by Joan Kramer
Phoebe Brand and Joanne Woodward, together for the first time since our Group Theatre show.
New York, 2002. Authors’ collection.
“A scrappy kid, who was perfect for those plays at that time, during the Depression,” she said. “He was sweet and tough.”
Lee Grant added, “He had a smoldering, somber, troubled, street guy kind of presence that was incredibly attractive.”
“In some way,” said Danny Glover, “you felt that his story was your story.”
DH Everyone talked about Garfield’s natural talent. He’d grown up on the streets of New York, fighting with other kids who, like him, had little-to-no interest in going to school. But one of his teachers at P.S. 45 in the Bronx decided to put him on the debating team. And that was a turning point. Garfield found another way to channel his energy—through his voice. Not long after that, he joined the school’s drama class and performed in several plays.
Joan and I went to P.S. 45 to take photos of the school and see whether its archives included anything related to Garfield. While we were there, the principal said, “There’s an elderly man, a former student, who appeared in a few plays with John Garfield here. His name is Mike Coppolo. Are you interested in contacting him?”
A week or so later, Julie went back with us to the Bronx, where we interviewed Coppolo in the school auditorium. There was still plenty of the actor in him. He volunteered to go on the stage, and performed some of Garfield’s lines from The Vision of Sir Launfal, a play they’d done together. It was a gem, and the earliest recollection we had of Garfield’s budding talent, many years before he went to Hollywood and became famous.
JK and DH And it was his fame that made him so attractive to HUAC. By 1951 the hearings had been going on for some six years, and the Committee was losing its mandate. It needed to make a splash with a star victim, and Garfield fit the bill perfectly. As John Cromwell stated, “It was an attempt at self-aggrandizement to generate publicity, so that the members of the Committee would have a job.” Perversely, John Garfield’s interrogators, who attacked him during the hearings, would gather at the end of the day to have their pictures taken with him.
In a final statement to the Committee he said, “I have nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to hide. My life is an open book. I am no Red. I am no ‘pink.’ I am no fellow traveler. I am a Democrat by politics, a liberal by inclination, and a loyal citizen of this country by every act of my life.”
However, the pressure took its toll, and in the opinion of many, ultimately destroyed him.
Among HUAC’s other victims was Lee Grant, who told us, “John Garfield dying at thirty-nine was a casualty of the blacklist.” His friend Joe Bernard went even further. “The Committee did kill him,” he said. “They were murderers.”
JK The John Garfield Story premiered on February 3rd, 2003. He was TCM’s Star of the Month, and Julie appeared with the network’s host, Robert Osborne, to introduce several of her father’s movies.
A few months later, she received a call from a man who’d seen the program. He told her that he had found her father’s wallet many years before, but hadn’t known how to reach her. He was coming to New York on a business trip and wanted to give her the wallet. Julie was skeptical. She had no way of knowing whether or not he was telling the truth, or whether he was just another of those fans—as in “fanatics”—that bask in the glow of movie stars. Understandably, she didn’t want to meet him by herself, so her fiancé (now her husband), Charles, went with her. To her astonishment, the man handed her a well-worn leather wallet with her father’s name embossed on it in gold. Inside were childhood photos of Julie, her brother, David, and late sister, Katherine; scraps of paper with phone numbers for Lee Strasberg, Harold Clurman, Elia Kazan, Zero Mostel, Joe Bernard, among others; business cards, including that of the lawyer who defended him during the HUAC period; and a card with the name of the FBI agent who’d been tracking him. It was a snapshot of John Garfield’s last few days, and for his daughter, a treasure from the past.
JK and DH We asked everyone who participated in the program to sign the book, The Films of John Garfield. Julie wrote on the title page:
“My Dearest Joan and David,
As you continue to spend your lives illuminating history to others, you have certainly illuminated mine to me. You, more than anyone I know, have explained my past to me, so that I can be released from it at last.
With Great Love,
With Great Respect.
Julie Garfield
6/10/02.”
At premiere screening of The John Garfield Story, three descendants of Hollywood legends: Julie Garfield, Lorna Luft, and Susie Tracy.
Burbank, CA, 2003. Authors’ collection.
Errol Flynn, Patrice Wymore Flynn, and their baby, Arnella.
1955. Authors’ collection.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Life Was a Series of Adventures; Acting Was Just One of Them
Stories swirled around Errol Flynn in the 1930s and 40s, when he was one of Warner Bros. hottest stars. The young, handsome Australian lived a life of adventure that rivaled in excitement—some would say recklessness—the fictional parts he played. When TCM and Warners asked if we’d be interested in producing a profile of him, we accepted immediately. But we had no idea how little we knew about him, and how our opinion of him would change.
JK I confess that I wasn’t a fan, perhaps because I knew virtually nothing about his life or career. I’d always considered his movies to be for boys, and hadn’t gone out of my way to see them when I was younger. Over the next few months I came to realize what I’d been missing.
The first person I tracked down was one of Errol Flynn’s daughters, Rory, who explained that she wasn’t on speaking terms with either her sister, Deirdre, or their stepmother—Flynn’s widow—Patrice Wymore Flynn, who lived in Jamaica.
DH Errol Flynn had always been an avid yachtsman, and was once caught in a life-threatening hurricane while sailing in the Caribbean. Somehow his beloved yacht, Zaca, withstood the onslaught and deposited him and his crew on the northeast coast of Jamaica, where they limped into the harbor at Port Antonio. Knowing that the repairs were going to take a number of weeks, Flynn went exploring and fell in love with the island and its people—so much so that he bought a hotel that was for sale, as well as many acres of land. Eventually Jamaica became his refuge, and he developed that land as a coconut farm and cattle ranch, where he built a house on a high bluff overlooking the ocean. Several years after his death, Pat Flynn moved there permanently, where she remained for the rest of her life.
JK Rory told me that her stepmother was somewhat reclusive, and always turned down invitations to talk about her famous husband. She did not have a phone number for the ranch, but when I pressed her further, she said that Pat was friendly with the owners of the Trident Hotel in Port Antonio, and would sometimes spend a part of her afternoons there.
I called the hotel, and the receptionist told me that Mrs. Flynn had just left. So I decided to push my luck and ask whether she had the number at the ranch. Without hesitating, she gave it to me. I waited another twenty minutes or so to give Pat time to get home, and then called.
She was cordial, but wary. I told her about the other shows we had done, and that Turner Classic Movies wanted us now to produce a profile of her late husband. Luckily she was a big fan of Fred Astaire and asked if we could send her copies of our shows. She explained that previous programs about Errol were less about his acting than his exploits off screen—he had loved women, liquor and drugs, but was also a serious actor who was never given his due. We must have been talking for almost half an hour when I said we’d like to come to Jamaica to meet her. She agreed, and offered to ask her friends at the Trident Hotel to give us a good deal on rooms there. She also told me that her stepdaughter, Deirdre, was a very private person, but maybe she could persuade her to speak with me.
DH The Trident Hotel was on the water’s edge, overlooking the Caribbean, and
each of us had our own villa, complete with patio, kitchen, ceiling fans, and a large living room and bedroom. Peacocks lived on the property and treated us to many displays of their iridescent plumage. It was March, and a welcome relief from the chill of New York. The temperature in Jamaica was in the eighties.
We had flown into Kingston and, at Pat’s suggestion, hired a car service and driver for the two-hour trip to Port Antonio.
“You don’t want to make that drive yourselves,” she advised us. We saw donkeys, chickens, and thatched-roof huts, as well as many beautiful homes along the way. The contrast was often stark and stunning.
JK Pat met us at the hotel the next morning. An elegant woman, she was thin, statuesque and beautiful. Her gray hair was pulled back and secured with a bandana; she wore jeans with a long-sleeved t-shirt, and was very tanned from being in the sun for so many years. Her voice was deep and husky, possibly because she was a chain-smoker.
We had brought her cassettes of our shows about Fred Astaire and Katharine Hepburn, which she said she was eager to watch. The three of us sat on my patio and talked for about an hour before going for lunch at the outdoor dining area of the hotel. She was gracious and very eager to tell us about her late husband. By the time she left, we felt as though we were old friends, and she had asked us to have dinner with her that evening near the Marina, which has since been named for Errol Flynn. She not only agreed to appear on the program, but also to be its consultant.
DH The following day she took us on a tour of the town of Port Antonio, about ten minutes away. We strolled by stalls where local merchants sold jewelry, Blue Mountain coffee, and clothing. It was clear that she was a well-known figure there; many people acknowledged her with a look or a nod.
Later we drove to her house high above the coast road, along a path with what looked like scorched coconut trees everywhere. I asked her how big the property was. She said, “It would take several days to circle it on a horse.”
Errol had chosen the spot well; the view was spectacular—and easy to take in because the windows of the living room were gone. I remember sitting near an opening where a window should have been, and Pat said, “If you look down, you can see the swimming pool. But be careful not to fall because there’s no water in it. The windows blew out in the hurricane, and made a mess of everything. The house needs some major repairs, but I haven’t been able to do them yet.”
I realized that the hurricane to which she was referring had occurred some ten years earlier, and wondered what happens when it rains.
She had pulled out many photos, documents and newspaper clippings, including pictures of Errol as a child and teenager in Tasmania, where he was born. We spent about an hour going through them, putting aside those we wanted to photograph for the show.
JK While David was still organizing the memorabilia, Pat showed me around the rest of the house.
“I think Errol must have been drunk when he built this place,” she said. “Because to get to the bedrooms, we have to go outside and down this path.” We passed several closed and locked doors, before reaching her room, which was at the end of what must have been intended as a group of guest rooms. It was large, and its windows were intact, with the bed at floor level, and opposite it I saw what looked to be at least a few dozen sneakers underneath a dresser. She pulled out a pair, took off the shoes she had on, tossed them into the pile, and put on the newer ones.
DH That evening, she invited us to a dinner party being given by some of her friends. Their house was on a beautiful sheltered bay with a large deck at the water’s edge. Rum flowed freely and the food was delicious. Our hosts, many years younger than Pat, had been friends of Arnella Flynn, Pat and Errol’s only daughter together.
JK and DH Errol Flynn was married three times and had four children. His only son, Sean, by his first wife, Lili Damita, was a photojournalist, who shared his father’s love of adventure. While on assignment for Time magazine in 1970, Sean disappeared in Cambodia, and is believed to have been killed by the Khmer Rouge the following year. His body was never found.
Deirdre and Rory are Errol’s daughters by his second wife, Nora Eddington.
His youngest child, Arnella, by Patrice Wymore, was born on Christmas Day, 1953, and died of a drug overdose in 1998, when she was only forty-four years old. Arnella’s son, Luke, uses the surname Flynn, and has inherited his grandparents’ looks.
JK As promised, Pat paved the way for us to talk with Deirdre Flynn, who was more than happy to participate in the program. But her sister, Rory, said she wanted to see a finished script before she’d agree. I explained that was impossible, since the script for a documentary doesn’t exist until all interviews have been done, because unlike a feature film, the interviews are used to tell the story. Unfortunately she decided not to take part. But after the show aired, she called and said, “I made a mistake. The program was terrific and I should have been in it.”
DH The interview with Deirdre did not have an auspicious beginning. We rented a conference space at the Los Angeles hotel where we were staying and set up to film a number of people there. We finished shooting Burt Reynolds late in the afternoon, and had about an hour before Deirdre was scheduled to arrive, so I went back to my room to freshen up. As I was getting out of the shower, I heard a banging on my door. Clad only in a towel, I went to answer and found an upset and angry Deirdre standing in the hallway. Somehow there had been a miscommunication because she was thirty minutes early. Expecting someone to meet her in the lobby, she had waited about ten minutes and then come to my room. I think we were both shocked.
Fortunately my semi-naked mishap was soon put behind us. I grabbed some clothes, summoned the crew, who had also taken a break, and we were soon ready to shoot the interview.
Deirdre had many stories to tell from the perspective of a daughter—about how attentive her father was as she was growing up; how he gave her a horse and taught her to ride it; and then about his steady decline due to his addiction to alcohol and drugs. She also explained how she learned the news that that he had died: a reporter rang her doorbell and asked if she would like to make a statement. She was only fourteen years old at the time, and has been wary of the press ever since.
JK We also interviewed Richard Dreyfuss and Joanne Woodward. Both of them had almost become repertory players for us because they had a vast knowledge of movie history. And they’d each seen almost all of Flynn’s films. But perhaps more important was that they were able to analyze his abilities as an actor.
As time went by, I began to understand the Flynn appeal. Not just in his looks, but also his talent. He was completely believable in all those swashbuckler movies and, as Dreyfuss pointed out, some of the lines he had to deliver would have been laughable coming from an inferior actor. He played in everything from adventures to war stories to comedies to serious drama, and he made all those parts his own. It was a revelation for me. Dreyfuss also told me that Flynn, like John Garfield, had an “off-stage wound.”
“But it was harder to notice,” said Richard. “Because he had such a sense of grace and irony. Eventually, you can see the wound—but he was filled with irony.”
Which brings us to Olivia de Havilland.
DH She had co-starred with Errol Flynn in more films than any other actress, and their on-screen chemistry was obvious. There had been rumors that they’d also been off-screen lovers, although she adamantly denied that.
Convincing her to take part in this program was a feat unto itself. And once again, it was Roger Mayer who helped make it all come together. He contacted de Havilland at her home in Paris, telling her about our program, and also about the plans for a new release on DVD and BluRay of Gone With The Wind, to mark its fiftieth anniversary. She was the only one of its four main stars still alive, and Roger asked if she’d agree to do interviews for the DVD extra features as well as for our Flynn profile. He offered her any location she would like: Los Angeles, New York, or Paris. We thought that if she consented, she would have chosen to rema
in at home in Paris, since she was eighty-seven at the time. We were wrong.
Roger suggested we write a letter to her explaining the focus of our program and who else had agreed to be on it, especially Pat Flynn and Deirdre. She gave it a great deal of thought, and asked a lot of questions about the production.
Finally she said, “Yes.”
Her choice of location? New York City.
JK Roger and George Feltenstein, who was in charge of the new home-video release of Gone With The Wind, were as pleased as we were. And Roger met all of Olivia’s requirements, which were in keeping with the big star she was: first-class round trip air travel; her favorite suite at the Hotel Pierre on Fifth Avenue; a limousine at her disposal during the days she would be there; a new wardrobe for each interview, bought with the help of a personal shopper at Bergdorf Goodman; all meals; and a separate suite for the filming. Roger also asked if she’d like to bring someone with her, but she chose to travel by herself. We have no idea what the total costs were, but they must have been substantial. Fortunately they were picked up by the Gone With The Wind budget—not ours.
DH It was late on a Saturday afternoon not long after she arrived that we met her at the Pierre. She was dressed beautifully, her hair was gray, and her brown eyes sparkled as she spoke about Flynn. We talked for hours—or, to be more accurate, she talked and we listened. At about 8 pm she decided that we should call room service and order dinner. I think we left some time after 10.
JK and DH This elegant, well-spoken woman surprised us with stories of her personal feelings for Flynn, as well as their working relationship in the eight films they had made together some sixty years earlier. We came away believing that, despite her marriages, Errol Flynn might have been the love of her life.
