Early Reagan

by Anne Edwards

  Flynn was riding the crest of his popularity after such films as Adventures of Robin Hood, The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex, Virginia City and The Sea Hawk. He became “all the heroes in one magnificent sexy animal package,” and offscreen he gained a reputation for his “hedonistic exploits, amorous escapades and barroom brawls” as a rogue and a Casanova. He had recently returned from war-riven Spain, where he had embroiled himself in some heroic (if unnecessary) exploits, and now had a totally confused idea of his own abilities.

  Working with the egocentric Flynn forced Reagan to sharpen his talons. One night cast and crew stayed up until three A.M. rehearsing a cavalry campfire scene that had Flynn as a focal point while his men gathered in a semicircle behind him. Suddenly Flynn stopped the action and consulted privately with Michael Curtiz, the director. Curtiz asked Reagan to change his position. He now stood behind a taller man and could not be seen as the camera came in closer to Flynn. “I figured that under the rules of the game I was entitled to protect myself, so as the rehearsal went on I kept quietly scraping a pile of loose dirt together with my feet… when the cameras rolled, I quietly stepped up on my newly created gopher mound. When the time came for my one line in the scene it dropped like the gentle rain from heaven on the heads of the men in front.”†

  Michael Curtiz was a Hungarian whose “inability to observe common English usage in speech was profound.” He also had trouble remembering names and sometimes jumbled his casts’ real names with those of their characters. The great stage and film actor Raymond Massey, who was playing the abolitionist John Brown, became “Joe Brown” (disconcerting to him because of the famous comedian by the same name), Errol Flynn became “Earl Flint” and Reagan became “Ron Custard” (for Custer). Curtiz was renowned also for his brutal treatment of actors.

  “He was lining up a shot in the execution sequence,” Massey recalled, “…John Brown was to be seated on his coffin in the cart with a parson sitting opposite him.… Mike, as he used to do, was framing the shot with his hands and stepping backwards to find the camera spot. Behind him was an empty concrete tank used for water shots… the parson stood well behind Mike and moved backwards with him. Nobody warned him of the empty tank… [suddenly] the little man disappeared into the tank. Before he hit the bottom, Mike muttered, ‘Get another parson!’ A pile of folded tarpaulins broke the parson’s fall and he wasn’t badly hurt.”*

  Robert Buckner’s script was a well-told story that somehow managed to blend the pre-Civil War growth of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe railroads with a recounting of the abolitionist crusade of John Brown and the successful campaign to apprehend and execute him. Massey recalled Reagan’s enthusiasm for historical accuracy in his portrayal.

  In one scene, the squadron leader, Errol Flynn, is informed that John Brown’s raiders are nearby and the troops are ordered to take action. “The scene had been rehearsed and the camera was being readied. The action was simply that the three troops mount and move off at the trot. The officers were in the foreground. Ronnie was holding forth about the direction. ‘This is a scene of action. We’re too apathetic. There should be a feeling of urgency. We wouldn’t mount formally by the drill book. I’m going to vault into the saddle and make it look like we’re in a hurry.’ The other officers, including Flynn, mindful of the potential discomfort of jumping into a saddle that had a pommel, indicated that they would do it as rehearsed.

  “The assistant called out, ‘All right… this is a take… ACTION!’ Everybody proceeded to mount ‘by the book’ except Ronnie who sprang forward with a prodigious leap which carried him with his saber in its sling to an ignominious landing on his behind on the other side of his horse which was being held by an astonished orderly.

  “Mike shouted, ‘CUT!… Acrobat bum!’“

  Later Massey stuck his head in Reagan’s dressing room (now a proper trailer of his own) and, quoting Macbeth (considered bad luck in the theater), intoned in his resonant, commanding voice: “Vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself, and falls on the other.” Unfortunately, Massey’s classic verse landed pretty much on its backside as well. Shakespeare had not been part of Reagan’s curriculum at Eureka.

  Life for Jack and Nelle in California provided them with comfort such as they had never known before. Their two-bedroom one-story adobe-colored stucco house in West Hollywood, though modest and working-class by Hollywood standards, was the nicest home they had ever had. The furniture was their own, bought for them as a present by Dutch and Jane. A Spanish-style archway separated the living room from the dining room, which contained a proper suite of furniture and had a large picture window that looked out on a vine-covered patio. The backyard was small but filled with roses and flowering semitropical shrubs. Jack had found he had a talent for gardening and tended the flowers himself.

  Although the house was only a few streets south of Sunset Boulevard, they were far removed from the more elite suburbs of Beverly Hills and Bel Air. Each section of Los Angeles had its own shopping district, and theirs was within the boundaries of West Hollywood, with nearby Fairfax Avenue offering its many Kosher markets and Jewish delicatessens. Nelle’s day-to-day existence revolved mostly around the church and her missionary activities. In addition to spending many hours with tubercular patients, she had continued her commitment to bring religion and comfort to the men and women in prison.

  For the only time in their married life, Jack and Nelle did not have to worry about making ends meet, but they remained careful about their finances. Dutch paid the expenses on the house and gave them a weekly supplement to Jack’s salary from Warners. On her part, Nelle could not have wanted more. Yet she could not help but be aware of Jack’s growing edginess. He missed his buddies and the fulfillment he had found in his work during the Depression. He had not made the friends she had in California, and was, perhaps, feeling isolated and not quite ready to settle for a slippers and club chair existence.

  Upon the completion of Santa Fe Trail, the studio notified Reagan that he would be expected to leave in a few days, joined by Wyman, for South Bend, Indiana, home of Notre Dame University, where Warners had decided to premiere Knute Rockne—All American. The minute he mentioned this forthcoming publicity junket (which would include Pat O’Brien, Kate Smith, Anita Louise, Charle. Ruggles, Rudy Vallee, Rosemary Lane, Irene Rich, Ricardo Cortez, Bob Hope, Jerry Colonna and columnist Jimmy Fidler, among others), Jack’s interest was aroused. The tour would be climaxed by a College of Pacific-Notre Dame game, and Jack’s dream had always been to watch Notre Dame “win one.” Nelle took Dutch aside and asked if it was not possible for Jack to go along with him on this trip. They both knew his health had not improved and that time might well be running out. Reagan later said, “Here was an Irishman who had really worshipped from afar; he’d never seen a Notre Dame team play.… He thought Pat O’Brien was the greatest man since Al Smith.… Still, I felt a chilling fear that made me hesitate. We had all lived too long in fear of the black curse [Jack’s drinking problem].”

  Nelle’s optimism and her pragmatic reasoning finally won out. Jane would be with Jack to cast a protective daughterly eye, and Jack’s awe of Pat O’Brien and the monsignor of Notre Dame (in about that order) would hold him in line. Also, they would be in South Bend for only three days (October 3-6). Reagan, though not convinced and more than a little apprehensive and resentful that his big moment might be crossed by a shadow, could not deny Nelle her request. He called the studio and they agreed Jack could go, even offering to pick up his first-class expenses. This was not entirely out of the goodness of their tender hearts. The publicity department had jumped on the news value of Reagan’s Irish-Catholic father, which gave them a good tie-in with the trip to Notre Dame.

  The city was on the great south bend of the St. Joseph River and shared a physical resemblance to Davenport, Iowa, although larger and more heavily populated. The Warners film party arrived at Union Station, where a special platform had been constructed, on a Thursday afternoon and disembarke
d from two special cars that had been added to the Super Chief. They received a tremendous welcome; nearly a quarter of a million people had poured into South Bend to see in person the men who were bringing Knute Rockne and George Gipp back to life. From that moment, the celebrities were rushed from one appearance to another in dizzying succession. Press interviews had been set up at the Oliver Hotel, where most of the stars (including the Reagans) were staying. From six-thirty to seven P.M., the popular Vox Pop radio program, emceed by Parkes Johnson and Wally Butter-worth, was broadcast from the lobby of the hotel. Reagan said a few words, but attention was centered on O’Brien, who, in fact, would dominate the press and radio coverage for the entire tour. The role of Knute Rockne was the stuff of which stars are made—and O’Brien’s popularity was ensured for a number of years because of it.

  A welcoming banquet, held that evening at the university, in; eluded a half hour of coast-to-coast coverage by the Mutual network. The graduate manager of athletics at Notre Dame, Arthur Haley (a man in his fifties), was from Dixon and knew Jack. The two men sat together, warmly recalling old times. O’Brien and Bob Hope were in top form, bantering back and forth in good humor. Reagan was expected to say only a few words—O’Brien and aging coach and sports figure Amos Alonzo Stagg were to be the key speakers. But when Reagan stood up, he gave a very well put-together speech in which he talked about his own experiences with Mac at Eureka, his emotion at re-creating those feelings onscreen, and the honor he felt in being chosen to portray George Gipp. He recounted the details of some of the Gipper’s greatest games—play-by-play—and ended up by stating: “I hope my performance will win another for the Gipper. I sure wouldn’t want to disappoint all those scores of Notre Dame fans.”

  When the banquet was over, Reagan and Wyman wanted to return to the hotel. Jack chose to remain with Haley and O’Brien. “Don’t worry about Jack. I’ll see he toes the line,” O’Brien insisted. Reagan, on Wyman’s urging, left, but not without misgivings since O’Brien was well known in Hollywood for his own bouts with whiskey. About five the next morning, Jack and O’Brien headed unsteadily toward the hotel on foot after a few extended stops at South Bend’s local taverns, where, of course, everyone had to buy Pat O’Brien and his fine Irish friend a drink, and where it would have been an insult to refuse.

  “It must have been quite a scene,” Reagan later wrote. “Jack was sure the empty streets were a trap and that the quarter million fans were lurking in an alley, just waiting to swoop down on Pat for autographs. At each intersection… he tiptoed up to the corner and peered cautiously around. Then he would signal Pat to join him and they would scamper across the street to the shelter of buildings.”

  That day was the “big day,” with a luncheon given by Mayor and Mrs. Jesse I. Pavey at the South Bend Country Club. All four of South Bend’s major theaters were screening Knute Rockne—All American in its premiere showing that night, and the plan was for the stars of the film who were in South Bend (O’Brien, Reagan, Gale Page, Donald Crisp, Owen Davis, Jr.) to appear onstage at each. The publicity schedule given to the participants states: “You will have to eat dinner on your own from 5:00-6:00 P.M. Car will pick you up at hotel at 6:15 sharp and take you to John Adams High School for the live [7:00-8:00 P.M.] nation-wide, Columbia Network Kate Smith broadcast.”

  The ebullient and considerable Miss Smith, “America’s favorite songstress,” shared time on her show with a dramatization of several scenes (including Gipp’s last moments) from the film. A caravan of limousines waited outside the school doors to whisk the stars on their round of World-Premiere Showings. Reagan, Wyman and Jack rode in one car. At 8:20, the celebrities marched onto the stage of the Colfax led by Hope, who acted as master of ceremonies. O’Brien said a few words and introduced Mrs. Rockne. Reagan followed (he had been advised that they had only ten minutes and he was to offer no more than his greetings). Then Hope introduced the rest of the notables and, waving, they all departed amid applause as the theater darkened and the projectionist got ready to show the film. This procedure was repeated at the Palace at 9:00 and at the Granada at 9:30. At the fourth theater, the State, they followed the film at 10:15 and there were great cheers. “I guess we really won one for the Gipper,” Reagan said during his turn.

  A “Grand Ball” at the Palais Royal Hotel climaxed the evening. All the stars were present and introduced by Hope. Roosevelt’s son, Franklin junior, had now joined the stellar guests and read “a fine letter from the President.” Once again, O’Brien and Jack Reagan disappeared (ostensibly to escort Pat O’Brien’s mother back to the hotel), this time about midnight. But neither seemed the worse for it the next morning when they, the Reagans, Gale Page (who played Mrs. Rockne in the film), Donald Crisp and Mrs. Rockne placed a wreath on Rockne’s grave in Highland Cemetery. They then attended a luncheon with the female students and faculty of St. Mary’s College, the women’s school located near Notre Dame. Jack and O’Brien, who were inseparable buddies by now, sat on either side of the Mother Superior. “I picked at my food, conscious that Jack was engaged in a lively non-stop conversation with Mother Superior, not one word of which was audible to me,” Reagan said. “On the way out of the dining hall, a beaming Mother Superior informed me my father was the most charming man she had ever met. I won’t say I relaxed completely—we were still two thousand miles from home.”

  The much anticipated College of Pacific-Notre Dame game got under way at Stagg Stadium at two P.M. after the band played an “Ave Maria” as a tribute to Rockne. Jack Reagan was in his glory. (“I think that afternoon was worth dying for,” he later told Nelle.) Coach Stagg’s College of Pacific team led Notre Dame at half time. Then the visitors were introduced by Hope. “Ten minutes allowed for introduction of celebrities,” the publicity schedule informed. “No speeches please/ Immediately after the above introduction, the celebrities will take their former seats; and the Band will march off the field playing ‘The Victory March.’ 1 minute allowed. There are only 15 minutes allowed between halves and the above time must be followed closely.”

  Reagan did not take his seat after the half. He went directly to the press box, where he had been asked by NBC (his old affiliate) to guest-announce a fifteen-minute segment of the last half—a feat he carried off with style and his usual expertise. Notre Dame came from behind to win the game by a touchdown. No better end to the weekend could have been devised. But when the winning play came in the last minutes of the game, the tour party was not around. Stars and press had been commanded to have “baggage packed and in lobby before leaving hotel in the morning for day’s activities… depart stadium five minutes before end of game (not later than 4:15 P.M.) to waiting buses to take you to station… train leaves at 5:00 P.M. sharp… Baggage will be transferred from hotel direct to station.” By the time the buses reached the station, whiskey flasks were being passed around to celebrate Notre Dame’s win (heard over the bus radio) and most of the group (including O’Brien and Jack, but excluding the younger Reagans) continued their alcoholic celebration all the way from South Bend to Chicago, where they had to change trains.

  Nelle had miscalculated on two scores: the journey had not drawn father and son closer together as she had hoped, and Jack had fallen off the wagon. Perhaps the idea had been foolhardy, but had she been along and seen her husband’s renewed vivacity, the clear happiness of the man, she could not have doubted her instinct of how much the trip would mean to him.

  South Bend received Knute Rockne—All American a bit more jubilantly than the rest of the country did. But the film unquestionably was the most successful Reagan had yet appeared in. (“Picture is more than a historical document of football during the past three decades—it’s an inspirational reminder of what this country stands for… Americans will roll up hefty yardage at the theatre box-offices” [Variety], “If some of it is largely sentimental and on the mock-heroic side [i.e., Gipp’s death scene]; if some of it is slightly juvenile, that’s all part of the sport. And that also makes it one of the best
pictures for boys in years” [The New York Times].) What puzzled the Front Office was Reagan’s lack of good personal reviews. “It’s true, I got some unmerited criticism from sportswriters,” he said in 1947. “However, this criticism was nicely balanced by some unmerited praise from the same general source. For another sportswriter said I was so accurate in my portrayal of Gipp that I even imitated his slight limp. Actually, I wasn’t trying to limp. I just wasn’t used to my new football shoes, and my feet hurt.”

  The tour party returned to California just a few weeks before the presidential elections—one of the most memorable of campaigns. Roosevelt was running for an unprecedented third term. His opponent was Wendell Willkie, a former Democrat from El-wood, Indiana, who had voted for Roosevelt in 1932 and 1936 and then became a leading spokesman of business interests* opposed to the New Deal. Willkie conducted an unforgettable and hardhitting crusade against Roosevelt’s third term. As one reporter wrote four years later when Willkie died: “…we will not forget… how the country became familiar with his disheveled suits, necktie askew, hair flying in the breeze or falling down over his forehead, his voice getting hoarser and hoarser, as he impatiently used to elide ‘Pres-dent-Unide-States.’ We will not forget his repeated appeal that ‘only the productive can be strong and only the strong can be free.’… No American leader saw more clearly than [he] the nature of the Axis threat to the freedom of free men everywhere in the World. The total impact of his leadership was directed toward deflecting that threat, toward defeating that threat, toward forging the Allied coalition which would ultimately win the war into an Allied coalition determined to secure a just and workable peace. During his campaign for the Presidency in 1940, he spurned the most alluring advice on how to win if he would only shut up about the war. He wouldn’t.”