Bette and Joan The Divine Feud (15 page)

"I have great admiration for her
as an actress, but she's a slut.
Her whole life is an act. She is
what she is, a cheap flapper who
likes to get laid."

—LOUIS B. MAYER

Strange Cargo,
with Joan Crawford in first billing, was banned in Cleveland and Rhode Island for its "lustful implications in dialogue and situations." Elsewhere it was an immediate hit, and with this her second smash hit in a row, the comeback girl behaved accordingly. For a bonus she requested a new, even more lavish dressing room, donating the old one in a public ceremony to the Boy Scouts of America.

Her love life also blossomed once more. She had a lengthy affair with Charles Martin, a journalist. "He's a real guy. His mouth is wide and boyish and so is his grin," said Joan, who gifted the writer with a solid-gold watch. When the affair broke up, she asked her friend Katharine Albert to retrieve the watch.

After that "a veritable platoon" of good-looking young men marched in and out of Joan's Brentwood home and bedroom. "She was on top again," said her friend Harry Mines. "That meant she had her pick of the men in town. It didn't matter if they were married, engaged, or going with someone else. When Joan beckoned they usually dropped whoever or whatever they were doing and ran to her side."

The list included: Tyrone Power, Johnny Weissmuller, Cary Grant, Tony Martin, and Greg Bautzer. Bautzer was a lawyer, "tall and husky, with soulful dark eyes, a tanned complexion and a flashy smile." He was going steady with Lana Turner at the time. Lana was in love with Greg. She gave him her virginity ("I had no idea how to move or what to do," she said), and he gave Lana her first orgasm ("I must confess I didn't enjoy it at all. I didn't even know what an orgasm was"). Lana knew Joan from M-G-M, where she was an up-and-coming starlet. She also attended some of Joan's Saturday-night get-togethers at Brentwood. "Those parties were all the same," said Lana. "After dinner the guests would be herded into a projection room to watch movies. Joan knitted constantly. During the film you could hear her needles clicking away."

One day Joan invited Lana to drop by her house alone, to talk about something "very important." Sitting in the drawing room with her knitting, Joan opened with "Now darling, you know I'm a bit older than you ..." which got Lana to thinking: "She's
quite
a bit older than me." As Joan rambled on about life's complexities, Lana eventually cut in and impetuously asked her to get to the point. She did. "Greg doesn't love you anymore," she told young Lana. "It's me he truly loves, but he hasn't figured out how he can get rid of you."

"Get rid of me?" Lana raged. "Trash is something you get rid of—or disease. I'm not something you get rid of."

"Baby, I know how you feel," said Joan. "Be a dear ... a good little girl, and tell him you're finished. Make it easier on yourself."

Lana did break up with Bautzer. She was so upset she eloped to Las Vegas with Artie Shaw, the first of her seven husbands. Joan, as legend tells it, dated Bautzer exclusively for a few days, then dropped him for Jean Pierre Aumont, followed by Laird Gregor, Van Heflin, Robert Sterling, James Craig, and Robert Preston.

When asked her age preference in men, Crawford once replied, "Oh, anyone over fifteen is O.K." Actor Jackie Cooper was two years past that when he spent some unforgettable moments with Joan. When he was a child star at M-G-M, his mother was a friend of Crawford's. They exchanged gifts at holidays and visited each other from time to time. When Cooper was seventeen, he sometimes dropped by Joan's house, to use her badminton court. One day, hot and sweaty after a game, he was offered a Coke by his hostess in the pool house. As she poured his drink, the brash young man looked down her dress. He made a remark and she ordered him to leave. "But I didn't go," said Jackie. "Instead, I made a move towards her, and she stood up, looked at me appraisingly, and then closed all the drapes. And I made love to Joan Crawford. Or, rather, she made love to me."

This performance was repeated eight or nine times over the next six months, Cooper stated. It was always late at night when he would roll his car down his parents' driveway and sneak off to see Crawford. There was never any drinking or drugs, he said. It was all business with Joan. "She was a very erudite professor of love. She was a wild woman. She would bathe me, powder me, cologne me. Then she would do it over again. She would put on high heels, a garter belt, and a large hat and pose in front of the mirror, turning this way and that way. 'Look,' she would say. I was already looking. But that sort of thing didn't particularly excite me. I kept thinking: The Lady is crazy."

One night Crawford announced that the show was over: he could not come back to play. 'And put it out of your mind. It never happened," Joan whispered, bestowing one last kiss on the satiated teenager.

Cooper would also, inadvertently, bestow something on Joan. At home, he adored his mother and used to call her "Mommie Dearest." Inspired, Crawford would soon confer the title on herself.

"Disillusioned with men after
three unfortunate marriages,
Joan Crawford feels her real
happiness lies in being a mother.
What a predicament!"

—JIMMIE FIDLER,
THE NEW YORK
MIRROR

By the spring of 1940 Joan Crawford had made the final preparations for a role that her friends and foes agreed she should never play—that of a real-life doting mother.

Her fondness for children, other people's children, was genuine, many believed. As a child herself, in boarding school, she remembered the rare joy she experienced when she read to the smaller children each night and tucked them into bed.

In 1930, when she was married to Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., he wrote in
Vanity Fair
of her sympathy for children. "She loves to play with a child and adores dolls," he said. Her acts of generosity toward young people were also well known. Passing through Chicago once, she insisted that the baskets of flowers bestowed upon her be sent to the Children's Memorial Hospital. In return she received two hundred letters, all of which were answered and accompanied by a personally autographed eight-by-ten picture. When she heard that a little boy was born with no legs and only one arm, she bought him a special saddle so he could play polo. "You have to admire a kid like that who doesn't cry," she told columnist Mike Connolly.

Joan of course longed for a child of her own, and she tried repeatedly to have one, she claimed. When she was married to Fairbanks, Jr., she miscarried twice, she said. Fairbanks in his memoirs doubted she was ever pregnant. "I never quite believed her," he said. "She often claimed she had two miscarriages, but I had done some medical snooping that indicated nothing of the sort happened." The same charade was apparently played with Fronchot Tone. During her marriage to the actor, she stated, she miscarried
seven
times. Yet, in checking for this book, I found not one source who recalled seeing or hearing that Joan was pregnant. And the news was never carried in a single column, interview, or story.

Doug Fairbanks, Jr., believed Joan was too vain to become pregnant. "She frequently voiced her fears that child-bearing might affect her figure," he said. It would also affect her career, Dale Eunson believed. "She was too busy and too insecure to take the time off," he said. Writer Roy Newquist spoke of a rumor that Joan had "a botched-up abortion" when she was fourteen. Adela Rogers St. Johns claimed it happened later, in California, in 1926.

"Jesus! Look," said Crawford herself. "I wanted children desperately. None of the doctors I went to could understand why I couldn't carry full term. One of them, in of all places Tijuana, finally decided I'd picked up something from raw milk when I was a kid, and that's why I aborted."

In 1938 Joan considered adopting her brother's daughter. Her brother, Hal, "a louse ... a leech ... a drunk, who could charm the skin off a snake," apparently had one redeeming feature. He provided Crawford with her first real-life doll, his child. Hal was a bit player and an extra at M-G-M, a position secured for him by star-sister Joan. When he married, his wife was also employed at the studio, as Joan's stand-in. Their first and only child, a girl, was christened Joan Crawford LeSueur, in honor of her famous aunt. When she was born, Joan would drive forty miles each day to the Valley, "just to watch the sleeping baby for a minute." A special nursery was set up in Joan's house so the girl could visit and stay over on weekends. "I raised Joanie-pants," said Crawford. "During her first two years she saw more of me than her mother." When brother Hal and his wife separated, Crawford set her sister-in-law up in a hat store in L.A. so she could still be close to her niece. When the couple divorced, Joan offered to buy the child, whose mother refused. To get away from Crawford's possessive behavior, the mother moved to New York. "I am heartbroken she is gone," Joan told Louella Parsons, "but I wouldn't dream of taking a child away from her mother."

In 1939, when her chauffeur's wife became ill, Joan insisted that he move his children into her house. "She frolics on the floor for hours with the youngsters," said Louella, "and insists they can stay in her guest room for as long as it takes." The star was also "Aunt Joan" to little Tony Stanwyck, to Maria Cooper (Rocky and Gary's daughter), and to Brooke Hayward, the daughter of Margaret Sullavan and agent Leland Hayward.

It was Loretta Young who inspired Joan to become a foster mother. When the unwed Loretta brought home a little girl (said to be the love child of Loretta and Clark Gable), Crawford decided that she too could adopt a child. Deemed unsuitable as an adoptive parent in California ("based on personal interviews and assessment of her family relationships"), Joan applied to three out-of-state agencies. One in Las Vegas, said to be influenced by a friend, "the alleged Jewish mafia Boss" Meyer Lansky, was the first to deliver. In June 1940 they called Crawford and told her that they had a baby girl ready for delivery. "None of us knew a word of this," said Harry Mines. "She called me one day and told me to come to the house. In the foyer she whispered that she had a surprise to show me, We went upstairs, and there in the brand-new nursery was a baby girl."

The blond, blue-eyed baby was called Joan temporarily. Reluctant "to have the child live up to such an enormous burden," Joan experimented with other first names, until one day she whispered "Christina" into her crib. The baby smiled and that was the name that was chosen.

Daddy Dearest

It was a definite plus that Christina was a beautiful child. This enabled Joan to parade the child, and herself, in front of friends and the press. "I am finding my own lost childhood," she said gaily, lavishing toys and gifts on the little girl, and having identical mother-and-daughter outfits—dresses, hats, and gloves—made up for both to wear in public. Actor Melvyn Douglas, who had been exposed to Joan the grand lady and Joan the natural broad, was now treated to Joan the mother. The performance unfolded during the making of
A Woman's Face
in 1941. "The little girl would be led on the set at about three-thirty every afternoon, by a real English nanny. The arrival of the child, dressed in a pinafore, patent leather shoes, peek-a-boo gloves, ribbons in her hair, and bonnet, would stop production for about a half hour while everyone gathered in a circle and Joan made a great show of being a mother."

A second child, a boy, was adopted when he was six weeks old. He would be called Christopher, and to Joan's delight he too became "blond and beautiful." To make her perfect family complete, she proceeded to audition various eligible men for the role of Daddy Dearest. "It would be cruel and selfish of me to let my children grow up without a father," she said.

Clark Gable was Joan's first choice. Recently widowed when his wife's plane crashed into a mountain, Gable was consoled by Joan night after night in her Brentwood home. "You've got to stop drinking and crying," she told him. "I know, I know," said Clark. Joan suggested that the only way he could relieve his grief was to move in with her and the children. "We will fill the void in your life, permanently," said Joan. "You mean marriage?" asked the King. "Yes," said Joan, and shortly thereafter, at age forty, Gable escaped by enlisting in the Air Force.

Joan was at Columbia Pictures, subbing for Gable's late wife, Carole Lombard, in
They All Kissed the Bride,
when she was introduced to actor Glenn Ford. He was invited to her house for Sunday dinner and was soon "carried away by the magnetism of Joan." They dined out together frequently, and on weekends they drove to the beach or had picnics in the country with the children. At home, Joan ran Glenn's latest picture and gave him "the benefit of her shrewd constructive criticism." Then they would run Joan's films, with no comment from Glenn, for "he did not feel qualified to speak." Meanwhile, in the background, little Christina, only two, "was screaming her head off for Mickey Mouse cartoons."

As it came to pass, Glenn Ford did not make the grade as daddy to the kids or husband to Joan. One reporter said, "He could not match the maturity, either emotional or mental, of a woman of her experience." The reality of the situation was that Glenn was classified 1-A by the Marine Corps, and Joan was not at all interested in being the wife of a serviceman. She let the actor down slowly, however, gradually excluding him from her Sunday-night suppers. "She was grooming him to walk without her," said
Silver Screen.

Throughout the summer of 1941, Joan continued to search for the perfect husband, and father figure for her children. A current costar, John Wayne, was considered. He played her chauffeur in
Reunion in France,
and the two dallied sexually until Wayne put the brakes on their mini-affair. ("Get him out of the saddle and you've got
nothing,"
Joan would later sniff to a writer.) Another candidate, an award-winning writer-director, made the preliminaries. "I met Joan in New York two years before," he said, asking that his name not be used. "She was polite but distant. Then I was signed to a two-picture deal at M-G-M. I bumped into Joan outside the writers' building one day and she almost blew me away with her charm and friendliness. She asked me to come by for dinner that same night. I accepted of course. I couldn't wait to get there. Sure, I heard the stories, and I envisioned one fantastic night ahead. The first thing that happened when I got there was a trip to the nursery to see the kids. Then Joan offered me a drink. 'What will it be?' she said. 'I've got ginger ale, club soda, or RC Cola.' There was no liquor anywhere to be seen. Then the doorbell rang and this guy came in. The way he looked at me I knew he was there for a date too. She introduced us, and the doorbell rang again, with
two
guys being ushered in, one of them an actor I knew. When they all trooped upstairs to see the kids, I grabbed my hat and left. I had the wrong impression. I was a square from the East. I thought we were all there for the same thing, and that this was going to be one of those Hollywood parties. A couple of days later I bumped into my actor-friend and he told me
nothing
happened. They all had dinner together with Joan. She was sizing each one up. He was the last to leave and made a pass at her. She was shocked. 'No!' she told him. 'How could you? With the children upstairs?' He told me he felt like a pervert for just trying to kiss her. Later on we found out what the routine was. Joan wasn't interested in any of us as mere dates, she was looking for a daddy for the house."

With her usual diligence, Crawford eventually found the right applicant. His name was Philip Terry. He too was an actor, "but a man's man," said Joan. "He once worked in the oil fields and drove a truck from California to New York."

Educated at Stanford, Terry studied acting at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London, which accounted for his British pronunciation of certain words. He was working at Paramount when he wangled an invitation to Joan's house for dinner through Harry Mines. She was impressed with his looks, accent, background, and resourcefulness. Since she refused to give him her home number, he copied it down from the hall receiver and called her the next day. He was invited back to a second dinner—a fivesome—"Joan and four men." Three nights later she agreed to meet him in a public restaurant. They learned "they laughed at the same things, and shared the same love for serious works of literature." For their next date they had dinner on trays in front of a fire at Brentwood, and later Philip cued her lines from the script of her current motion picture,
Reunion in France.
When the film began to shoot night scenes, the studio gateman was "amazed" to find Mr. Terry arriving at dawn each morning to escort Miss Crawford home. During the shooting of the day scenes, even the cameraman noticed the change in Joan. "What's happened to your face?" he asked her. "Something is going on inside you. I've never seen you photograph so radiantly." Joan smiled and kept her secret. Philip Terry adored her
and
the children. He was handsome, educated, a moderate drinker and smoker (a pipe), and, best of all, he was classified 4-F, ineligible for active duty due to poor vision (he wore glasses off-camera).

Giving their names as Lucille Tone and Frederick Korman, the happy couple applied for a marriage license. At midnight on September 20, 1942, they were married at the home of her attorney in Hidden Valley. Joan wore a suit by Irene in two-tone beige and a matching pancake hat. The groom wore his glasses. "He really understands me," Joan said. "He doesn't want to change me in any way. Philip loves me as I really am."

After driving home under a crescent moon, Joan and Philip went to bed at 2:00
A.M.
and arose at 6:00
A.M.
Their wedding breakfast was ... milk. At the studio to shoot the final scenes for
Reunion in France,
Joan happily accepted congratulations from Judy Garland, Joe Mankiewicz, Gene Kelly, and Louis B. Mayer. "I never knew such relaxation before," said Mrs. Terry.

"I knew what kind of a marriage it was going to be when I saw her arrive on the set," said her costar, John Wayne. "First came Joan, then her secretary, then her makeup man, then her wardrobe man, then Phil Terry, carrying her dog."

"There is no feeling of jealousy between us, as to which is the most important," Joan told a reporter. "We are now a family and we work for each other." To wit, the groom stood on the sidelines and gave his new wife his support. "Just before each scene he looks at her," said a reporter. "He lifts his hand and says: 'Forever!' Joan looks at him and replies: 'Forever!' And then they shoot the scene."