Hollywood Studio Magazine (February 1972)

hopped into a studio car, headed for location to meet the cast and been told to sit down with Fields and get material for an in-depth biography. (Incredibly, the studio had only a 600-word summary of his life and career.) Shooting was at Paramount Ranch, then located in Calabasas. I barged in on the working unit and introduced myself to the director, John Watters. I met Conklin and the juvenile leads. The girl, the pet of all publicists, was Mary Brian; the hero was Jack Luden, from the coughdrop family. I told the assistant director I had to talk with Fields and he practically fell into my arms. A mix-up had given hours of idleness to Fields before he was to work in the last shot of the day. There was no time to drive him home and back, no lush place to park him. The assistant feared the star would grow bored and restless. He told me to hustle to where Fields sat on a wooden porch all alone, and keep his attention from the fact he wasn’t needed for scenes. 1 realized later that it was my nickname, Teet, that really won the day for me. He savored the sound of the silly name and I explained my real name is Cecil, which I disliked. He countered by reporting that his genuine name was William Claude Dukinfield and that his folks had persisted in calling him Claude. That name irritated him and he had been saved by the nickname of “Whitey.” Then he began chortling about San Fernando Valley names. He was delighted that he was in Calabasas, just beyond Agoura. He insisted he had bought some kumquats and rutabagas there. Just across the mountains was Malibu which lead to Point Mugu. Teaming of W. C. Fields and Mae West in several pictures could be classed as almost sheer genius. Today, these pictures are being revived to the delight of audiences. Typical of the roles which made W. C. Fields popular is this photo of him in costume for a period picture. He recited a string of other names that had intrigued him: Simi, Pacoima, Tujunga, Winnetka, Sylmar, Canoga Park, Reseda, Tarzana. Then there was Encino where, when he bought himself a home, he wound up owning a 7VS-acre ranch just south of Ventura boulevard off White Oaks. It was difficult getting him off the name bit, even though I was enraptured by his recounting of names of real people and places that fascinated him. There was a woman named Mrs. Mucklex and an undertaker, Chester Snavely, he said. In subsequent pictures, I was to learn other names. Among those I remember are Cuthbert J. Twilling, Hermissilo Brunch, Larson E. Whipsnade, Felton J. Satchelstorm, Curtis I. Bascome, Dr. Otis Guelpe, Sneed Hearn, Figley E. Whiteside, the law firm of Posthewhistle and Smunn. They became characters in his films. He himself used such pen names as Charles Bagle, Otis Criblesobie, and Mahatma Kane Jeeves for stories he sold to studios. Fields had, of course, been a juggling star in vaudeville with a patter for use during his trickery. He told me that he always got great laughs from throwing out allusions to certain towns such as Punxsatawny, Scituate, Woosocket, Canarsie, Manayunk and Kennebunksport. His word fascination extended beyond names to whatever he could cull from a small , pocket dictionary which he carried at all times. That one afternoon I collected a pad full of human interest items. Now and then there was a “tall tale” like how he got his bulbous red nose. “My favorite i appetizer is the martini and my favorite j bartender had a theory that an olive] should be frozen before plunking it into ; the juice,” he told me. “Everytime I drained a glass, the frozen olive stuck to j my nose and thousands of frost-bites ] made my nose rosy,.” He did give me another version, which