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They might have been rivals, instead they are friends. Because, in Gary Cooper, Joel found a quality that is rare in humanity — a man, true to himself
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V/hen the Coopers arrived for a vacation with Sandra's mother, Mrs. Paui Shields (center) with Mr. Shields, New York lensers scooped the Hollywood ones — by snatching a picture of baby Maria
I could start out with a long list of adjectives which fit him, I suppose — quiet, straightforward, straight-thinking, strong, kind, stubborn, generous, sensitive — but I would rather tell a little story about him first, an anecdote which is so typical of him that it comes to mind whenever anyone says to me, "What is Gary Cooper really like?"
It happened two or three years ago. Coop had been away from Hollywood for some time and had been ill, too. Finally, he returned and came to see me at the ranch. He was still under the weather.
"Know what I'd like, McFee?" he offered, straight off. "I'd like to take a walk. I've got a new gun and I want to try it out."
So we did. We walked for an hour or more, with never a word from him. That was like him. He had been away. It would take a while for him to feel at home again. It had always been that way. So we walked on and on — up a long hill, finally. And then, on the crest, we stopped, looking off across miles of rolling green
hills and fields, a beautiful vista. We stood there for five or ten minutes, perhaps, both of us silent. Finally, Coop drew a long breath and turned to me. I was certain that when he spoke, it would be to say something about how swell it was to be back again in God's country, or something like that. But instead —
"You know, McFee, that European situation is a hell of a mess," he remarked.
I think I laughed at the unexpectedness of it, but he didn't even notice. He launched into as intelligent a discussion of international affairs as I have ever heard. He knew everything that had happened — names, places, dates and facts. He also had figured out what was going to happen in the future and he was right, too, as subsequent events have proved. He talked fluently for fifteen or twenty minutes; then he stopped quite as suddenly as he had begun. He had studied the situation. It had interested him. He considered that I would be interested, also, so he spoke his mind. When he had finished, he shut up again.
There is no small talk in Coop. He doesn't say, "Hello-how-are-you" and never wait for or care about your answer. If he asks you how you are, you can be darned well certain he would like to know. If he talks about the weather you can be sure he is interested in it. He reads prodigiously; remembers what he reads, and when he figures he has this or that subject all summed up, he may discuss it, if he feels he has a sympathetic listener. But never under any other circumstances.
UARY and I first met at a party at Pickfair, but each of us had heard about the other through mutual friends long before that. We weren't introduced. We simply encountered each other, shook hands and with one accord went over to a corner and sat down. We must have sat there an hour or so, talking some but not much, perfectly companionable all the while. That was the beginning. We've been friends ever since. No, we are not inseparable. We each have a (Continued on page 85)
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