Photoplay (Jan - Jun 1942)

PHOTOPlflf [MIRROR The Chances We Take NO magazine can hope to be infallible, can hope to avoid occasional errors and inconsistencies. This is particularly true of magazines which deal in personalities, and thus are frequently affected by the vagaries of temperamental human beings. As I have told you before on this page, PHOTOPLAYMOVIE MIRROR prides itself on trying to be the most up-to-the-minute source of Hollywood information. Although a magazine bringing you beautiful colored pictures best printed by the complex rotogravure process cannot hope to be as timely as a newspaper or a news magazine, we count upon our sources and the sources of our writers to bring you the important stories first. But, believe me, we have to take chances. Why? Well, let me give you an example: Quite some time before the news broke in the papers that Stirling Hayden was going to quit Hollywood, one of our most reliable sources gave me this information and offered a story explaining why Hayden was taking the step. You have heard all the suspicions: a publicity stunt, a strike to get better salary, maybe even a momentary whim that would blow over. I was in Hollywood and covered all possible sources of information. Helen Gilmore in New York did the same. We learned beyond a shadow of a doubt that Stirling Hayden meant it. But what if it were a momentary mood, blown away by the first gust of a changing wind? Well, that was a chance we had to take and, in taking it, rely only upon our instinct of why people do things — and when. It was not until weeks later in my office in New York that I was actually able to look into the clear, determined eyes of Stirling Hayden and know definitely that it was no momentary mood. Sometimes we are not so fortunate. Several months ago we published "Round-up of Romances," in which Rosalind Russell stated emphatically, "I'm not going to elope, no matter what the newspapers say." Well, she didn't elope, but her statement to Ruth Waterbury, most reliable of Hollywood editors and reporters, definitely gave you the impression that she did not intend to marry Fred Brisson at all. A few weeks later she was his bride. Publishing Mrs. Brisson's (nee Russell's) statement was a good bet. We took the chance. And lost. But take the case of the romance of Ginger Rogers and George Montgomery, published in last month's issue. As you may recall, the story does not claim that George and Ginger are going to get married or that the relationship is anything more than a charming romantic friendship. The behind-the-scene facts about that story are amusing: When I received the manuscript, Ginger was not in Hollywood and her mother, Lela, one of the most honest and straight-shooting women I know, was at the new Rogers ranch in Oregon. Most of my pals in Hollywood were telling me that the romance had ended practically before it had begun (as they are still saying) and every evidence pointed to the desirability of "killing" the story. The phone rang. It was Lela Rogers, just returned from the ranch. I was leaving for New York that night, but somehow I must manage to verify the story. "When can I see you?" I asked Lela. "Tonight," she said. "But I'm leaving for New York," I replied. "I know," she said, "your office told me. Ginger and I are going East on the same train." So in that case we didn't have to take a very big chance, for in the hours we all spent together I was able to verify the fact that George Montgomery had definitely proposed to Ginger and that their friendship was still on. o F course, we cannot expect stars to continue indefinitely to be friends because they once said they Nor can we expect them always to carry out their plans, since often fate makes them "gang agley." You may remember the odd circumstance that attended Richard Greene's departure from these shores. Supposedly in Hollywood waiting for a commission in the Canadian army — and open to criticism for his actions — he was actually, according to a tip given us, in New York preparing to sail for England. We called the British shipping commission and although we could not verify it (war censorship, you know) the tone of the officer in charge gave us the clue to its truth. We took a chance there. And won. The collective instincts of our staff told us — in the case of Alice Faye and Phil Harris — that they were not going to get married. But Sara Hamilton, our most energetic newshawk, insisted it was on the level. Doubting her judgment, we still took a chance, assigned her to an interview with Harris — and thanks to her superior instinct we had a scoop when the marriage was announced later. So it goes. We can check the highest authorities. We can deal with only the most reliable writers, verify our sources and theirs. And still, somewhere along the line of getting a scoop, human nature being what it is, we usually have to toss a coin. JANUARY, 1942 17