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He's No. 1 Crawford Now!
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selves in the broad brow and a sombre, serious expression settled on the face that is ordinarily lit up with a good-natured smile. "Life is far too valuable to be wasted," Brod continued. "It's a shame that most people take it so lightly. We only have it for a short time. And it's such a valuable thing. Why don't we take fuller advantage of it ? Why shouldn't we get the best out of it? You certainly can't live life to the fullest if you're going to worry about what people think of you or whether you're always doing the right thing."
After hearing Broderick Crawford expounding the reasons for his strange be
for a while that it suddenly dawns upon you that everything he says makes sense. Good common sense. Then, and only then, do you realize that in spite of his slightly screwy mode of living, he's really one of the sanest people in the world. Occasionally he does things that give Hollywood a distorted impression of him.' The other night, for example, he took his bride, the former Kay Griffith, out driving. The moon bunglike a huge orange balloon over the valley. A warm breeze was blowing inland from the Pacific. There were love and romance in the air. Only the humming of the tires on the asphalt roads was audible. But suddenly something happened to Brod. This didn't seem just right. He felt there was something lacking. Without a word, he turned the car around and sped back to town. And before a tiny, flower-studded house, he jammed on the brakes. In a single leap he was out of the car and halfway up the walk. In three minutes he was back near the car, with a short, dark man.
The Chester Morris newlyweds are pictured at their ringside gay spirits. Chester's doing tricks for his lovely bride, the
table i former
Lett Wcissman l the Grove in Lillian Kenton.
havior, it suddenly dawns upon you that perhaps he is radical. Not the kind that goes around waving red flags or inciting to riot. Not the kind who gets himself tangled up in a lot of foolish, foreign isms. But radical in the sense that he believes people should be themselves and do what they please — as long as they don't hurt anyone else. His own method of living may be frowned upon by the snobbish, social set of Hollywood. But Brod doesn't care. He refuses to conform to all the "musts" that the film colony dictates to the players. He doesn't attend previews. He doesn't spend his nights at Ciro's. He refuses to go in for formal and elaborate entertaining. He still lives in Hollywood and not in Brentwood or Bel-Air. And if he feels like going away for a vacation, he gets up and leaves without having it ballyhooed in all the papers. Where he goes and what he does is purely his own business. That's why Hollywood calls him a rebel !
"Maybe my being born was all a big mistake," he laughed. "Think of all the wear and tear it would save the Hollywood hostesses. But I'm here and nothing can be done about it. Even if I didn't turn out to be a perfect and proper gentleman, it shouldn't matter. Hollywood is too iull of that type anyway. I happen to be one of those guys who wasn't brought up on Emily Post. Just one of the common people. Is there anything wrong in that?" It's only after being in Brod's presence
Once out on the open road again, the short, dark man drew a violin from under his coat. He started to play a Strauss waltz. He played another and another. For hours, he sat there in the rear seat whipping up magic music that melted soothingly in the night air. Kay was enchanted ! Brod was happy ! But the following day all Hollywood thought he was screwy !
"You can't blame people for thinking there's something wrong with me," Brod explained sheepishly. "I don't look exactly like the romantic type. At least not the kind of a guy whom you'd expect to go out and hire a troubadour to serenade his best girl. But there's romance in my soul. Why should I want to stifle it?"
Before he was able to achieve recognition on the stage and screen, Brod had still a second reputation to live down. "Being the son of Helen Broderick certainly didn't ease things along for me," he said. "As a matter of fact, it made the obstacles more formidable. Both father and mother are well-known on the stage and screen. And for me to get anywhere as an actor, I first had to prove my mettle. Let me tell you, that was no easy job. Especially when both of your parents are dead set against having another actor in the family."
At the age of seven, he had to_ start fighting the constant opposition to his becoming an actor. His parents wouldn't even hear of it. And when Helen Broderick says something, you can take it for granted it remains said.
But while Brod was spending a summer vacation touring with his parents on a vaudeville circuit, Harry Breen, another actor on the bill, offered him a dollar a week to run across the stage during the act shouting, "Tag. You're it!" After the second performance, Brod hurled the bombshell at his parents. "I don't want to go back to school. 1 want to be an actor !" From that moment, the feud was on! "Let's get this straight," his father said. "You're going to school for a long, long time — until you get through Harvard. Then you're going into business. Two actors in one family are enough."
"Oh, I went back to school all right," Brod relates. "I was even graduated and entered Dean Academy in Franklin, Massachusetts. It was a nice enough place. But I didn't last very long. They expelled me for trying to run the school my own particular way. I was perfectly satisfied. Without saying a word to the folks, I got myself a job touring with a vaudeville troupe as a combination stagehand, actor and general handyman. But mother soon caught up with me. Back I went to the Academy and this time I stayed until I was graduated. But after that came Harvard. I went there. Not for long. Twenty minutes, to be exact. I simply walked up to the administration building, took a good look at the place, turned around and went straight back to the railroad station where I spent part of my tuition money on a ticket back to New York.
"Harvard looked so serious and sober to me, I knew I wouldn't enjoy myself there. I tried hard to make myself believe that I might turn out to be a good business man. But the sight of those old buildings and the memory of all the great men who came out of those doors left me cold. I couldn't see myself staying there for four long years. I decided to let someone else take care of the business end of the world. I wanted to live. I wanted to have fun. I wanted adventure !"
During the next few years, adventure came fast and furiously to Broderick Crawford. He was in the bad graces of his parents and kept clear of them. But aside from this petty unpleasantness, he managed to lead a colorful and exciting existence. Relating his experiences even today, brings a flush of color to his cheeks and a sparkle to his eyes. His breathing becomes fast and irregular and you know he is reliving those glorious adventures even when he tells you about them.
"I shipped on an oil tanker to Venezuela. And if you know what oil tankers are. you'll be able to draw your own comparison with those floating de luxe palaces that ply the Atlantic nowadays. As soon as the boat started moving, I became deathly seasick. But when you're working on an oiler, that's no excuse. When_ the man whom I was supposed to relieve came down to my bunk to see why I wasn't at my post, I brushed his questions aside. He didn't matter. The job didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing, except that I was sure I was dying. But he didn't think that was reason enough for me to stay in my bunk. He hauled off and swung at me. That brought me back to consciousness. And this," Brod pointed to his broken nose, "is the result. But it was a sure enough cure for seasickness. Not that I recommend it too heartily. But one I won't ever be able to forget."
Lean years followed. Crawford did everything from shovelling snow to shipping on tramp steamers to Europe. But back in New York once more, he decided to try the stage again. He did manage to pick up a few small acting jobs — in shows that never seemed to last a week. In desperation, he sent his one and only wire home for money. The answer came back : "Hundreds of dollars in sympathy coming.
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