In the Company of Legends

by Joan Kramer

  DH Joan remarked to me later that she didn’t see any sign of Secret Service agents.

  I told her, “Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not around. Don’t try doing anything to the President or I’m sure they’ll jump out of the woodwork.”

  Shooting the interview with one camera meant that for most of it, the Reagans were in a two-shot. Only rarely did I zoom into one of them, since I wanted to capture the reactions of each as the other was talking. Joan sat next to the camera asking the questions.

  JK Even though the President hadn’t checked the question about first meeting Jimmy Stewart, I decided to ask it anyway. He explained that under the old Hollywood studio system, actors met at publicity events and parties and, therefore, it was almost impossible to recall where or when he actually first met Jimmy.

  However, Mrs. Reagan said, “I can tell you when I first met him.” As a young teenager, she and her family were summer guests at the country home of actor, Walter Huston, whom she referred to as “Uncle Walter.” One day, director Joshua Logan came to try to persuade Huston to star in the play, Knickerbocker Holiday. And Logan brought along his friend, Jimmy Stewart, who played the ukulele and sang “Judy.” Nancy admitted that she was immediately smitten. “By the time he left, I had a terrible crush on him.” Then, looking directly into the camera, she said: “Gloria, you understand, of course.”

  The President laughed and, when she had finished the story, he turned to her and said, “You wouldn’t like to tell them how you tried to convince ‘Uncle Walter’ not to do Knickerbocker Holiday, would you?”

  She smiled and gently reminded him, “This is for a program about Jimmy, dear.”

  That was the first hint that, with only the slightest encouragement, he was ready to launch off the subject. We, of course, were acutely aware that the clock was ticking on our allotment of twenty minutes. Otherwise, we would have been happy to hear whatever stories he wanted to tell.

  DH We had found news footage of Stewart campaigning with Reagan when he was running for Governor of California. At the podium, Mr. Reagan told the audience that Stewart’s military rank was “Major General,” which he apparently repeated at every stop along the way. Joan asked him to tell us that story.

  He said that the master of ceremonies would usually introduce Jimmy by talking only about his movie career. Then Stewart would introduce him, and he would remind the audience that Jimmy was also a war hero.

  “I’d say, ‘He’s actually Major General Jimmy Stewart.’ Then, on one occasion, the emcee did include his military career and introduced him as ‘Brigadier General, James Stewart.’ When it was my turn to speak, I said, ‘My apologies to the emcee, but it’s Major General Jimmy Stewart.’

  “Well, later that evening, Jimmy caught up with me and said, ‘R-r-r-Ron, that fella up there t-t-t-tonight was right. It is Brigadier General. I just never corrected you because it sounded so good.’” The President did a terrific imitation of Stewart’s famous hesitations and obviously relished the chance to perform. The actor in him was still very close to the surface.

  He also still wanted to believe that Stewart had been promoted. As an afterthought, he said, “And now, I think Jimmy is a Major General in the Reserves.” He wasn’t. And he was no longer in the Reserves either. In 1968, when he reached the mandatory retirement age of sixty, Brigadier General James Stewart retired from the Air Force Reserves, having served in the military for a total of twenty-seven years. Fortunately, Joan thought it would be impolitic to point out to the Commander-in-Chief that he was not only wrong again about Stewart’s rank, but also didn’t seem to know that he had retired from the Reserves over eighteen years ago.

  JK I knew it was definitely time to move on to the next question. I said, “Mr. President, we’ve read about your reaction to Mr. Stewart’s appearance at your first pre-inaugural gala in January, 1981.”

  He nodded and said, “Nancy and I were sitting in the box seats with family and friends. Jimmy came out on stage wearing his full dress military uniform and, at the end of his comments, he saluted me. Then I, of course, stood up and returned the salute. And yes, it’s true. That was the moment when it came home to me that I actually had this job.”

  The interview was going well so far. But then I had a question that had been suggested by Gloria Stewart. A few weeks earlier, I had asked her if she knew of any unusual stories about the friendship between her husband and the Reagans. She said, “Ask about the engraved western belt Ronnie gave Jimmy.”

  Now, even though I’d done many interviews over the years, I broke a cardinal rule: never ask a question unless you have at least some idea of what the answer will be. I should have asked Gloria to tell me the story. Unfortunately, I didn’t.

  So I dove in. “Mr. President, I understand that you gave Mr. Stewart an engraved western belt. What was the occasion?”

  He began: “There were two women who had promised their mother that they’d take care of their mentally-challenged brother. He was a grown man, but he was like a little boy. He had a teddy bear and loved sitting with it in a rocking chair.”

  Even at that point, I was getting nervous about his story. But I had no choice. I had to let him go on.

  He explained that while he was Governor of California, the agency that provided financial support to the disabled had notified the two sisters that the subsidy checks for their brother were about to be discontinued. The sisters had written letters to various departments within the state government, begging for help, but were getting no results, and time was running out.

  “Finally, they wrote directly to me,” he said. “And I’d always told my staff that if a letter came in describing a problem that couldn’t be solved through the usual channels, I wanted to know about it. So I read their letter and immediately assigned one of my aides to see what could be done.”

  DH By then it felt as though the story had already gone on for an eternity. Mrs. Reagan, aware that she was on camera, sat quietly staring into space, every now and then looking at her husband, perhaps trying to give him a signal to tie up the loose ends.

  Since I was behind Joan, I couldn’t see her face, but I could sense her tension. I knew she was as concerned as I was that the President was using up what was left of our time, talking about something that seemed to have nothing to do with the question she had asked.

  JK I remember sitting there with a frozen smile, trying to maintain eye contact and enthusiasm, since I couldn’t bring myself to say, “Excuse me, Mr. President, but what does all this have to do with Jimmy Stewart?”

  And so he continued. It turned out that the problem had been caused by a bureaucratic snafu and, when he sent word to the sisters that it had finally been corrected, he also sent one of his own rocking chairs as a gift for their brother—hand-delivered by a highway patrolman.

  In some perverse way, I was now fascinated by how he planned to end this tale.

  He said the family was so grateful for his intervention—and the rocking chair—that they sent him a beautiful engraved western belt. “The engraving work was some of the best I’d ever seen.”

  After writing to thank them for it, he received another, just as beautiful as the first. “Well, it got to the point where I couldn’t use any more belts myself, so I asked if I could buy one for a friend. And that’s the one I gave to Jimmy Stewart.”

  I finally felt my stomach muscles relax and breathed a sigh of relief that he’d actually connected the dots. But I already knew that this story would never make it into our show. Indeed, it remained on the cutting room floor, and I still kick myself for not asking Gloria for the details when she suggested it.

  DH The interview went on for longer than twenty minutes, much to Elizabeth Board’s dismay. But there was nothing I could do about it. The President just kept talking, telling us that because of his current position, his favorite Stewart movie was Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.

  When it was finally over, I asked each of them to do cut-aways for editi
ng purposes: close-ups of them looking at each other, nodding, and then turning back to look at Joan. The President seemed a bit hard of hearing at one point, so Nancy said, “Look at me, dear.” He laughed and said, “All right.”

  Even after the camera was turned off, they continued to talk about Jimmy and their days in Hollywood together. They were certainly friendly and charming. It was as if they had nothing else on their minds that Monday afternoon.

  JK As David and I were on our way out, I stopped in the ladies room and noticed that the paper towels were embossed in gold with the presidential seal. So I took a dozen of them, put them in my purse and gave them as souvenirs to our staff in New York. I did wonder if I’d be searched and accused of stealing, but, as with Frank Sinatra’s paper towels, I assumed that if they’re available for people to use and throw away, I was probably safe in taking them.

  Two weeks later, our official White House mementos arrived—an envelope containing the photos taken of each of us with the Reagans.

  JK and DH It was only a few days after we returned to New York that the Iran-Contra scandal broke with full force. The papers were filled with the story, accusing Reagan of a cover-up. And we realized how lucky our timing was. Had our interview been scheduled any later, it would never have happened. By then the President had more important matters to deal with. It occurred to us that, based on our experience with Fred Ryan’s mistake about the “late James Stewart,” it’s just possible that Ronald Reagan never knew how the Iran-Contra situation spiraled into a debacle. His aides could have been “handling it” without him knowing what they were doing, just as Mr. Ryan had initially “handled” our request for an interview. Maybe that’s too simplistic an analogy. We’ll never know.

  When the Reagans left the White House in January, 1989, we read that Fred Ryan was among only two top presidential aides who would remain on their staff and move back with them to California. He eventually became Chairman of the Board of Trustees of The Ronald Reagan Presidential Library and Foundation. And in 2014 he was named publisher of The Washington Post.

  In the Stewarts’ garden: David and Joan with Jimmy and Gloria Stewart.

  Beverly Hills, CA, 1986. Authors’ collection.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Don’t Mess With Him”

  It was September, 1986, when we first met Jimmy and Gloria Stewart in person. They lived in a comfortable home on Roxbury Drive in Beverly Hills. It was modest by Hollywood standards, although they had bought the land next door so that they could have a larger garden. Many famous celebrities, including Lucille Ball, Peter Falk, Rosemary Clooney, and Ira Gershwin, had lived on that street, and so it was striking that almost none of the houses were surrounded by walls or gates. Most had security signs posted on the lawn, but other than that, they were completely exposed to anyone passing by.

  When we arrived in mid-afternoon, Gloria was waiting for us in the living room, which was furnished with chairs and sofas upholstered in brightly-colored prints. She was a strikingly handsome woman, and greeted us with a big smile.

  “Jimmy will be down in just a moment,” she said.

  We told her how grateful we were for all her help, which she acknowledged only by smiling enigmatically. She told us she’d found some home movies, stills, and other memorabilia in the basement and would give them to us before we left that day.

  DH We hadn’t been talking for more than a few minutes when I heard someone coming down the stairs. Moments later James Stewart entered the room.

  My first reaction was one of shock. He was tall, but that was hardly evident. The frail old man with wispy gray hair was somewhat bent over, looking tired and lacking in energy. He smiled and shook hands, but all I could think was that we had made a big mistake. We’d fought so hard to get to this point, and now I had grave doubts that this person could carry a ninety-minute special. A jumble of thoughts cascaded through my head as we discussed our ideas for the production. I was trying to come up with a “Plan B,” but inspiration eluded me, since the concept for the program—and the one PBS had funded—was based entirely on Stewart telling his own story.

  On the way back to the hotel I shared my worries with Joan. She was as concerned as I was, but she couldn’t think of an alternative either.

  The next time we saw him was only slightly more reassuring. He was dressed casually again, and was still pale, but this time he was wearing his toupée, which made him look younger. As before, he didn’t have much energy, but was enthusiastic about the project. We left with a glimmer of hope and managed to convince ourselves that we should proceed as planned.

  JK Our first day of filming was in the Stewarts’ home that November. The makeup artist and hairdresser were already upstairs with them when we and the crew arrived. We’d decided that I’d interview Gloria first in the living room, then David would interview Jimmy in the library.

  Gloria looked beautiful on camera, wearing a pale pink silk blouse, black slacks with a belt, a gold necklace and earrings. She wasn’t at all self-conscious. Over the years she’d been interviewed many times, so the process was familiar to her. She spoke eloquently about their marriage, their children, and the impact her husband’s performances have had on audiences, including her. She told us that even before she knew him, he was her favorite actor because he could make her laugh and then cry within a single scene. She’d also admired the innate honesty that came through in his performances.

  Gloria Stewart about to be interviewed by Joan Kramer.

  Beverly Hills, CA, 1986. Authors’ collection.

  They’d met at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Gary Cooper, who had arranged for her to be Stewart’s blind date that evening.

  “Of course, it wasn’t a blind date for me,” she said. “But Jimmy had no idea whom he was meeting. I remember that Ann Sothern and Ronnie Reagan gave me a lift. There were six of us at dinner, and we went to a nightclub where Nat King Cole was performing.”

  On their first few dates, he took her to play golf and then drove her home. She recalled, “I think we golfed for two weeks before I finally said, ‘You know, I eat too!’”

  After an eight-month courtship, they married in August, 1949. He was forty-one; she was thirty-one. She already had two young sons by her previous marriage, so Jimmy became a father and a husband at the same time. Then, in 1951, the Stewarts had twin daughters, Kelly and Judy.

  I knew I had to ask her about her eldest son, Ron, a Marine in the Vietnam War, who was killed just days before his twenty-fifth birthday. Both she and Jimmy had supported the war, and she spoke straightforwardly about Ron’s death, but in a way that spoke volumes about her loss and the irony of its timing. Later, John Strauss told me that after her son’s death, Gloria no longer went to church with her husband. And when reporters asked Jimmy how he felt about his stepson’s death, he replied, “It’s a terrible loss. I think about him every day, and am proud of him. He died doing his duty for his country.”

  DH After Joan had finished her interview with Gloria, we took a short break while the crew re-set the lights and camera in the library for Jimmy. It was a room filled with books, family photos, and memorabilia from his career and the Stewarts’ many trips to Africa. Moments later I heard him coming down the stairs.

  When he entered the room I was in as much shock as the first time we met him. But now it was for the opposite reason. The frail old man had completely vanished. In his place was James Stewart, the movie star. He stood straight and tall and there was now a vigor to his step. A light, subtle makeup had removed the pallor from his face and, as always for public appearances, he was wearing his toupée. Dressed in slacks, with a white shirt, a black sweater vest, a muted black and red tie and one of his favorite checkered sport jackets, he looked ten years younger than he had two months before.

  We shook hands and he maneuvered his way expertly around the lighting and sound equipment to get to the chair. Knowing that he was going in front of a camera had rejuvenated him. The interview lasted almost two hours, breaking only
briefly to change tapes, and he clearly enjoyed telling stories about his career and the people with whom he’d worked.

  Stewart was a real pro. He knew how to lace his stories with humor and self-deprecation. He said that he’d never forgotten the advice given to him by actor Ted Healy when they were working together in the 1936 film, Speed: “Never treat your audience as customers. Always treat them as partners.”

  “I’ve never stopped believing that’s true,” he told us.

  We’d read that there was one topic he never talked about publicly: he felt that his experiences serving in WWII were too personal and that those memories should remain private. Yet, a profile of him would not be complete without covering that period of his life. I knew I had to ask him about it and I eased in by saying, “I know you enlisted in the service several months before America entered the war.”

  He shook his head and replied: “No, that’s not correct. I was drafted.”

  I thought he’d made a mistake. When we paused to re-load the camera, I asked him if it were true that he’d been drafted because all our research said he’d voluntarily enlisted.

  He said, “I know that’s what the publicity department at the studio put out. They thought it was in keeping with my image. Well, it’s wrong. I was drafted.” He’d just debunked over forty years of a myth that had become so ingrained in the public’s perception of him that even President Reagan said in his interview that Stewart had enlisted.

  And several weeks later, when Johnny Carson received his narration script and came to the line: “James Stewart was drafted,” he called and said, “I think this is wrong. He enlisted, didn’t he?” We told him we’d always thought so, but Jimmy told us he’d been drafted. Johnny said, “Why don’t you call and ask him one more time?”

  Joan did, and he repeated, “I—was—drafted. It’s the only lottery I ever won.”

  I then stepped into what I knew was dangerous territory: “Mr. Stewart, can you describe for me a typical day when you were the lead pilot in a bombing mission?”