Movieland. (1945)

a trade,” he says. “A carpenter, for instance, knows what tools he has, but he must also know how to use them.” He thinks naturally in terms of carpentering. One of the first jobs he ever had was that of carpenter’s helper at the Dupont plant at Old Hickory, Tennessee, during summer vacations. In high school and college he became an outstanding athlete in football and track, and for a time when school days were over he played professional football. That football physique, six feet, two and a half inches, and one hundred ninety pounds, gives him a niche among the biggest leading men in motion pictures. From the time Jimmy had his first paper route, while in knee pants in his native Nashville, right up ’til now, his ambition for financial independence has been a driving force within him. At various times he was on the verge of a career in medicine, professional football, boxing and oil pro¬ motion. But none of those gave him the opportunity to get ahead fast enough. James Craig is not one to wait for opportunity to knock. He goes out and makes it thump. That’s how he became an actor. He was doing very well for himself in sales pro¬ motion with General Motors in Houston, Texas, after he had graduated from Rice Institute. By most young men’s standards, he was well on his way. He had a good salary, his own apartment and a car. However, on his first vacation he drove to California. He visited Hollywood, and once in a while he caught a glimpse of a celebrity sans makeup. He thought of all that beautiful movie money. “Why stars are just people like the rest of us,” he analyzed. “Only, they know how to act. Why can’t you learn to act just as you learn anything else?” Jimmy had no contacts in Hollywood. However, he had faith in his own salesmanship. One of his tenets of selling had always been to go to the top, to see the head man. He used the same technique to launch himself into pictures. James Henry Meador, salesman from Houston, had never been on a stage, had never had a dramatic lesson in his life. But he calmly called M-G-M and asked for the drama coach. He was connected with Oliver Hinsdale and before he had hung up, Jimmy had been invited to the studio next day for an interview. “I sold myself to Hinsdale, all right,” Jimmy relates. “ ‘Go home and get a good diction coach,’ Hinsdale told me. ‘Try to do some Little Theater work and come back next year.’ ” That’s exactly what he did. The following summer when Jimmy returned to Hollywood, he located Oliver Hinsdale at Paramount now, instead of M-G-M, and again was asked to come to the studio. This time, he impressed Hinsdale with what he had learned about acting. He was soon signed to a contract, and his name was changed to James Craig. Having come from Texas with a drawl half acquired from his native Tennessee, half from his sojourn in the Lone Star State, the studio powers-that-be identified him with the wide open spaces and Jimmy found himself assigned to horse operas. Jim loves horses. He has ridden since he was a stripling on his grandfather’s farm, but he certainly didn’t want to tie his motion picture future to westerns. In vain he sought roles without boots and spurs. “You have no real dramatic experience,” the studio argued, and kept him in the saddle. “I figured the New York stage was the best place to get dramatic experience,” Jimmy said, “so I headed for New York.” (Continued on page 71) The Craig "men" get together. They're great pals, the trio you see here — including Duke, the cocker spaniel. Time for those first-of-the-month budget blues, when Mary and Jim go into a family huddle over the bills. Jim and his beautiful wife. Mary, live a gaily quiet home life. indeDendent of the Hollywood social whirl.