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From under my Hat
who gave her those wedding showers. Maybe it was an oversight. As a Viennese, perhaps Vilma considered it crude to do things our way. Some people are destined to receive, others to give.
By the time the wedding day arrived even Sam Goldwyn was fed up. Vilma was so ecstatic over her loot ( as it's usually referred to in Hollywood ) , she wanted it displayed where "the little people" could get a look at it too. Miss Banky wanted J. W. Robinson's, one of Los Angeles' largest department stores, to clear all merchandise from their windows and show her presents, proving that she'd got the gift haul of the century.
Sam and his wife Frances had a time talking her out of it. The idea that this display of opulence might antagonize paying picture customers never entered Vilma's artistic blond head. It buzzed around in Goldwyn's noggin like a wasp, and he wasn't getting stung.
When the day of the wedding arrived it was a sizzler. You were told to bring all three invitation cards: one to get you through the crowd; one into the church; the other, if you were lucky enough to live, to the reception.
I made the church all right. Went stag; always do. You see more. On the way down the aisle my usher, Ronnie Colman, whispered, "Where do you want to sit?"
I picked, as who wouldn't, a place by the real First Lady of Hollywood, Mrs. Cecil DeMille, and settled down beside her to wait. We waited and wilted. Vilma had been given orders not to start for the church until Sam gave the signal. She had a police escort to whip through traffic. Speed laws didn't count for our weddings.
However, someone mixed the signals. The officiating priest arrived at the chancel, did all the fascinating little things done at such a time, and turned expectantly to the center aisle. No bride. He waited, his hands folded benignly over his crisp white surplice. He turned his back to us, did more fascinating little things, looked over his shoulder with a small frown, then turned his face to the altar and stood there stolidly.
There was a shriek of sirens. At long last the bride was arriving. Newsreel cameras outside and within the church kept grinding away
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