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226 IT TOOK NINE TAILORS
"Don't let your boss Louis B. Mayer hear about this," I told him, "or hell cast you in The Hairy Ape."
Hollywood has had some very bright animals. I once worked with a parrot named Joe that was wonderful. He was a big, gray, African parrot and could imitate perfectly the voice of a man. He wasn't a screeching parrot; he had a beautiful baritone speaking voice and excellent diction. I was so crazy about Joe that I bought him and brought him home. I thought he would add tone to the dining room.
We had Joe around for quite a while before we discovered his weakness. We had a big dinner party one night and one of our guests was telling a long-winded story. It was a very dull and very egotistical tale. Finally he finished and everybody chuckled politely—but not Joe, who had been sitting quietly on his perch in the corner of the dining room. He gave our guest a big razzberry, but louder and more vulgar than any ever heard at the Brooklyn Dodgers' ball park.
We discovered, as time went by, that Joe had three or four types of razzberries. They ranged from mild expressions of disbelief to loud declarations of complete disgust. I always thought he knew what was being said at the dinner table, because those razzberries always came at just the right times. Whenever somebody started telling how great he was in some picture or how he had topped somebody else in an exchange of repartee, Joe would give him the old razzberry. I thought he was very funny until the night he gave me the razz. That's when I sold him.
The Mighty Barnum was the first picture I ever did for Darryl Zanuck; after that he called me for so many parts that I began to feel like a contract player on the Twentieth Century-Fox lot. I played in Sing, Baby, Sing, with Alice Faye; One in a Million, Sonja Henie's first picture; Cafe Metropole, with Tyrone Power; Thanks for Everything, with Jack Haley; Roxie Hart, with Ginger Rogers; and Sweet Rosie O 'Grady, with Betty Grable.
At that time Zanuck was making a great many original stories,