In the aftermath of Chris Farley’s wasted life, some good did occur. In 1998, the Farley family founded the Chris Farley Foundation to teach youngsters about the risks of alcohol and drugs.
W. C. Fields
[William Claude Dukenfield]
January 29, 1880–December 25, 1946
Robert Lewis Taylor, one of several biographers of W. C. Fields, described the bulbous-nosed, raspy-voiced comedian with: “His main purpose seemed to be to break as many rules as possible and cause the maximum amount of trouble for everybody.” However, Fields did have a sharp wit and an even keener sense of comedic timing, developed during his many years as a stage juggler. Pure and simple, Fields was a consummate entertainer.
But at the same time, the mercenary Fields was a crotchety bigot, strongly suspicious of everyone. He was also a man of great contradictions who professed a hatred for a great many things (including children) that he secretly admired. He was a riddle to those around him, but there was no disputing that he was a phenomenal drinker. His attachment to alcohol surpassed even that of his great friend—the matinee idol and legendary lush John Barrymore. Noted for his array of eccentricities, W.C. had the attic of his Los Angeles home stacked with cases of liquor. One day he showed the inventory to comedian Harpo Marx. The latter inquired, “Bill, what’s with all the booze?” Fields snapped back, “Never can be sure Prohibition won’t come back, my boy.”
However, for all the jokes made about W. C. Fields’s Olympian consumption of spirits, the reality was that this dependency caused his cirrhosis of the liver which, in turn, brought about his death at age 66.
Because he was always so closemouthed and ambiguous about his childhood, there is considerable doubt as to the day, month, and year of his birth, let alone the exact place. Most likely he was born on January 29, 1880, in Philadelphia. His heavy-drinking, foul-tempered father, James Lyden Dukenfield, was a British cockney who had immigrated to the United States and who had lost two fingers in the American Civil War. His mother, Kate (Felton) Dukenfield, would give birth to four other children after William Claude. During the course of his impoverished childhood, the youth taught himself to juggle. He made his professional debut (as “Whitey, the Boy Wonder”) at 14. By 18, W. C. Fields, the “Tramp Juggler,” was playing vaudeville in the Bowery theaters of New York City. In 1900, he brought his mutetramp juggling act to London, England, and that same year, he married chorus girl Harriet (Hattie) Hughes. Their son William Claude Jr., was born in 1904. It was not long, however, before the Fields separated, although the Catholic Hattie always refused to grant him a divorce. Despite his reputation as a miser, Fields provided well for his family until his later years. After his separation from Hattie, he had several romantic relationships, the final one being with actress Carlotta Monti.
W. C. Fields in a pose from You’re Telling Me (1934).
Courtesy of JC Archives
Fields had gained a firm professional reputation through years of touring. He was on Broadway in the Ziegfeld Follies of 1915 and simultaneously made his movie debut in the one-reel comedy Pool Sharks (1915). After several Follies, he made a big hit onstage as Professor Eustace McGargle in Poppy (1923). He would reprise his role in the screen adaptation, which was called Sally of the Sawdust (1925). Fields’s subsequent silent movies were unremarkable.
W. C. Fields made his talkie debut in a short subject (The Golf Specialist, 1931), but it was in feature-length movies that he made his cinematic mark. His roles at Paramount ranged from the insane comedy antics of Million Dollar Legs (1931) to pictures that proved his dramatic capabilities, such as a loan-out for MGM’s David Copperfield (1935), in which he played Micawber. Often writing his own scripts, he used aliases like “Charles Bogle” that were almost as colorful as the names of his screen characters (T. Frothingell Bellows was one). The studio was tolerant when Fields insisted that his actress girlfriend, Carlotta Monti, be cast in one of his pictures. But Paramount grew irritated with his on-set drinking, his on-camera ad-libbing, and his increasingly erratic behavior; they dropped his contract in 1938.
Fields moved over to Universal for You Can’t Cheat an Honest Man (1939), a movie in which he traded quips with his frequent radio costars, Edgar Bergen and his dummy (Charlie McCarthy). Because of that picture he had to turn down the part of the Wizard in MGM’s The Wizard of Oz (1939). Nonetheless, he teamed with another unique legend, Mae West, in My Little Chickadee (1940). His last movies, in the mid-1940s, were merely guest appearances in which he replayed old vaudeville routines.
Broadway producer Billy Rose wanted Fields to star in a musical revue, but now in his mid-60s and suffering the ill effects of years of heavy drinking, W.C. declined. In his last 14 months, Fields was a patient at the fashionable Las Encinas Sanatorium in Pasadena, California. He had long protested against the sentimentality of Christmas, but ironically it was on December 25, 1946, that Fields found himself on his deathbed.
Several cronies were in attendance at his cottage. Referring to the reporters on a death watch outside, W.C. told his pals, “You know, I’ve been thinking about those poor little newsies out there. Peddling their papers in cold . . . and rain . . . sole support of . . . their mothers. I want to do something for them. . . .” Fields lapsed into silence and then murmured, “On second thought,———’em!” Later a friend came by and found W.C. reading the Bible. “Bill, what in the world are you doing reading the Bible?” “Looking for loopholes,” snapped the funster.
At 12:03 P.M. on December 25, 1946, W. C. Fields died. Reportedly, just before he expired, he put one finger to his lips, winked at a nurse standing nearby, and then breathed his last. His estate was estimated at $800,000. Nevertheless, he remained frugal to the end: he requested that he be cremated, buried inexpensively, and that no commotion be made over his passing. His wife and son chose otherwise and he ended up with three funeral services.
At the first funeral, which was open to the public, Edgar Bergen eulogized, “It seems wrong to pray for a man who gave such happiness to the world.” After the initial, nondenominational funeral, Mrs. Harriet Fields arranged for a Catholic mass. Finally, Carlotta Monti, who had been denied admission to the first two services by Mrs. Fields, held a third memorial—this one supervised by Reverend Mae Taylor, a Hollywood spiritualist. Fields was buried at Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Glendale, California.
For two years, while everyone squabbled over his money, Fields’s crypt had no marker. Finally, in 1948, that was remedied. The much-delayed inscription simply lists his name and his birth and death dates. Contrary to popular belief, it doesn’t contain the remark he allegedly wanted on his marker: “I’d rather be here than in Philadelphia.” As for his estate, Fields’s estranged wife—on behalf of herself and their son—successfully contested Fields’s will.
W. C. Fields was asked once, “If you had your life to do over, what would you like to change, Mr. Fields?” He answered, “You know, I’d like to see how I would have made out without liquor.”
Judy Garland
[Frances Ethel Gumm]
June 10, 1922–June 22, 1969
There probably will never be another personality like her. Judy Garland had a magical technique of interpreting a song. Onstage and off, she could be wickedly funny, and she proved in A Star Is Born (1954) and Judgment at Nuremberg (1961) that she had great untapped depths as a dramatic actress. On camera—but even more so in live concerts—she revealed an electric vitality and touching vulnerability that endeared her to audiences no matter what she was (or was not) accomplishing in the spotlight. She may have been less than five feet tall, but on stage and screen, she was a giant imbued with incredible energy and amazing talent.
Like several other twentieth-century icons (Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley), Garland became pill-addicted to compensate for personal insecurities and career instabilities. More so than most performers, she constantly exposed her raw emotions. This was one of the qualities that made her performances so inimitable. She wore her heart on
her proverbial sleeve, continually asking the public to bolster her courage and recharge her creative juices. Given the evidence of her several suicide attempts before her tragic end, many commentators insist that Judy Garland’s death from a drug overdose was self-engineered.
Judy was born Frances Ethel Gumm in 1922 in Grand Rapids, Minnesota, the third daughter of struggling Irish tenor Frank Avent Gumm and vaudeville house pianist Ethel Marion (Milne) Gumm, who together ran the New Grand Theatre. Frances was born with scoliosis, a slight curvature of the spine; the condition compounded later insecurities about her feminine allure. At age two and a half, she made her show-business debut by joining her parents onstage to sing “Jingle Bells,” an event orchestrated by her overly ambitious mother.
Ethel Gumm wanted her girls in the movies, so the family moved to California. They first settled in Lancaster, 70 miles north of Los Angeles, where Frank ran a movie theater. After many auditions, the Gumm girls signed with the Meglin Kiddies, a talent agency specializing in child acts. From 1929 to 1931 the girls appeared in four movie short subjects and toured with their singing act. They performed at the Chicago World’s Fair in 1934, which led to a local engagement at the Oriental Theatre. According to legend, headliner George Jessel christened the girls with a new surname, Garland, taken from the last name of columnist Robert Garland (who had phoned Jessel that night at the theater). Frances chose “Judy” for herself, drawing on the title of a favorite song. By now, Judy Garland was the focal point of the family act.
The sisters—Judy in particular—auditioned unsuccessfully for several movie studios. Finally, Judy’s test for MGM musical arranger Roger Edens led to her being signed by the studio. During 1935, Judy’s first year on the studio lot, her father died. Her $150-weekly salary became the basis of the family’s livelihood.
MGM was unsure how to showcase their plump young talent; finally they cast her in a short subject (Every Sunday, 1936) with another teen player, Deanna Durbin. Next, MGM shipped Garland over to Twentieth Century-Fox to costar in Pigskin Parade (1936), figuring that if the feature flopped, the blame could be placed on the rival studio. But despite wearing unbecoming coveralls and pigtails in the musical, Judy was a vocal delight.
Only when MGM couldn’t borrow Shirley Temple from Twentieth Century-Fox did Judy inherit the career-shaping role of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz (1939). She sang “Over the Rainbow,” which became her signature tune, and won a special Academy Award in the process. Her popularity cresting, Judy turned out several musicals, including Babes in Arms (1939) with her frequent costar Mickey Rooney.
Rebelling at the tight control exercised by her mother and the studio, Judy asserted her independence by eloping to Las Vegas in July 1941 with composer David Rose, 12 years her senior. They soon separated, and were divorced in 1945. Meanwhile, Judy pursued a hectic moviemaking pace, teaming with Gene Kelly in For Me and My Gal (1942). By now, bad routines had set in: pills to see her through busy days, downers to help her through restless nights, and a repeat of the same drug cycle the next day. Soon alcohol was added into the mix, and MGM scriptwriter Joseph L. Mankiewicz encouraged Judy to seek psychiatric help. Her mom and the studio were fearful, however, of anyone tampering mentally with their prize property, concerned that Judy might rebel even more. (Judy often referred to her mother as “the real-life Wicked Witch of the West.” They were still battling when Mrs. Gumm passed away in 1953.)
Judy brightened several 1940s musicals, such as Meet Me in St. Louis (1944) and The Harvey Girls (1946). Her frequent director, Vincente Minnelli, became her second husband in June 1945 and their daughter, Liza May, was born in May 1946. By the time of Words and Music (1948), Garland was edgy and thin; offscreen, she was increasingly suicidal. Her mood swings were severe: temperamental during the making of The Pirate (1948) with Gene Kelly, and very winning during the production of Easter Parade (1948) with Fred Astaire. Her increasing instability caused her to be dropped from The Barkleys of Broadway (1949), and Ginger Rogers replaced her. Judy was unhappy and ill through much of In the Good Old Summertime (1949) and was a wreck by the time she prerecorded her numbers for Annie Get Your Gun (1950). While Judy was sent to Boston, Massachusetts, for a rest cure, Betty Hutton substituted for her in the big-budgeted musical.
Released from treatment, Garland returned to MGM for the musical Summer Stock (1950). Her bizarre behavior and fluctuating weight are very evident in the final product. When June Allyson’s pregnancy caused her to drop out of Royal Wedding (1951), Garland was rushed in as a replacement. Judy collapsed, however, and Jane Powell finally undertook the assignment.
Struggling with swelling professional and domestic turmoil, Judy attempted suicide on June 20, 1950, by cutting her throat with a piece of glass. Katharine Hepburn advised her, “Your ass has hit the gutter. There’s no place to go but up. Now, goddammit, do it!” But Judy was too disturbed to heed the suggestion, and MGM called it quits with her.
Judy and Vincente Minnelli divorced in March 1951. At this juncture, Michael Sidney Luft, the ex-husband of movie actress Lynn Bari, came into Garland’s distraught life. A strong and controlling person, he engineered her very well-received appearance at the London Palladium in 1951. Later that year, she played New York’s Palace Theatre to equal acclaim. She and Luft married in June 1952. Their daughter, Lorna, was born that November and a boy, Joseph, in March 1955.
The second peak of Judy’s roller-coaster career came with her show-stopping A Star Is Born (1954), in which she sang, danced, and acted remarkably. She was nominated for an Oscar for her tour-de-force performance, but lost to Grace Kelly (The Country Girl). Then the downward slide began in earnest. She was a guest several times on TV before gaining her own series (1963–64), which displayed Judy at her vocal best and emotional, undisciplined worst. The trouble-plagued series lasted one season. She made occasional movies; her most effective role was a cameo as the plump German hausfrau in Judgment at Nuremberg (1961). Whenever things got rough financially, she returned to the stage. Unfortunately, by now, Judy’s onstage banter was often the best part of the evening’s entertainment as her singing voice was no longer up to par.
Liza Minnelli and Lorna Luft attend the funeral of their mother, Judy Garland, on June 27, 1969 in New York City. Courtesy of Photofest
Garland and Luft divorced in 1965, leading to bitter custody fights over their children. Later that year, she wed young actor Mark Herron; they divorced in 1967. Meanwhile, she was hired and then let go from Harlow (1965) and Valley of the Dolls (1967). She checked in and out of hospitals for rests more often than she and her children moved from one hotel to another (often one step ahead of creditors). At the end of 1968, she made yet another comeback, this time at London’s Talk of the Town Club. As had become customary with Judy, she was frequently late for performances or merely talked her way through her act. On March 15, 1969, in London, she married her fifth husband—discotheque manager Mickey Deans, 12 years her junior.
On June 20, 1969, Judy lunched with her London press agent and, despite being thin and run-down, announced that she wanted work. The next day, nursing an onslaught of strep throat, Judy stayed with Deans at their London flat. That evening, a London theatrical agent visited them. Later, while he and Deans chatted, Judy excused herself and retired to the bedroom. She was still awake when Mickey came up at midnight. Wanting to go to the countryside the next day, Judy swallowed a number of sleeping pills to get through the night.
The next morning, June 22, 1969, Deans was awakened about 11:00 A.M. by a phone call. Judy was not in the bedroom. Investigating, he found the bathroom door locked. He knocked, but there was no answer. Very worried, he climbed onto the roof and looked down through the bathroom window. There was Judy seated on the toilet. Her head was cradled in her arms, which were resting on her lap. Mickey smashed the window and once inside, tried to revive her. Unfortunately, she was already dead.
The autopsy revealed that Judy’s system was full of barbiturates and that the last dose of sleeping pills
(taken sometime in the early morning) had been the final straw, crippling her body’s breathing mechanism. Despite much speculation of suicide, the coroner insisted, “There is absolutely no evidence that this was intentional.” Judy’s body was flown back to New York City, where the open casket was placed on display at the Frank E. Campbell Funeral Home, the same establishment where, decades before, Rudolph Valentino had lain in state. Thousands of people lined the streets to bid farewell to Judy. Of those commenting on Garland’s sudden passing, perhaps Judy’s Wizard of Oz costar Ray Bolger stated it best: “Judy didn’t die. She just wore out.”
At the funeral service on June 27, 1969, her A Star Is Born costar, James Mason, provided a poignant eulogy. He said, “The thing about Judy Garland was that she was so alive. You close your eyes and you see a small vivid woman sometimes fat, sometimes thin, but vivid. Vivacity, vitality . . . that’s what our Judy had, and still has as far as I’m concerned.” Other celebrities attending the funeral included Lauren Bacall, Sammy Davis Jr., Katharine Hepburn, Lana Turner, Patricia Kennedy Lawford, and Mayor and Mrs. John Lindsay. Judy’s white metal casket—covered with yellow roses purchased by her children—was carried from the chapel to the tune of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”
Judy’s body was interred at Ferncliff Cemetery in Hartsdale, New York, with a much-publicized flurry about the many unpaid bills the singer had left behind. (Liza, who had organized the funeral, was left to cope with the huge debts.) Originally, Judy was placed in a modest crypt at Ferncliff. Later, when Liza could afford it, Judy was transferred to a much larger crypt in the main mausoleum, adjacent to a magnificent stained glass window. A bouquet of flowers is always to be found in front of her marker.
The Hollywood Book of Death: The Bizarre, Often Sordid, Passings of More than 125 American Movie and TV Idols Page 10
