a pharmacy on the corner. It was a rather old-fashioned drug store. I think they even had a soda fountain. On a particular day the weather was warm and the only entry was a two-way swinging screen door. I was heading speedily toward it; my head turned back saying some final words to a friendly clerk. My hand was out in anticipation of pushing the door open when I crashed into an immovable object…Richard Widmark!
Although the mishap was clearly my fault, Mr. Widmark apologized repeatedly while keeping me upright. He held on until I got my balance, and then, still maintaining his clumsiness, shook my hand and went about his business. He definitely wasn't anything like the awful man who pushed that lady in the wheelchair down the flight of stairs in the movies.
Whether it's the 1940's, the 1950's or the year 2000, I'm of the opinion that the real Hollywood stars, like Richard Widmark, always will glitter, whether they're on or off the screen.
© 2000 by Audrey Yeager. The cartoons and drawings are from IMSI's "Master/Clips" Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. East, San Rafael, CA 94901-5506, USA.
YOU CAN LEARN MORE ABOUT AUDREY YEAGER BY CLICKING THE ABOUT US BUTTON BELOW AND SCROLLING TO GUEST COLUMNISTS.
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