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WHY BE FAT?
Wally Beery — Caught Off Guard
[Continued from page 30]
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a Philadelphia firm had signed little Carol Ann to appear in a display of girl's dresses and that she had just finished posing in the first eighteen models. This important announcement having been made, Beery wanted to know why he had received a nine o'clock call for the following day when China Seas, his new picture, wasn't even scheduled to start for another week. Production officials, hurriedly summoned by the zealous exploitation workers, informed him that he was being called for costume fittings and to discuss the script for the new film with Director Tay Garnett.
"WHAT?" Wally demanded> "Why
* * should I talk with the director ? I haven't got a thing to say to him. All I can do is get out in front of that camera and put on the best show I know how. For the love of Mike," he complained bitterly, "I've been in this motion picture business more than twenty years and they're still tryin' to make it a big problem."
"Well, Mr. Beery," one of the production staff volunteered, "we thought you might have some suggestions to make about your costumes or about your lines in the script."
"Who? Me?" Wally questioned, "You know me. I'll wear any darned thing they tell me to wear, from a pair of tights to a suit of armor. And I'll say anything that's in the script. I'll do anything they think will help the picture. You know I can't stick around here. Gotta get back to the factory in Delaware and pick up my new ship. Boy, am I getting a honey this time," Beery said, turning to me, "a new Bellanca cabin job that'll ride six people. I'm flying back east in an Airlines plane and ferrying my own ship back to the West Coast."
Anyone who is fortunate enough to be around Wally for any length of time will find that there are just two things in this wide world that he'll talk about without being prodded occasionally. One is his tiny daughter. The other, his airplanes. He's mighty proud of both. Hoping to steer him away from a detailed and highly technical description of his new ship and back into his original, story-telling mood, I slipped in a few questions about his experiences as an amateur pilot. Wally is one of the few licensed fliers in the motion picture colony and certainly the greatest aviation enthusiast in all Hollywood. He laughed when I asked him about some of his rough trips through the Sierra mountains and admitted that, on at least one occasion, he wasn't a bit sure he'd get back to Hollywood, all in one piece!
WALLY has a cabin on an island in Silver Lake, high in the Sierra mountains, and maintains a landing field nearby, so that he can fly up to the lake and fish and hunt over the weekends.
With his plane he can always hop back to Hollywood, bright and early Monday morning, in time for work.
"I took off from the shore of the lake one afternoon," he revealed, "intending to hop back to Hollywood in a hurry. Knew I didn't have a lot of gasoline in the tanks but figured I could make the return trip without trouble. About the time I got up above the surrounding mountains, I changed my mind in a hurry. Man alive ! When the wind starts blowing in those hills, it really kicks up a fuss. I hadn't bothered to fasten my safety belt and with the ship bouncing around like a cork in the choppy air, I couldn't turn loose the controls long enough to fix the buckle.
"About all I could do was hold on to the stick and fight to keep the plane right side up and headed away from the peaks all around. Finally, just about the time I thought I had the wind whipped, the ship smashed into a down-draft and dropped out from under me so fast my head hit the top of the cabin. It really hit too ! I found later it had cracked a beam across the top of the fuselage. There I was — both hands, tight on the stick, with me in mid-air. Then the plane stopped falling. And I dropped back in my seat. You can bet I whipped around in search of quieter air. By the time I got my belt buckled around me and had a chance to feel my head, I found a bump about the size of a goodsized hen's egg. That was some trip," Beery chuckled. "I finally had to turn completely around and head toward Reno, circling the storm and coming into Hollywood along a different air lane."
,\X7'ALLY was going strong and I was * * sitting back, contentedly taking notes, but just about that time studio workers from various departments started dropping in to ask questions about this, that and the other thing. Finally, he turned to resume the conversation on aviation but then another chap entered the office with a stack of photographs of Carol Ann in her new dresses. All other business was forgotten while Beery went through them, studying each pose carefully and commenting as he scrutinized each picture.
While he was deeply engrossed in examining the pictures of his little daughter, I took a little jaunt along my own memory lane, — a jaunt that carried me back some fourteen or fifteen years to my very first meeting with Wallace Beery. It was like this :
I was working the "ghost" watch as a cub reporter at the old Hollywood police station. Along about two or three o'clock in the morning who should come striding in but Wally himself, — the very first motion picture star I'd encountered at close range, — and I can remember the thrill even now. He sat down in the desk sergeant's office, propped his feet on the counter and joined right in the conver
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Motion Picture for October, 1935