Modern Screen (Feb-Dec 1957)

lonely — but a fellow can get pretty hungry just sitting around like that for hours. "Well, the girls took good care of this. Somehow they would hoodwink their dates at Ciro's and Romanoff's and Mocambo into getting them an extra steak for their 'dog' or a slab of roast beef for a 'poor roommate who's sick tonight, poor thing, and didn't even have the strength to go down to supper'— I'll never forget the cute little blonde from Tennessee who would always finagle an apple pie 'for my blood condition' from whichever guy she went out with — and what a feast we fellows would have when the girls got back, called out good-by to the departing Cadillacs and Jaguars and came rushing up to our rooms with whatever they'd managed to get their hands on, shouting, 'Come on, boys . . . it's indigestion time!' " It hurt bad as it was happening Hugh was still living at The House Of The Seven Garbos a year later when he got what looked like his big break. A talent scout had seen him in a play at The Stagelighters on a Saturday night and phoned him Monday morning, first thing. The scout told him that a big producer at a big studio needed a tall, young type for an important role and that he'd just arranged for Hugh to meet the producer on Wednesday morning. " 'This is it,' I told myself," Hugh says now. Or maybe he was telling Mary — forgetting that it wasn't both of them anymore that he was dreaming and working and planning for. Only — it was, always. Because the dreams were just work if there wasn't Mary. "This was the big chance I'd been waiting for. I went to the producer's office, all right. And I was out of his office a couple of minutes later, minus any big break and any part in any picture. Looking back, I'm glad it happened that way. I'm glad now that the next twenty-five interviews, too, went exactly that way. After all, I needed experience and experience takes time, lots of time. Yep, I'm glad now — but it sure hurt bad when it was happening." It took more than another year before Hugh really began to hit it right. He was selling hosiery as a sideline by this time — "Having given up as a gardening and garbage tycoon," he says — and, wisely, he made a point of calling on producers' and agents' secretaries a couple of times a month and asking them (1) did they need any stockings, and (2) did their bosses need any fresh talent? "You're in the movies now" One day the secretary to agent Milo Frank greeted him with a big smile. "Park the valise, Hugh," she said, "straighten your tie and come with me." She took his hand and led him into Mr. Frank's office. "This is the young man I was telling you about," she said to her boss. Frank nodded. "Can he act?" he asked his secretary. Hugh answered for himself. "Yes, Sir," he said. "We'll see," Frank said. That evening the agent watched Hugh in a play and two days later, Hugh was screen-tested for the Ida Lupino movie, Young Lovers. Three days later, he got a call from Frank's secretary. "You've sold your last pair of nylons, Hugh," she said happily. "You're in the movies now!" After Young Lovers was finished, Hugh went back to Winnetka to spend Christmas with his folks. His thrilled mother met him at the railroad station, bursting with pride. "You've made good in Hollywood," she whispered, over and over again, hugging him, kissing him. "Well, you can't say I made good yet . . ." 94 Hugh tried to say. But Mrs. O'Brian would have none of this. "You've made good," she said, "and you've made today the happiest day in my whole long life." At Christmas dinner that evening there was lots of good food and talk, and even a little laughter when Hugh could blot from his memory the little girl, the grown woman, who had sat at this table with him so often during the years they had had each other. The few happy hours And immediately after dinner, Hugh handed his mother a gift. "This is for you and Dad," he said as he handed her a large, red-ribboned envelope. "I guess I should wait till midnight, like we always do . . . but I'm kind of excited and I'd like you to open it now." His mother wept, just like that and right there at the table, when she saw what the present was — two round-trip tickets to Hollywood and two special preview tickets for Hugh's first picture on the night after they got there. "Hughie. . . ." She cried; she took his hand. She couldn't say anything more. It should be three, Hugh thought, and he could feel the tears that wanted to fall. Oh Mary, it should be three tickets! "Well, Mom," Hugh -said, smiling, "you're the one who prayed me into becoming an actor. So I guess you should be the first one to have to see me in a movie." Mrs. O'Brian nodded. Then, suddenly, she got up from the table, walked into the adjoining living room and placed the en When Friendly Persuasion was being made Gary Cooper and Dorothy McGuire in one scene were to melt into each other's arms. Director Wyler watched them clinch, then called "Cut." He said to Cooper: "Don't you think you're holding Dorothy in your arms just a little too long?" . . . "Well, gosh, Willie," Cooper replied, "I don't smoke or drink." Leonard Lyons in the New York Post velope on the big Christmas tree at the far end of the room. "No sense getting all these tickets blurred with my tears," she called out. "The usher at that theater in Hollywood's liable not to let us in if he can't read what it says." "The next few hours were very happy," Hugh remembers. "We opened the rest of our presents at midnight and we sat around and talked some more and we sang a little — carols and songs we used to sing when I was a boy. And then it was time to go to bed. I shook hands with my father and brother, kissed my mother and we all went to our rooms. A shocking sudden quiet "The house was very quiet the next morning when I woke up, much quieter than I ever remembered it being. I got dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. My father was in the kitchen along with a few of our neighbors. They were just sitting there. None of them was saying anything. Then one of them came over to me and asked me if I wanted a cup of coffee, like he was saying, Hughie, I could cry for you. 'What's wrong?' I asked. He couldn't answer. Then a neighbor woman came over and told me, as gently as she could, that Mom had died in her sleep sometime during the night. Just like that, Mom was gone." When Hugh got back to Hollywood after the funeral, his determination to make good, really make good, was stronger than ever. "I know," he says, "that the Good Lord gave my mom a choice seat u there so that she could watch me dowo here — and I wanted her to be proud of me as proud as she had been that Christma Eve. I wasn't going to let her down." It was a tough fight for the next nin years . . . with too many hours of solitude hours spent remembering two tickets tha should have been three, that — shockingl sudden — need not even have been twe "Someone named Wyatt Earp" Hugh got parts, nice parts, in picture now and then, and everybody thought h was a fine young actor and all that. Bu somehow that lucky firecracker that ex plodes under one-in-a-thousand actors i Hollywood and sends them zooming t fame wasn't having any truck with Hugj O'Brian. That is, not until the day not to long ago when a friend called Hugh an< asked him if he wanted to try out for half -hour television series about someon named Wyatt Earp. "About who?" Hugh asked. "Wyatt Earp," came the answer. "Th I Wild West marshal . . . one of the greates law officers of all time." "Wyatt Earp," Hugh mumbled. "Yeah." "Sure m try," said Hugh. The success of his try was, as everyon now knows, phenomenal. The pilot filr which Hugh made rang up the quickes sponsor sale in tv history and, soon afte: Wyatt Earp became one of the most popu lar shows in the country. Wrote one tv critic: Here at last is a actor playing a Western hero. Said anothe critic: The kids love him. The ladies ador him. And I've never heard a man-critte say a word against him . . . Here's oit guy who's really going places. And how does Hugh O'Brian feel — no\ that he's really going places? About his career, he'll tell you, "It feel great, of course. A lot of hard work wer into it, goes into it, will continue to g into my becoming the kind of actor I war to become." He's found the girl About life in general, Hugh will tell yoi "I'd like, very sincerely, to get marriec I'm a little over thirty now; I've got good job; I've got a lot to be thankfu for. But there's something missing, an that's somebody to share my life with1 and my good fortune," he adds, with laugh that's so rare from Hugh. "Just between us, I think maybe I'v found the girl. I don*t feel I should tell yo her name right now. I don't think it's rig! ' to say anything specific about her now. "But I'll tell you this. She's a girl wh is sweet, and gentle, and understanding and who makes me feel like a man. Nc just like another human being who hap 1 pens to be hanging around — but a man. "And she's a companion to me. Mayl I it sounds silly and unromantic to use th ! word companion, but to me there's r ' more beautiful word in the English lar guage. It means she's interested in th same things I'm interested in, shares th \ things I love — she's a companion. That ! really something to build a life on! "Yep, I think I've found the right girl. It , going to take a little more time for both c i us to be sure. But I think we may be mak : ing a nice announcement very soon. If v, do, I know it'll make me very happy." And as he talks about his new girl ar their possible marriage, you can't he" but get the feeling that Hugh's mom ar , his Mary . . . watching from up there . will be made very happy, too. en Hugh can currently be seen in the U..} film The Brass Legend.