Hollywood Studio Magazine (May 1971)

All across the country, Carroll led the way, ideas bouncing off his mind like champagne bubbles. Every day, we wired a story from one girl (each in turn) to a bright new newspaper columnist named Ed Sullivan. Once in Hollywood, Carroll scurried to the production boys. But they were in need of no advice, even on a Carroll show. His contribution (read the contract) was serving as a symbol for the picture in merchandising the product through all those lovely media. Carroll did everything. He insisted on adlibbing every radio interview (radio was big in those pre-TV days). Almost every night, I was with him for some appearance. I wondered if there was anything he wouldn't do to garner publicity. His biggest Hollywood splash was in selecting 11 Hollywood all-American chorines to match his Broadway bevy in the movie. More than 2000 females mobbed the forecourt of Grauman's Chinese and walked across a specifically-erected stage before him. What about the suicide girl? The film was completed by the time she came along. Editing was being rushed and Carroll was awaiting the final publicity stunt at release time in May. One morning, the showman bounced into my publicity office, waving a newspaper. He showed me a news photo of a young girl from West Virginia named Julia Graham who had taken a massive dose of barbiturates because she had found the gates of Hollywood locked against her. She couldn't bear to go back home defeated. The story said she was hovering near death. "This girl needs help and I'd like to give it," Carroll told me. My stomach felt queasy. This was an old trick of showbusiness, capitalizing on the misfortunes of the pitiful. From the newspaper reporter, we found out exactly where Julia Graham was in the County General Hospital. Almost as though carried there by a magic carpet, Carroll and I soon were in a third floor room with the girl and an intern who explained that she would pull through but it would be many hours, possibly days, before she emerged from the coma. What a pitiful sight. An unconscious girl with her show-girl body connected to dozens of tubes and dangling bottles. Here was our latest publicity gimmick. Hot dog! Carroll left the girl a note — a philosophical gem about no temporary failure possibly being worth the surrender of a life. If she really wanted to make it into the movies, she was to phone me, and I would tell Earl Carroll. He would lend that helping hand. I made a verbatim copy of the note and phoned the reporter at the Examiner *'who had helped us locate the girl and gave him the story. Headlines! Letters from her frightened parents, a telegram from the mayor of Sisterville, W.Va. "Give the Graham girl a break. She's a good kid." I remember every word, today a generation later. Happily, the girl didn't call. Carroll checked me daily I bothered the hospital intern who said the girl had left the hospital. He wouldn't give me her forwarding address. He had been bawled out for admitting strangers into the intensive ward. Our story hadn't made him happy. Then Miss Graham finally did call. She was living with relatives in a small apartment back of the Ambassador Hotel. Carroll and I went to see her unofficially to arrange details for an official visit the following day. Julia was told to act as though she never had seen us before, because we would come with reporters and photographers. She looked strong enough, but Carroll ordered her to lie on the divan, looking wan, and wearing a bed jacket. The visit that followed was a dream event, sticky with sentiment. A road show version of "A Star Is Born." The press must have had throat lumps when Carroll patted her arm and told her to come to see him at Paramount the moment she was well enough to be up and around. He would take her to the talent folks at the studio. The space the following morning was tremendous. She did arrive at my office the following afternoon. I alerted Carroll, who smiled, took her arm, and said, "Come, we will go to the talent department," and led her away. So I sat alone and thought: Now comes the time for the sun to sink slowly in the West. End of another publicity project. The big space had been garnered. The great showman soon would be off to Manhattan, and I would be left with Miss Graham. Maybe she wouldn't call for too many weeks before she gave up. She was alive and well and Sisterville was only a continent away. Picture of a young man breathing bitterness. Then Carroll came back with Miss Graham. Both were beaming. "Meet your new stock contract player," the showman said. She was crying. Hell, I was choking These are the thirteen beautiful Earl Carroll chorines who came from New York with Carroll to appear in "Murder at the Vanities." Those long, slender legs prove why they were chosen. Even Carle has forgotten names and faces (it was 17 years ago) excepting the lovely who is fifth from the left. She is Beryl Wallace, Carroll's constant companion who died with him in the crash of a commercial airlines some years later. 31