HISTORY LESSON: Hollywood Suicide

A title card from The Flapper, which ironically appears after Olive Thomas's character decides 

not to kill herself. This single slide could serve as the explanation many have

 as to why Olive's death was not a suicide but an accident-- 

she loved life too much to let go... Or did she?

As Halloween creeps closer, I thought it relevant to dip into the more macabre side of Hollywood. Since All Hallows Eve is embraced as a public indulgence in the sometimes very thin line between life and death, it seems a perfect holiday for La La Land. Hollywood itself, sometimes appearing as a glorious Heaven and others as a torturous Hell, has birthed multiple superstars but has too killed its own children. The most depressing and pitiable of these fallen angels are those who choose to take their own lives. In all cases, the deaths are shocking, unexpected, and heartbreaking, but there are a few that are so unbelievable that, even when given direct reason or motive, one cannot wrap his or her mind around the tragedy; at least I can't. Olive Thomas remains the first official poster girl for the inexplicable, self-inflicted death, which to this day remains debatable. One can continue to turn over the evidence, but the varying testimonies of husband Jack Pickford, the memories of friends, and the final conclusions of medical professionals all produce contradictory evidence. Whether suicide or accident, the outcome is still devastating and Olive still a victim. Journeying down this same vein of the unfathomable and unreasonable disappearance of some of our brightest stars, I've compiled the following collection of some of the most bizarre and yet little discussed suicides in Hollywood History. Years after their shattered ends, one can still cry "Why, oh, why?" to the Hollywood Hills and receive no answer but a pained echo for the lost souls, volleying without end.


LUPE VELEZ:

Lupe was branded the "Mexican Spitfire" due to her feisty, sensual, uncontainable spirit and her obvious heritage. Born in San Luis Potosi, she-- like Dolores Del Rio and Anna May Wong-- paved the way in the industry for "ethnic" girls, bringing her beauty, fire, and passion to the screen with full force. After a stint in vaudeville, Lupe landed in Hollywood where she made unprecedented, scene-stealing appearances in films opposite Douglas Fairbanks (The Gaucho) and Lon Chaney (Where East is East). The girl didn't just have "something," she had something indescribable. Who else in the history of cinema has outshone the Man of a Thousand Faces? Intensely sexual with a temper to match, she had a notorious romance with Gary Cooper-- whose placid demeanor was probably the only one who could withstand her raging bouts of anger-- and a failed marriage to an equal wild man, Johnny Weissmuller. Her career thrived through the silent era, where she gained a reputation as a comedienne with punch and panache, but the coming of talkies allegedly inhibited her career due to her obvious accent-- taking her out of the running of more acceptable, all-American leading ladies-- and later accusations of communist support dampened her public appeal. In her thirties, she did Broadway, returned to her native Mexico-- where she was very popular-- and landed back in Hollywood where she fell into the arms of actor Harald Maresch. Then, on Dec. 13, 1944, Lupe was gone, having taken her own life with the aid of Seconal. She was but 36-years-old. The reason for her shocking end was given by herself in a suicide note: "To Harald, may God forgive you and forgive me too but I prefer to take my life away and our baby's before I bring him with shame, or killing him, Lupe." The reason, therefore, for her desperate final act, was personal shame over the fact that Harald had gotten her pregnant and refused to marry her, but even in this there is controversy. 

Lupe may have gone to convent school as a child, but she was far from conventional. A vibrant, caution-be-damned kind of girl, it is doubtful that she killed herself to protect her own reputation and save her child from a life of ridicule.  The Lupe the world knew and loved would have most certainly socked anyone in the nose who so much as looked at her child the wrong way. There must be more to the story, and in the end it seems more likely that it was Lupe's own impulsive, defiant behavior that killed her. Perhaps after a lifetime of broken hearts, a lover's refusal of marriage became the last straw. One could argue that she killed herself more to hurt Harald for his betrayal or to simply give one last eff-you to the world that she had considered so cruel. Adela Rogers St. Johns would state that Harald had every intention of marrying Lupe, but simply refused to lie about the date of the nuptials in order to make their child the product of marriage and not conversely marriage the product of the child. If this is true, it makes the suicide even more head-scratching. More puzzling is the speculation that Harald was totally innocent in the debacle and that the child was that of Gary Cooper, with whom Lupe had maintained an on-again off-again affair. The most commonly accepted theory is that Lupe was not a well woman. Her vacillations in temperament indicate that she would have been diagnosed with bi-polar disorder had such a disease been recognized in her day. Friends too reported that, despite her bravado, in which she attacked life with chin out and up, Lupe had great pain and melancholy. On rare occasions, she would open up about her life's disappointments and what she felt was the absence of real love. Her death scene is too debatable because of the way it has been painted. Some state that she was found lying in a bed of white satin, completely composed and beautiful, the way she herself had dramatically staged it. Others attest that she had a violent reaction to the Seconal and died with her head in the toilet, drowning to death. Both are debatable: suicide is never a glossy affair, but one doubts that anyone could "drown" in a toilet, given that the weight of the human body would, if unconscious, naturally slump to the floor. The only hard core truth we can rely on is that Lupe left us all too soon, and whatever reason she had for taking her own life was not reason enough.


GEORGE SANDERS:

Talk about unexpected... The Sultan of Snark and fastest s-wordsman of witty barbs taking his own life? No. Not possible. George Sanders, on screen and off, seemed to be the smartest of them all and ten steps ahead of everyone else. Sitting comfortably on a pedestal of intellect, he looked down his nose at a world of neandrethals and gloated at his own superiority. We counted on his smirking charm to add layers of humor and biting edge to films like The Picture of Dorian Gray and All About Eve, and with every opportunity to impress us with his entrancing voice-- one put to use as Shere Khan in The Jungle Book-- he succeeded. But this Englishman too must have been hiding a secret behind his superior jabs and polished deviance, for his life ended in April of 1972 by his own hand. Even more startling is the fact that he was well into his sixties when he committed this personal atrocity. One thinks of suicide as being the haven for discontented and bruised youths who have given up hope; apparently we never mature past our own insecurities and need for escape. After four marriages, one of which was to Zsa Zsa Gabor, George dwindled into ill health. The aid of alcohol certainly didn't help things, and in his later years he had become mentally unstable, experiencing moments of complete delirium, which resulted in angry outbursts. Losing his mental faculties-- the man whose shrewd mind was his key asset-- was something he could not bear. When he was unable to play his piano, he solved the problem by chopping it to bits. He wandered aimlessly, landing in Barcelona, where he finally said farewell as only he would, with annoyance and condescension: "Dear World, I am leaving because I am bored. I feel I have lived long enough. I am leaving you with your worries in this sweet cesspool. Good luck." His drug of choice was Nembutal. What remains so indiscernible is that a sharp man such as himself could suddenly become the butt of life's joke.


CHARLES BOYER:

The ultimate French lover, Charles Boyer could inspire amore in even the lowest of skunks-- which he did when Looney Tunes modeled Pepe le Pew after him. With unforgettable performances ranging from superb malevolence in Gaslight to pious romanticism in All This, and Heaven Too, his acting talents were enhanced by a single raised eyebrow that drew women to him like moths to a flame. In his private life, Charles maintained his suavity but had much less ego. Fairly shy but amiable, he was entrancing for reasons aside from his looks-- which was necessary since he was prematurely balding, short, and had a bit of a gut. Originally a student of philosophy and a fluent speaker of five languages, the equally religious man wed his only wife in 1934 and remained faithful to her for the next 44 years (although, James Cagney--also a loyal husband-- would recall overhearing ol' Charles putting the moves on a young actress on one of their WWII morale boosting tours). The classy Irene Dunne named him as one of her two favorite leading men, (Cary Grant being the other), and he was able to befriend even the intensely private Maurice Chevalier. However, despite a prosperous career and happy marriage, darkness too was lurking over Charles's shoulder. After losing his son, Michael-- who shot himself either by accident or suicide on his twenty-first birthday-- Charles lost his beloved wife Pat nearly fourteen years later in 1978. Two days after this tragedy, Charles took his own life, again with the aid of Seconal. It is believed that he did so because the great romantic could not bear life without his paramour, but there had to be more cracks in a man than a broken heart to spur on such a desperate act. Whatever pains he felt in his personal life, he kept hidden, therefore giving a performance that far outshone anything he did on the silver screen. Without Pat as the glue to hold him together against his demons, death must have seemed the only out, but the results still make one shake the head in consternation.


MARGARET SULLAVAN:

Everyone's favorite girl-next-door ruled the silver screen in roles that showcased both her warmth and resilience. Close friends would be impressed with these qualities in her private life, including Jimmy Stewart who was head-over-heels for her in his early career. Maggie was a fighter, and proved it by overcoming a muscular weakness that prevented her from walking when she was a child. Rebellious in spirit, she overcame this malady and grew into a tomboy who shrugged off familial disapproval to pursue a career in dance and theater. When they cut her off financially, she paid her own way, making it all the way to Hollywood and cementing herself as a leading lady with grace and gumption. One of her most remarked upon qualities was her voice, which did not ring out clear as a bell, like so many young ingenues, but was instead deep and lush. Few knew that this was because she had a hearing problem diagnosed as otosclerosis: only by speaking at a deeper register could she even hear herself. As she aged, her condition worsened, which deeply affected her psychologically, as did her divorce from third husband Leland Hayward. After her three children forsook her to live with their father, Margaret was crushed. Separated from her family, she felt alienated and it gave her great pain to see the lives of her loved ones fall apart-- all of her children possessed her same rebellious spirit if not her focused drive. She became increasingly depressed, finding it difficult to sleep, and spent a great deal of time on her own. Though she continued to work, her only real companion seemed to be the foggy static that used to serve as noise in her increasingly isolated and lonely life. After spending time briefly in a mental institution, she was found home in bed suffering a Barbituate overdose on New Years Day 1960. It was too late to save her life. It continues to be argued whether the death was accidental or purposeful, but examining the evidence it seems that Maggie's flinty strength finally succumbed to her emotional abandonment. To make things even more tragic, two of her other children-- Bridget and Bill-- would later commit suicide, continuing the sad legacy. Only daughter Brooke remained to pen the novel of her family's breakdown: Haywire. Watching Maggie's movies today, she remains one of the least likely candidates for such a death, yet there the hard truth lies-- etched in stone. 


LOU TELLEGEN:

Lou is a rarely remembered film personality. If he is recalled at all, it is only by history buffs who know him as the one-time husband of screen siren and opera star Geraldine Farrar. A handsome man, he clearly had something in the way of charm, since he was able to woo some of the biggest and most untouchable women in show business, including the illustrious Sarah Bernhardt in addition to Farrar. Charm also helped him in his acting career, where it has been reported that what he lacked in talent he made up for in personality and the ability to forge the correct "relationships." He got his start on the stage after seducing Bernhardt, who cast the young man as her leading man. He had no experience and at the time had just been released from prison. His drive for success was perhaps propelled by his status as an "illegetimate child." The legitimacy that he lacked in infancy, he clearly sought to attain in adulthood through prosperity. His ambition revealed itself in his first marriage-- to a countess. The name of his auto-biography, therefore, seems befitting: Women Have Been Kind. With his good looks, he clearly knew how to play the game to suit his needs, but after three failed marriages he still had not found what he was looking for. Thrown into the mix was his dwindling career, which included stage plays and film roles (including 3 Bad Men), often playing unsavory characters with an agenda. Things took a turn when his handsome face was damaged in a fire, thus leaving him without his oft played Ace. By 1934, he too was suffering from Cancer (a fact that was kept from him) and bankruptcy. With no career, no woman to save him, and a lifetime of mistakes and lost opportunities, Lou at fifty-one had nothing. This makes his death not necessarily surprising, as his sad state was obvious to those around him; what makes his suicide shocking is its execution. Lou's method was masochistic: standing before a mirror, he stabbed himself with a pair of sewing scissors... seven times. Legend has it that this was done while he was surrounded by newspaper clippings of his past glories, which is true figuratively if not literally. 

The mysterious and saddening ends of W.S. Van Dyke, Max Linder, Phyllis Haver, Brian Keith, Everett Sloane, etc. could be added to this never-ending list. The question is, is Hollywood really a major contributing culprit in their deaths, or does living larger-than-life simply project a more intense version of universal truths? Clearly, when you have climbed higher than the rest, you have farther to fall, and for those who have once tasted ambrosia on Mount Olympus to be left with only memories of past glories, a quiet, solitary life does not seem as inviting as the eternal silence of death-- which will shut out their unfulfilled desires with their sorrows. If Hollywood were erased from the equation, it seems that all of these stories would have ended the same way, for it does not appear that the loss of fame tipped the scales against Margaret Sullavan or Charles Boyer as it more fully did to Tellegan. Why is it then that this city still seems to be to blame, at least partly? Life in show-business, so rich, passionate, and dramatic seems to induce equally dramatic ends. Just as plot-twists give unsuspecting film viewers a thrilling whip-lash, tabloid truths have too taken us for a loop when things don't end the way we expect them to. Perhaps these deaths seem more brutal because we never expect our stars to die at all-- even when they do die, they don't. Olive Thomas still uproariously mugs at us in her remaining masterpiece, The Flapper-- a film in which she ironically backs out of a half-hearted suicide attempt-- and she has been gone for nearly one-hundred years. This haunting quality only adds to the Hollywood mystique: light and shadows, glamour and debauchery, flecks of gold and celluloid dust. For every lost life, thousands of movie fans are born to take its place; to continue carrying the torch for lights snuffed out by the cool hand of death.

STAR OF THE MONTH: Ginger Rogers

Virginia Katherine McMath- (she would take her stepfather 

John Logan Rogers's name to become Ginger Rogers).

In all of my years of research, I have discovered two actors that remain steadfastly adored and defended by their fans. The male counterpart is Errol Flynn. You don't ever say anything negative about Errol, or his fans will have your head, (can you blame them?). Just as devout is the loyalty that fans have for Ginger Rogers. The number of fansites, web pages, tributes, blogs, and continuing discussions about this woman are astounding. Of course, I had come across Ginger in my ambles through the past-- how could ya' not? But until the past month or so, I failed to completely understand her power. Thus, I decided to really dig into her life and work. And yes, I have been converted.

Ginger with mother Lela aka "Leelee."

I suppose what didn't necessarily "turn me off" but rather deterred me from Ginger fanaticism at the beginning were all the rumors I ran into about her. The tight relationship she had with her mother is often interpreted in various references as odd or unnatural. Thus, I made it up in my own head that Lela Rogers was one of those crazy stage mothers who used her daughter to gain her own financial desires and that the two together were pushy, power-hungry divas. Well, shame on me. That's typical "man's history," (no offense). In Hollywood, when a woman is typecast behind the scenes as "difficult," "demanding," or "temperamental," it is pretty much a way of calling her strong. She will not submit to the casting couch, she will not be pushed around, she will voice her opinions, she will guide the course of her own career-- horrendous. Strength, dignity, integrity: these were qualities all possessed by Ginger and instilled by her mother, who was not a domineering tyrant but a supportive and intuitive businesswoman who charted her daughter's dreams and not her own. Also adding to my misconception was the fact that Ginger historically has been placed forever in a supporting role to Fred Astaire. It's "Astaire and Rogers," not the other way around. Fred has been remembered as the genius and Ginger his muse. But, while one may have worked fine without the other, the two worked best as equal partners. Astaire gave their relationship style; Ginger gave it life, or as otherwise noted by Katharine Hepburn, Fred gave Ginger "class," and she gave him "sex."

Ginger as a young ingenue, with her hair a 

few shades darker!

But that all came later. In the beginning, there was just Lela and Virginia McMath, a single mother and her young daughter, battling life's hard knocks on their own. Lela had escaped her wandering husband William Eddins McMath after he proved to be a ne'er-do-well. He would re-emerge only to kidnap his daughter-- a traumatizing event for the infant who remembered it well. Luckily, the defiant Lela stole her right back, and the mother and daughter never left each others' sides for the remainder of Lela's life. Early on, Ginger wasn't too interested in performing, but she had a natural knack for dancing and loved music as well-- she often played the ukulele. After being encouraged by friends to enter a "Charleston" competition, the untrained young girl blew the panel away and took the trophy. The taste of victory and the thrill of performing were thereafter chronically flowing through her veins. She and Lela started traveling around on the vaudeville circuit, performing with the likes of Ed Lowry and Paul Ash. After a failed teenage marriage to a childhood crush who turned out to be a boozer, Ginger found herself on Broadway performing in top notch shows like "Top Speed" and "Girl Crazy," where she would meet a helpful choreographer, Fred Astaire, for the first time. It wasn't long before Hollywood came calling for a screen test. Ginger delivered and was scooped up by Paramount and later Pathe, Warner Bros, Twentieth-Century Fox, etc. She already had plenty of cinematic experience in big productions like 42nd Street and Gold Diggers of 1933 before she was signed at RKO and re-teamed with Fred in Flying Down to Rio. Their supporting characters stole the show, particularly in their "Carioca" routine, which friend and choreographer Hermes Pan suggested they do with their foreheads touching. It caused a sensation. RKO had struck gold, and for 9 more pictures, the world would enjoy watching the most famous dancing collaboration of all time.

Fred and Ginger do "fun and fancy free" in Swing Time.

It's no secret that Mark Sandrich, the director who helmed 5 out of 10 of the Astaire/Rogers pictures, favored Fred. Ginger would often remark that she was left to feel like little more than window dressing to her tapping comrade and that the back of her head often got more screen time than her face. For this reason, she was ecstatic when she got to work with directors like George Stevens on Swing Time and was encouraged to stake her claim and indulge in her own talents. (Of course, Ginger didn't really need help with that; it was just nice to have someone fighting on her side). One of the many things that can be said about Ginger is that she was brimming with creativity. Whereas Fred was more the perfectionist, Ginger always gave their routines a little extra spice, and many of her suggestions were implemented into various dances. It was her idea that she and Fred dance on roller skates in the "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off" sequence of Shall We Dance. It was her idea that Fred swing her repeatedly over the tables in the "Yam" sequence of Carefree. The "I'm Putting All My Eggs in One Basked" routine of Follow the Fleet, one of the funniest ever filmed, was too her concept-- her character gets stuck in a step and keeps repeating it ad nauseum. She also eased the tension, for when Fred was stressed on set, Ginger was always relaxed. When Fred was insecure about a scene or one of her ideas, Ginger would talk him into it. And she was tough. Fred would remark that Ginger was the only partner he had who never cried... even when her shoes were literally filling with blood. With her crafty, playful persona, she added a unique energy that made their rapport and chemistry so believable and enviable. Even though the duo only kissed onscreen minimally-- allegedly due to the stipulation of Fred's wife Phyllis-- their romance, their synchronicity, and their poetry on the dance floor always indicated the true depths and passions of love.

Ginger (in her notorious ostrich feathered dress) and Fred do 

"romance" in Top Hat, one of the most famous 

dance sequences ever filmed.

And they got along, which is something both had to protest through the years. True, they had their  spats, over Ginger's lush, feather dress of Top Hat, for example-- another one of her innovations that stole the show-- but they worked well together, enjoyed each other's company, and respected each other immensely. The fact was, they were two separate people, and didn't want to be forever joined. Their desires to work on other projects and further their individual careers suggested to many that they hated each other, but this was simply the product of mutual, respectful ambitions. Especially after the duo's films started to  wane in popularity, particularly after The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle, they decided to go their separate ways and pursue other endeavors. The results were mutually successful. For Ginger's part, she had already showed the world her talents, her acuity, her ability to keep up with a superior dancer, and her progress can be seen from film to film, wherein she always holds her own. Flying solo, she got the chance to prove what she could do on her own two feet. Her comedic sensibilities were tested in Billy Wilder's directorial debut, The Major and the Minor, and she won the Academy Award for her honest and grave performance in Kitty Foyle. Prior to this, she had stepped out with great aplomb in Stage Door, Vivacious Lady, and Having Wonderful Time, all of which included stand out performances and revealed her many emotional levels and capabilities. This girl was the whole package: singer, dancer, acclaimed actress, athlete, and also fashionista-- I know Grace Kelly and "style" are supposed to be synonymous, but no one knew how to wear a dress like Ginger.

Resting while shooting The Major and the Minor, in which 

she splendidly and hilariously plays a woman 

pretending to be a child.

Ginger, as well as being beautiful, vibrant, and fun, was also resilient. She played the Hollywood game with her mother as her manager/consultant and herself alone as master. Being raised in the Christian Science faith, Ginger could easily enjoy the social life of Hollywood without succumbing to its temptations. She loved to go out, dance, and meet with friends, but she never drank or imbibed on any other substances. She didn't need 'em. The way she saw it, she had her head on straight, so why knock it sideways? To her, playing a game of tennis-- at which she excelled-- indulging on ice cream, or painting private works of art, were the best ways to stimulate the mind and body. She was the product of discipline, but not harshly so. She worked hard and lived lightly. When looking over old candid photos or reading her memoirs, one can't help but be envious. This woman had fun! She possessed self-confidence and pride without possessing arrogance. She possessed beauty and a perfect figure without being conceited. She enjoyed her life and the fruits of her diligent labor without throwing her weight around. All of this vitality and optimism shows in her work. Onscreen, there is always something that makes Ginger snap! This is what drew friends, like Margaret Sullavan, and scores of male admirers, like ex-fiance Howard Hughes, to her. Going down the roster of her boyfriends and wooers, one becomes downright jealous. From her marriage to Lew Ayres to a never fully realized romance with Cary Grant, this lady had her pick of the litter!

Ginger and friend Jimmy Stewart share the honors at the 1941 

Academy Awards,  she winning for Kitty Foyle,

 he for The Philadelphia Story.

Unfortunately, love in its traditional form was never in the cards for Ginger, which is ironic since she was a fairly traditional girl who hoped for home and family. Her second marriage to Lew failed as did three following unions. The reasons for these dissolutions are never fully explained, but the educated guess is the usual sad song of independent, career women in Hollywood: men fall in love with the movie star, and are intimidated by the real woman. It is hard for anyone to play second fiddle to a star as big and bright an Ginger was, and while her great light drew many to her, for some, it in turn became too overpowering. Through all of this bad luck, Ginger relied on her own perseverance and faith to pull her through, and as a result she always won out. So, she missed out on the picket fence package? She still was able to love deeply, to work hard, and live life to the hilt-- in a mansion. She worked consistently if less often through her later years, and had a rebirth in live theater when she took on starring roles in both "Hello Dolly!" and "Mame," as well as her own Las Vegas show, which left audiences wondering how the heck someone her age still had "legs like that?" Life wasn't a competition, it was an experience-- one that she soaked up until her dying day at the ripe old age of 83.

The eternal, playful glamourpuss-- why America 

fell in love with her.

While her films with Fred Astaire may have sealed her forever into the legion of legends, Ginger did all right on her own. The remaining, steadfast adulation of her fans speaks to that. A sassy woman, a street smart girl, a lady with chutzpah, and dame with integrity... she played them all. She was them all. It is her strength that continues to speak to future generations and to women in particular. One of our favorite accidental feminists, Ginger belongs in the same category as those determined, talented, and inhumanly human ladies like Davis, Stanwyck, and Hepburn. She was one of the greats, giving a positive spin on the depression through song and dance and giving the female sex someone to look up to as times started changing. We love Fred. We all love Fred. But while his dancing always leaves us in awe, it remains almost too impersonal. Too good. Ginger made it real, and she made it fun. And in the end, shouldn't that be what it's about?

MENTAL MONTAGE: Random Act(or)s of Kindness

The eternal Robin Hood, Errol Flynn, defends Olivia De Havilland's 

Maid Marian.

Our movie stars are our heroes. Whether fighting for true love, knocking the bad guys around, or even saving the world, they always come out on top, making us believe in our heart of hearts that somehow everything is going to be all right. Of course, after the director yells cut, these actors and actresses are brought back to earth with the rest of us, and their colossal onscreen efforts, more often than not, stand in sharp contrast to the normal, every day lives they lead. Thus, it is comforting to hear that someone we all admire is actually deserving of our admiration beyond the bounds of performance. The following stories introduce a slew of good deeds by our celebrity immortals, who in some way or other went above and beyond for their common man.

A little kindness goes a long way, so when a larger-than-life figure delivers a dose of goodness, it seems to speak in louder volumes than when the rest of us do it. There are certain individuals who used their power for good with regard to those beneath them on the totem pole. Par example: Robert Mitchum. The tough guy with a poet's heart (right) was always looking out for the little guy. When RKO cracked down on budgets and cut out donuts and coffee on the set for the cast and crew of 1951's His Kind of Woman, Bob was irked. He thought it was only fair that those who worked hard for the studio should-- at the very least-- get a good breakfast. Bob was known for being a hard worker and a punctual one, but he used his clout to needle the studio by coming to set late every morning after this. His reason? He was using studio time to shop for coffee and donuts for everyone on the set. It meant a lot to every one he worked with, and with the schedule lagging behind because of this minor heroism, the studio finally caved and returned donuts and coffee to the menu. Bob showed up for work on time from then on out.

Ingrid Bergman also lent a hand to a female co-star. Rhonda Fleming (left) worked with Ingrid during Spellbound, her first motion picture, with Hitchcock no less. Needless to say, she was a bit nervous, but she had no need to be. When she met the beautiful and illustrious Ingrid for the first time, Ingrid came up to her, shook her hand and said, "At last! Eyeball to eyeball!" Both of the women were tall, with Ingrid being 5'10" and Rhonda being 5'8", and the former was glad to not be hovering over the ingenue. They had few scenes together, but Rhonda got a chance to talk to Ingrid between takes. She confided that her young husband was overseas fighting in the second World War. Not long after, Ingrid would travel abroad to entertain the troops. When she landed in Germany, she made sure to look up Rhonda's husband and introduce herself, which was a real treat to him. She called Rhonda to tell her that her man was healthy and happy. It meant a lot to the young actress, and she worshipped Ingrid even more after that.

These helping hands on the professional level also extend to casting. More than one actor has aided a fellow struggling performer by insisting that he or she be given a certain role. Star of the Month Groucho Marx was instrumental in giving Marilyn Monroe her first big break. When casting began for Love Happy, the final of the Marx Brothers' films, three ingenues were brought in to audition for the role of the sexy client who comes knocking on Detective Sam Grunion's door (see right). The scene was brief, but it needed an eye-catching girl. So, the three women paraded in front of Groucho one at a time, and producer Lester Cowan asked which he preferred. Groucho replied, "You've gotta be kidding! How can you choose anyone else but that girl?!" He was of course, referring to Marilyn. He saw a potential in her, along with her extreme beauty, and gave her a major boost in her career. It was not the role of a lifetime, nor the one that would bring her notoriety, but with it she was able to increase her experience and her fan following. With Marilyn, it seems she was destined for fame, but without Groucho, who knows what would've happened?

Leslie Howard also had an opinion or two when it came time to cast The Petrified Forest (left) with Bette Davis. He had performed in the stage version with Humphrey Bogart on Broadway, and the two became good friends. Leslie was a bigger star at this point, but he was impressed with Bogie's talent and believed that his career would really take off if only given the chance. Initially, Warner Bros. didn't want Bogart to resume his role in the screen adaptation of the play, but Leslie used his star power to insist. In fact, he refused to appear in the film himself should Bogie be denied his rightful place opposite him. Humphrey indeed got the part, and though it was the later The Maltese Falcon that would push him over the edge into cinematic legend, he was forever grateful to his friend for this small favor. In fact, he would name his daughter Leslie Howard Bogart as a thank you.

Margaret Sullavan was equally instrumental in helping a young Jimmy Stewart in his early career. The two had met and dated briefly when Jimmy was stage-managing one of Margaret's plays. While she soon after rose to stardom via Only Yesterday and So Red the Rose, Jimmy was still feebly trying to make a name for himself. She never forgot the good-humored boy, though. So, when an opening came up for a male lead in Next Time We Love, she hand-picked him as her costar. The studio almost immediately reneged on the deal after seeing his inexperience in the dailies. Margaret fought for him though and rehearsed with him privately each night, (much as Barbara Stanwyck would do with the young William Holden during Golden Boy). Jimmy improved quickly and audiences responded to the pair. Margaret once again insisted on Jimmy when they re-teamed for The Shop Worn Angel. The film was such a hit, that MGM finally had to admit that they had quite the asset on their hands. Jimmy's star would continue rising thanks to performances in You Can't Take It with You and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, but Jimmy might never have 'Gone to Hollywood' had it not been for one of his biggest fans and best friends-- many gossiped that the two were engaged in a lifelong, unconsummated love affair. Their four films together remain classics, including the most memorable, The Shop Around the Corner (right).

Not all of these gifts remain in the acting circle; sometimes the goodness these performers did extended far beyond the confines of the movie set. In fact, in certain cases the personal stances they made had moral implications. For example, when Grace Kelly was dining at The Stork Club in New York in the early '50s, she couldn't help but overhear a ruckus that was taking place in the restaurant. Apparently, the notorious and talented Josephine Baker was being denied entre due to her skin color. Grace was outraged! She rose from her chair, walked over to the commotion, grabbed Josephine by the hand, and stormed out, vowing never to return! Josephine, who was normally much more extroverted, (see left), was quite shocked to see the iconically placid ice queen playing the raging heroine! Grace proved to be an ally, and from that night on the strangers would indeed became good friends. Grace never did return to The Stork Club, and when Josephine died of a stroke in 1975, Grace continued her generosity by paying for her funeral expenses and arranging for her to be buried close by in Monaco.

John Garfield is often cited as the pre-method "method" actor, paving the way for Marlon Brando, Maureen Stapleton, and Eli Wallach with his raw intensity and honesty. These qualities followed him off the soundstage. Often playing edgy, hard-knock characters who yet maintained an uncanny likability, he was a bad boy that audiences embraced, much as they had James Cagney's anger fueled characterizations. The world that Garfield was raging against was the same one viewers existed in all the time in the real world. They trusted him, believing he would never let them down. They weren't wrong. When John (right) was called before the House Un-American Activities Committee as a witness, his career was put in jeapardy if he refused to "name names." However, just as in his films, John was no rat. He kept his lips sealed, refusing to throw any friends he had under the bus. Though he himself was not a communist, he believed that in America everyone should be entitled to the freedom of thought at the very least. He said, in effect, "No one likes a snitch." His career started to decline after this action, and he would pass away not much later in New York due to a heart attack, though many would claim it was HUAC and his treatment by the industry afterward that killed him. The legend of his acting and his courage has enabled him to have the last laugh.

There too are legitimate heroes and lifesavers in the world of cinema. John Gilbert was a swashbuckling lover onscreen, often saving actresses like Eleanor Boardman (left in Bardelys the Magnificent) or Norma Shearer from danger. However, in reality, it would be his own daughter, Leatrice Gilbert (Fountain) whose life he would legitimately save. John had divorced from Leatrice Joy in 1925 shortly after baby Leatrice was born. It left him brokenhearted. Because John was still in love with his ex-wife, it was often difficult for him to be around her, which put a great deal of distance between him and his daughter. However, he was always watching. One day, when living with her mother near the beach, Leatrice ventured out too far in the waves and began to drown. Before she knew what was happening, she was pulled back onto the beach. As she regained consciousness and got her bearings, she soon realized that the handsome rescuer looking down at her was her own father! John scolded her for swimming out too far, sent her back home to her mother, and disappeared almost like a dream. The man who had seemed so distant was in fact her guardian angel.

Finally, Lon Chaney was the soldier of pain for nearly the entire world. The underdogs, the hardened criminals with aching hearts, and the forgotten men were all represented by him (see his dark side, right, in The Blackbird). No one understood sorrow like Lon, and no one fought so hard to give his performances the vitality and brutality of the hard truth. Though very secretive in his private life, those who befriended and worked with him got to catch a glimpse of the kind and decent man behind the myth. Whether preparing Christmas cards for the entire lot or seeing to it that work always ended at five-- even if production was put behind schedule-- just to give the extras another paid day of work, he won the respect of many he met. It would have fooled many fans, whom were often left quaking in their boots, to know what a gentleman and gentle man he truly was. But Lon knew the power of his dark image and used it. For example, one day someone happened to pass him on the lot and saw that he was picking up a nest of fallen birds. Lon cupped the chirping creatures delicately in his hands and placed them gently back into their tree. When he saw that he was being watched he said, "Whatever you do, don't tell anyone. Everyone thinks I'm so hard-broiled, I'll never live it down!"

One more accurate example of heroism occurred when Lon was just starting out at Universal with Carl Laemmle. At this time, the many actors were sharing dressing rooms, which were small and cramped-- far from the lavish star apartments they would later become. In fact, at one point he and Jean Hersholt shared a dressing room! Universal City was like a happy home for these thespians. A unique and independent movie town, everybody knew everybody else. They were like family. It was not all fun and games however. Lon once passed the dressing room of a young actress, whom he must have heard weeping in pain. Upon investigation, he discovered that the girl was suffering the consequences of a botched abortion. The details of the occurrence are quite fuzzy, primarily because whatever happened, Lon kept a secret-- he was not one to gossip, particularly about the sad case of a troubled young girl-- but it is known that he saved her life. The girl had allegedly had an affair with a prominent, unnamed director, become pregnant, and tried to self-induce the abortion. Lon arrived in the nick of time, picked her up, and carried her to the studio hospital. Had he not been passing at that moment and offered his services to the distressed stranger, whose life was literally slipping away, she may have become yet another one of Hollywood tragedies. (Lon shows his softer side, left, with a gorgeous Joan Crawford in The Unknown).


Whether extending a hand to a friend in need or giving a boost to a complete stranger, these few stars proved themselves to be worthy of the iconic heroism often bestowed upon them by fans. Few knew about the behind-the-scenes gestures that made them flesh and blood champions, choosing instead to worship these golden idols for their cinematic performances. Both sides of the coin are admirable, but the aforementioned little bits of information make the magic they produced on the screen shine much more brightly. Perhaps the elusive "it" factor people can see echoing out from the eyes of their favorite personalities often has a great deal to do with the genuine goodness within.