Bette and Joan The Divine Feud (47 page)

Using multiple metaphors, similes, and parallels, Quirk pointed to Bette in
Now Voyager
. In that she was mother-dominated, fat, and unattractive,
but
she transformed herself into a swan and landed herself a beautiful man, which was exactly the same scenario as "many a gay gone New York–way via Florida or some godforsaken hinterland." Then there was Joan Crawford in
The Damned Don't Cry,
busting out of a dull small town and using a ladder of men to get "a plushy pad, groovy duds, etc. culminating in a Gotterdammerung of masochistic hell-let-loose [
sic
] with a fast fall back to the gutter." Many a homosexual could identify with that too, Quirk opined; and with Joan in
Possessed
, when she shoots the man she can't have, offering gays vicarious purgation because, "being essentially non-violent," they prefer to watch Joan Crawford do the killing for them. Men, money, and power—these were the three things the two actresses were in aggressive, intent pursuit of, the author said in summation, and that was why the typical "cross-section" homosexual got a bang out of old Bette and Joan movies.

"Your article was
very
informative," Joan Crawford told Quirk; as Bette Davis was more expansive for
Playboy.
"Homosexuals are probably the most artistic and appreciative human beings who worship films and theater," she said. "Certainly, I've been one of the artists they admire very much. It was always said that Judy Garland and I had the biggest following, but I don't think it's fair to say it's because I'm flamboyant. I'm not flamboyant. In my personal life, I've never been known as flamboyant. Joan Crawford was flamboyant."

The Race Goes On

In May 1970 Joan Crawford was presented with an award of achievement from her old alma mater, Stephens College, which she had attended for a grand total of two months in her youth. The college, eager to get as much coverage as possible from the star's return, held a press conference for newspaper and TV reporters from St. Louis and Kansas City. Among those present was future author Alanna Nash, then a sophomore at the school. Weeks after the event the student-writer was surprised to receive a typewritten, personally signed letter from Miss Crawford, thanking her for attending the press conference. "I soon learned," said Nash, "that everyone in the room had received a similar thank you. This was my introduction to the incredible Crawford efficiency." Nash responded by sending Joan her story on the star's visit to Stephens. 'And thus began a correspondence and a friendship that would last for the next 8 years," said the young writer.

In 1972 Carl Johnes was an assistant story editor at Columbia Pictures when he too became friends with the star. One day at work he was assigned to go and help Crawford pack her books and papers, for dispatch to Brandeis University, where her collection was stored. "I beat Bette Davis in
that
department," Joan crowed to Carl, pleased that her bestowal had preceded Bette's donation to Boston University. "This was the first of a series of wry outbursts on the subject of their famous rivalry that I was treated to over the next five years," Johnes recalled.

One favorite tale, delivered by Joan in a flawless imitation of Bette Davis, recounted the time in 1943 when the two rivals met at Warner Brothers. "When she first went to the studio, Joan told me she tried very hard to make peace with Davis," said Johnes. "She went to her one day and said, 'Bette, we are now at the same studio. We have the same boss, the same friends in New York. We've had a similar career.' And Davis listened to all this, then, waving her arms and popping her eyes, she said, 'So
what!
'—which Crawford mimicked perfectly."

In November 1971 Davis was honored with a day at the prestigious Players Club in New York. "She arrived looking very chic," said Sanford Dody, co-author of her book
The Lonely Life
. 'At one o'clock in the afternoon she was wearing a little suit, and sables. She was every inch Miss Margo Channing."

The following year Joan Crawford had her day at the Gramercy Park Club. "She arrived in a peekaboo dress, fuck-me shoes, and her hair was blown out. She looked like a dress manufacturer's lay for the night," said Dody.

For sustenance, the star carried a huge handbag, which housed her usual bottle of vodka. "We showed her movie
A Woman's Face,
" Dody recalled. 'And afterwards, across the room, she gave me the eye and beckoned to me. I went over with a guest and introduced myself. After I had mentioned that I had written Bette's autobiography Joan looked at me and said 'Oh!' Then she fled to the john with her handbag and we didn't see her sober for the rest of the afternoon. She was truly wild."

The marked difference between Crawford and Davis, the author believed, was that "Joan never truly knew who she was—ever. She was very insecure as a person. She never had that center of gravity that Bette Davis had. From the minute Bette came out of the womb she screamed her name to the moon. She was also a very great artist. That artistry gave her a very strong center. Whereas Crawford, although I think she's underestimated as a movie actress, was never a great performer. Some of her old movies are excellent, but she never had the acting ability of Bette."

Film critic Judith Crist agreed. "Bette was an actor who was also a movie star. She had the impact, the gestures, and everything else. She was unique, complete; her only equal today is Meryl Streep. Joan Crawford, on the other hand, was a product of the movies. She was created shot by shot. She could not have a life of her own upon a stage. That's the difference. The ultimate test."

A Call from Bette and Joan

In 1973 veteran publicist John Springer launched his popular series Legendary Ladies of the Movies, at Town Hall in New York City. The series featured clips of movies, followed by a personal appearance and question-and-answer period with the featured star. The first Legends announced were Bette Davis, Myrna Loy, Sylvia Sidney, and Jean Arthur. Arthur, terrified of
any
appearance, withdrew, and Springer asked Ginger Rogers to step in. Ginger accepted, then canceled when the news was prematurely announced by a columnist. "Could I possibly approach Joan Crawford?" Springer asked, knowing her fear of live audiences. "If it means a lot to you ... I'll do it," said Joan.

But first on the bill, as always, came Bette Davis. On the night of February 4, 1973, a medley of her greatest film hits opened the series at Town Hall. "Swamp fevers, gunshot wounds, bubonic plague, the deaths of countless lovers, the brain tumor to end all brain tumors, car accidents, shipwrecks, beatings at the hands of the syndicate and suicide on the Chicago train tracks—she has survived them all," said columnist Rex Reed. "Fasten your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy night," said Bette in the last clip, from
All About Eve
. The frame faded, the houselights came up, and the star swept in from the wings. Halting mid-stage, she threw a wave toward the balcony, then bowed from the waist at the roar of acclaim from her fans. "I will never
forget
that welcome as long as I live," she told them, before sitting down to answer questions from her audience.

Bette at Town Hall
February, 1973

Where did she get her famous walk?

"I never planned it that way, it's part of my zest for life."

Would she marry again?

"No, my dear. The point is, who'd consider marrying me?"

And what is your professional opinion of Joan Crawford?

"I would not presume to answer that," said Bette, cutting the topic short.

Joan (overwhelmed) at
Town Hall, April, 1973

Eight weeks later, on April 5, it was Crawford's turn at Town Hall. "She had prepared herself," said Springer. ''A Crawford spy was at all the preceding shows. She knew exactly how Bette Davis entered, how Myrna Loy took her bows." Following clips from her greatest
hits
—
Grand
Hotel,
The
Women, Mildred Pierce, Sudden Fear,
and
Whatever Happened
to
Baby Jane?,
Joan was pushed from the wings into the spotlight onstage. The volume and length of her ovation (greater than Bette's, she would boast) stunned, then dissolved the Legend. "Grateful tears dripped from her eyes to the floor," said
Village Voice
reporter Arthur Bell. "But somehow the mascara stayed intact. So did the famous shoulders, the mouth, the shoes." Responding to written questions, Joan was asked if she knew the name for her famous ankle-strapped shoes. "It starts with an 'f,'" said Crawford, "and I think, if you remember, they held me up a goddamn long time." She said she enjoyed playing mean women, "because there's a little bit of bitch in every woman, and a lot in every man."

And what was it like to work with Bette Davis?

"It was one of the greatest challenges I ever had," said Joan seriously. Pausing to allow the laughter from the audience to taper off, she added, "I meant that kindly. Bette is of a different temperament than I. Bette had to yell every morning. I just sat and knitted. I knitted a scarf from Hollywood to Malibu."

"It was probably the most threatening scarf since Madame Defarge's," said Beth Fallon of the
Daily News.

"Put up your dukes, Bette," Addison Verrill advised in
Variety.

The following Saturday morning the phone rang in this writer's apartment. On the other end was Bette Davis, calling from her home in Connecticut. She was responding to an interview request I had made to talk about
The
Catered Affair,
one of her favorite movies. After discussing the film, she segued easily to other topics—Hollywood, her other films, her advancing age. Like Margo Channing, Bette loathed the march of time and the inevitable aging process. "I turned sixty-
five
a week ago," she said. "It was a tragedy! I thought sixty was
bad,
but this is the
pits.
There is
nothing
good about growing old."

As the conversation was drawing to a close, I wondered if it would be prudent to talk of Joan Crawford, whom I had seen at Town Hall the previous week. First, I had assumed that Davis had already heard about the event; second, I was sure that when the subject of Crawford came up she would offer her usual terse "No comment." But when I mentioned the evening to her, it was apparent that this was her first feedback.
"God!"
said Davis, her voice rising with interest. "I would have given anything to have been a
fly
on the wall at that thing. Tell me, how
did
it go?"

I mentioned that Miss Crawford had been nervous at first, but eventually rose to the occasion and fielded the questions and answers quite well.

"And the
clips?
Were there
enough?"
Miss Davis asked, as if to suggest that her rival didn't have that many good films to fill an evening.

"The clips were sensational," I said, "very entertaining."

"Oh!"
said Bette. "And which ones were
those?"

"Mildred Pierce, Sudden Fear,
some of the musicals, and
Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?"

"Yes,
Jane.
A
good
film," said Davis.

"She spoke about working with you," I ventured.

"Of course she did," said Bette. "And what did Joan
say?"

Without mentioning the long-scarf-to-Malibu crack, I repeated the quote Crawford had given about its being the greatest challenge of her life to work with Her.

"A
challenge
?" said Bette, leaping into the fight ring again. "Did she
tell
the audience how she gave
everyone
such a hard
goddamn
time on
lane?
How she held up production day after
day
because she didn't like the way she
looked?
That she was frequently so drunk she had to
stop
the cameras, and put her glasses on to read her cue cards? When we were finished, she
refused
to help me publicize the
picture,
and
then,
when I was nominated for an Oscar for
lane
and she wasn't, Miss Crawford went to New
York
and began to campaign
against
me."

After pausing to light a cigarette and take a swig from whatever she was drinking at that early hour, Davis told how Joan had had the "absolute gall" to solicit permission from the other nominated actresses to accept the award, should they win. "And
then,
on the night of the Oscars, she was
determined
to steal the show from
me.
When Anne Bancroft's name was announced, Joan almost
laughed
in my face. She went out onstage and took that statue as if it were her own. Then she wouldn't part with it. It was a year before she even let Miss Bancroft take a look at her prize."

Winding down, Bette laughed at her own anger, then spoke of the major difference between her and Crawford. "We were completely different kinds of women. She was—women like Crawford—they're the ones that first
made
the town like it was. Let's face it, there were
two
groups. There were the theater people who came out, but we didn't have that same kind of Hollywood
thing.
If we only had that, the town would never have been what it became. And Crawford was definitely one of
them.
But we must hand it to her. Where she came from and all that—she accomplished
much.
She became a movie star, and I became the great actress. There is of course a need for both in this business, but you have to know
when
to put a stop to the nonsense that goes with the job. Stars are people
too.
They have to eat, sleep, and go to the bathroom too, without applause or a standing ovation. But I don't
think
Joan Crawford ever sleeps. She never
quits
being Joan Crawford. I find that tedious
and
quite insane. Yes, in that area, Joan is
not
too bright."

That evening, after transcribing the interview with Bette, I had dinner with a writer-friend from California, Hector Arce, who at the time was working with George Cukor on his autobiography. During the dinner I mentioned Davis and repeated some of her quotes on Joan Crawford. A former entertainment reporter for
Womens Wear Daily,
and well grounded on Hollywood history, Hector offered some of his insights on the star-crossed duo. He also, I later learned, passed some of Bette's remarks about Joan along to her good friend George Cukor. Three days later, on Tuesday night, I received another call. The voice on the other end this time belonged to—Joan Crawford.

My acquaintanceship with Miss Crawford was slight. She wrote to me once for a story I was working on; and later we were introduced in the back room of P. J. Clarke's restaurant on Third Avenue in New York. That meeting was pleasant and brief, but Joan Crawford remembered. On the phone, after some preliminary small talk, she got to the critical item. She had heard that I was doing a story on Bette Davis and that Miss Davis had made some "slanderous remarks" about their working relationship. Before I could explain that my story wasn't on Bette Davis, Crawford (also in her cups, I suspected) had launched her own defense. As far as she was concerned, it wasn't proper etiquette to badmouth a professional colleague to the press. "Those in a position of influence who possess any semblance of class or ethics should never talk ill of anyone in the same industry," said the star. "Unfortunately, Miss Davis chooses to abuse that standard, time and time again."

She had no intention of descending to Miss Davis' level of disclosure, except to say that she admired her enormously "as an actress, but not as a human being." How could she, when Bette was so contemptuous of her fellow actresses? "She loathes most women," said Joan. "She thinks like a man, talks like a man. On the set of
Baby Jane,
after one of her many unpleasant outbursts, she said, out loud, 'Boy, if I had been born with a penis, my life would have been different.' "

Without a link, Crawford jumped tracks, from flailing at Davis to praising the talents of actress Lee Grant. "She's got it, doesn't she?" said Crawford. "I went to see her on Broadway last year in the Neil Simon play [
The Prisoner of Second Avenue
]. It was an exciting experience. The audience stood up and applauded when I arrived. People can be so kind. Can you hold on a minute, dear?"

I held on, while Crawford spoke to someone in the background or on another line. When she returned, she thanked me for calling her. "My pleasure," I replied, thinking it a moot point to remind her that
she
had made the call; and who would argue with Joan Crawford anyway? In closing, I did manage to slip in a word of appreciation for
Mildred Pierce,
which had been shown on TV some weeks before. That compliment brought another fifteen minutes with the Legend. "Did you see it too?" Joan asked warmly. "I received so many calls and letters from friends about it. It was on at such an ungodly hour that I thought no one would watch it. Also, the last time it was shown on TV, the commercials came every eight minutes. I dropped a note to the station owner about that, and it worked. This time they shut up with the interruptions and let us do our stuff. It pleases me so much that the movie still holds up."