Screenland (Jan–Jun 1948)

ing. Two days later Rod was working in a picture, and although he wound up on the cutting room floor, he had his Guild card. After that he worked a couple of days at Universal playing an engineer in a long-ago Bing Crosby picture. Then he went with Harry Sherman. He got $66.66 a week, and he began to wonder where all this big Hollywood dough was hiding. Later, he signed with Paramount. But there were other stars on the lot who were similar types: Fred MacMurray, Gary Cooper. Whenever a good part came up, somebody else got it. Still, in a way it was lucky for him. He wasn't yet ready for the big roles, and at Paramount he had the chance of going to dramatic school and learning. For one thing, he made over 200 tests for "For Whom the Bell Tolls." It's true that he didn't establish a name; he wasn't the fair-haired boy of the studio. But he did get a lot of experience. After Paramount, he went to Metro to play the likeable cowboy in "Mrs. Parkington." With that picture, Hollywood began to do a doubletake. Still, things moved slowly. Rod did westerns for Harry Sherman, signed with Universal and did more westerns. Somehow, his tall-in-the-saddle look, plus his rugged profile, suggested just one thing to directors: horses. It wasn't until he teamed with Yvonne De Carlo in "Salome, Where She Danced," that the fan mail began. In "Pirates of Monterey," opposite Maria Montez, he is slightly terrific. On Rod, Technicolor looks good. Indeed, he is a star Technicolor discovered. For then the ruggedness of him, the virility and strength, come through on the screen. Black and white pretties him up too much, tries to make a drawing room hero out of a two-fisted giant. If his luck holds out, perhaps Universal will cast him in such pictures as "The Fountainhead," where the leading character is terse, tough, unyielding. If his luck holds, maybe he'll get solid roles in solid pictures. I like to think this will happen. For too much of Hollywood is make-believe. Too often the closest a screen lumberjack has ever come to a piece of lumber is his Louis XIV coffee table. It's wonderfully satisfying to know that in the case of Rod Cameron his screen exploits will never measure up to the drama and impact and downright hard work that he has lived. For when you see Rod Cameron, what he was yesterday and what he has since become, you know that there is one Hollywood hero whose life story would make a more colorful movie than any picture in which he has yet played. Faith Domergue, Howard Hughes' lovely Creole screen discovery, with Hugo Fregonese, her fiance, on the set of "Vendetta." Good Time Annie Continued from page 29 turned back, there was his exquisite leading lady puffing on a big black cigar! "Poor Annie almost choked to death on the darned thing," says Errol. "But she got what she wanted. I howled and so did everyone on the set. The tension was broken and the scene went like a charm." Annie has her own opinions as to what constitutes a Good Time. "I like spontaneous fun, the last-minute sort of thing. When I m in the mood for a party I gather up friends, food and music, mix them all together in a hurry and let the laughs fall where they may. Some of my best parties happen that way." Vacation jaunts "happen" in much the same fashion. Annie suddenly decides to catch a plane leaving for Mexico City within a couple of hours. There's the mad scramble of packing, getting plane tickets, digging up the old passport, arranging domestic affairs, and Annie is off— usually making the plane at the last possible moment. Even madder than her departures are her arrivals below the border. No matter how unexpected her visits, Mexican friends and admirers are at the airport in a beaming body to welcome her. And always there is the band of mariachis to beat out the Mexican equivalent of "There'll Be A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight." On these excursions Annie is invariably accompanied by Martha Giddings, her wardrobe woman, constant companion and friend. Although "Gidds" is officially a Warner employee in charge of Annie's wardrobe at the studio, when travelling with Annie her only orders are to "relax and enjoy yourself. This may as well be your vacation, too." "Gidds could write a book about me," declares Annie. "And heaven help me if she ever does!" Actually she has nothing to fear from Gidds, who thinks Annie approaches perfection as nearly as is humanly possible. "If you're under the impression Annie is just a female Good Time Charlie" she bristles, "let me set you straight. Annie will probably kill me for spilling all this, but generosity is such an integral part of her personality. You can't know the real Sheridan without knowing about her many kindnesses. For one thing, you don't dare admire anything too much when you're with Annie. She'll either buy it for you or give it to you if it's something of her own. I made the mistake recently of raving about a bedspread Annie crocheted for her own room. It's a beautiful piece of workmanship, done in squares in a pineapple popcorn stitch. Now Annie's making one for me, a year's work. "Any time there's an accident or sudden death at the studio Annie finds out whether the family needs financial aid. If they need it they get it, and they never know where the money came from." Under duress Gidds will admit Annie has a few mild faults. "She resents being told what to do, even when it's for her own good. For instance, I've been worried about her lack of interest in food lately," says Gidds. "Comes dinner time I don't dare say, 'We'd better eat now.' Instead I casually remark, 'Don't know what you're going to do, I'm going to have my dinner now,' and head for the dining room without looking back. Don't have to! Annie is always right behind me. When we worked on 'Unfaithful,' I had Zachary Scott and Lew Ayres helping me sneak extra eggs into her eggnogs." Another debit on Annie's balance sheet is her inability to forgive a personal injury. "When she finds someone's played her a mean or underhanded trick Annie gets unhappy for a while. Then she gets mad and stays that way. Nothing her wrongdoer can say or do will ever make up for that hurt. Annie carries an Indian grudge. Must be that strain of Cherokee in her." The faithful Gidds is often the butt of Annie's practical jokes. Example: ready to emerge from her dressing-room onto the waiting set Annie turns to Gidds and innocently asks for her earrings. "But I gave them to you at home," Gidds reminds her. "You didn't give them to me," shrugs Annie. Not until Gidds is tearing her hair and calling Transportation for a car to rush her to Annie's house does her tormentor relent and produce the earrings from the pocket in which she has hidden them. _ Yet Annie proves her worth in bad times as well as good. She was in New York when she heard that Gidd's husband had died of a heart attack at his army post. Annie promptly borrowed Steve flannagan's lakeside lodge in Connecticut and wired Gidds to join her there. Sorry not good company just now, came the mournful reply. You can fill the lake twice as full with your tears if you like, Annie wired back, but you are staying with me. Even the most tedious of a star's working hours, those she spends in the. wardrobe department, are just another romp for Good Time Annie. As tall, handsome Travilla, one of Warners' top designers tells it, "When an actress has to be fitted to thirty-six changes for one picture as Annie did lately, we expect plenty of grumbling. Annie had the entire department in an uproar repeating her fittingroom jokes. What particularly amused her were the iron bustles built into the skirts. She referred to them as bird cages." SCREENLAND 59