Screenland (Nov 1940-Apr 1941)

party ! It took me all evening to work that, lots of songs and sad eyes and such acting as I have never done on the screen! And boy, when he took me out to his car and I saw it was a chauffeur-driven car, did I ever feel like Lady Vere de Vere ! Whoops, I thought, this is the life, a boy with a car and a chauffeur. We got home and, Jackie being a perfect gentleman, he escorted me in. What was my horror to walk into the living room and find my Mother and Dad down on the floor, counting the nickels and dimes which were Dad's box-office "take" for the evening! Jackie said, in a whisper, "What do your folks do, run a slot-machine?" I was SO mortified ! My first grief came soon after I'd signed my movie contract. It was my Dad's leaving us. Something I never thought could happen, something I know never would have happened, for any lesser reason than Death. He had meningitis. He went away in three days. One of the things that hurts now is knowing that if it had happened to him a little later, he might have been saved. Because now sulfanilamide is a cure for meningitis. But then, there was nothing they could do for him, they didn't know what to do. I had thought I was heartbroken many times before that. Now I knew what heartbreak really feels like. It makes you grow up, a thing like that, a loss that's deep and forever. I did my first broadcast the night Daddy went to the hospital. We didn't know, of course, that he was anything like as ill as he was. It was on KHJ, Big Brother Ken's Program, and I recited "Boots" and sang Zing go the Strings of my Heart. I didn't have any mike fright at all. I never have any fright, mike or camera or stage. Anything that's entertaining, anything that's theater makes me feel right at home.' Well, my first screen appearance, as I am afraid some people will recall, was a short called "Every Sunday Afternoon," which Deanna and I made together. Deanna sang opera. I sang swing. We would both like to forget that sorry little shortie— but as I am putting down all the first things in my life, I can't skip that, much as I should like to. Then I made my first, full-length picture, "Pigskin Parade." I should also like to have amnesia when I recall that! I was loaned to 20th CenturyFox for that picture and it was in that I saw myself, for the first time, on the screen. I can't TELL you ! I was so disappointed I nearly blubbered out loud. I'd imagined the screen would sort of "magic" me. Well, I never got over it, I hated it so badly ! I'd expected to see a Glamor Girl, as I say, and there I was, freckled, fat, with a snub nose, just little old kick-the-can Baby Gumml And I tried so hard, I acted so forced— ohhh, it was revolting! It didn't help a bit that Mom and the director and lots of people said I was good. But I get over things pretty quickly. Someone once told me I have a "volatile element" in me, whatever that means. Anyway, I started to work very hard. The studio began "grooming" me, I learned how to walk, how to carry myself better, I got to know the other players on the lot. And I began to work with Mrs. Rose Carter, who was engaged by the studio as my private tutor. For the first time in my life, schoolwork became a pleasure. For instance, I had never been able to do geometry, it was plain nightmare to me. Well, Mrs. Carter found out how I love art, drawing and all, and she explained that geometry is nothing but a series of drawings worked out in figures instead of colors. I soon discovered I could solve angles, no matter how intricate. Then, thanks to Mrs. Carter, I learned to appreciate Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Verdi. Now I have a collection of 2500 records, including the classics 'and 70 swing. It was Mrs. Carter who put me wise to the fact that modern fiction is pale stuff compared with history. She encouraged me not only to love art but to do something about it, to sketch and paint and draw. That first year, on Mother's Day, my gift to Mom was a portrait of Dad that I made from an old tintype. It's skipping way ahead to tell you about my graduation — anyway, last June, right after I was eighteen, I went into my dressing room (which was also my schoolroom) one day and there was Mrs. Carter, packing away books and portfolios and things, like mad. "What are you doing, Rose?" I asked. "Doing!" said Rose, "why, I'm getting rid of these pesky school-books ! Isn't this a sight your eyes have been sore to see? Don't you realize you are through with them, forever?" And then, of all things, I began to cry ! If anyone had ever told me I'd cry at sight of some vanishing school-books I'd have committed them to the loony-bin. But I just blubbered, "I'm sorry I'm through and — but — well, if I have to be through, I want to graduate with a — with a class. I want to be like other girls my age, at my graduation, anyway \" So, I did graduate with other girls, like other girls. On June 26th, 1940, I was a member of the graduating class of University High School. And I wasn't one speck different from any of the other 249 girls ! I wore a plain blue organdy dress, like they all did, and carried a bouquet of sweetheart roses, just like the others. The flowers were provided by the school and I've got one of them pressed in my scrapbook. I almost missed my place in line, too, because Mother sent me a lovely corsage of mystery gardenias and Mickey sent me a cluster of orchids and I had to dash into the audience and explain to Mom that I loved the corsages but I just couldn't wear them. "I can't be different from., the other girls, Mom," I said, "please don't be hurt, but that's the way it is." Mom understood, like always. I wouldn't even let Mickey come to my graduation. I certainly would be "different," for Pete's sake, if I'd had Mickey Rooney at my graduation! And I wouldn't have any cameramen there, or anything — and it was all wonderful. But now I have to go back three years, just a little hop, to the lots of first things that began to happen then. The first time I met Mr. Gable, in particular ! Well, the way it happened, I was in Roger Eden's office one day (Roger is a musical coach at the studio, and my instructor) and I When Chaplin came to New York for the premiere of "The Great Dictator," he managed to visit some of Manhattan's gay night spots. Charlie is pictured at the Stork Club with cafe society's Nancy Mae Woodbury. begged him to let me sing Drums in My Heart which he had arranged for Ethel Merman. He told me I was too young and unsophisticated to sing a song like that. Now, I have a quick, flary temper and you know how a girl hates to be told she is "unsophisticated," not to mention "young," migosh! So I just stormed out of his office and then cooled off, right off, like always, and came meekly back again. And Roger suggested that we compose a song just for me. He said, "Now, what or whom, would you like to sing about ?" And I said, quicklike, "Mr. Gable!" And Roger looked as if he was trying not to laugh and so then we made up the song, Dear Mr. Gable. Well, it was Mr. Gable's birthday, the first day I met him. Roger took me on the set of "Parnell," which Mr. Gable would like to forget but I have to just mention it, and I sang Dear Mr. Gable to him— and he cried ! Imagine making Clark Gable cry! Imagine being able to! And then he came up to me and he put his arms around me and he said, "You are the sweetest little girl I ever saw in my life!" And then / cried and it was simply heavenly ! _ Just a few days after this, came my first pieces of real jewelry — my charm bracelet from Mr. Gable. It's all tiny, gold musical instruments, a tiny piano, harp, drums, violin and so on — and the only other charm is a teentsy golden book which opens and there is. Mr. Gable's picture in it and an inscription which says : "To Judy, from her fan, Clark Gable." As long as I live and no matter how many jewels life may bring me I'll always keep that bracelet, along with the little diamond cross my Dad gave me on my last birthday before he died, and my first wrist-watch which was from Mother. _ My first premiere came along about this time, too. It was "Captains Courageous" and it was at Grauman's Chinese Theatre and I went with Mickey! I wore my first long dress and my first fur coat, a gray squirrel which I wore for daytimes and evenings, too. When I was seventeen, Mom gave me a ruby fox which I was only allowed to wear on special occasions and when I was eighteen she gave me my wonderful, white fox cape, full length! I got my first car on my seventeenth birthday, too, a red job, like I'd dreamed. But I was talking about my first premiere —Mickey sent me a pikaki lei instead of just a commonplace corsage. Pikakis are like small, white orchids, only with a heavenly fragrance, and they grow only in the tropics and Mickey'd had them flown over by Clipper from Hawaii ! I suppose I'd call that first premiere my first date, too. And if there is anything more important than a first date in a girl's life, I don't know what it is. Here's what I think about a first date: first of_ all, a girl should act her age. I mean, if you are fifteen or sixteen, you shouldn't go out looking as though you had just graduated from kindergarten, of course, but neither should you try to look like a Senior in the Glamor Girl School. If you are wearing your first long dress, or even any new dress, I think it's a swell idea to try it on several evenings before your date, just to sort of get acquainted with it. So that you can practice beingnonchalant. So you won't fall on your face when you go into a theater or restaurant. And I don't think First-Daters should overdo the make-up stuff, either. I know I used just a little, thin powder, just a touch of rouge because the excitement made me look like the ghost of my grandmother. And a very light dash of lipstick. And NO MASCARA! 'Cause if you forget and rub your eyes or laugh until the tears come, your face gets all smudged up. Most of all, on a date, I think a girl should be herself. It's a temptation not to be, I know. I've had my moments when I thought I'd try