by Kirk Douglas
I feel now with our Vlaminck flowers, we have a nice collection of Vlamincks. Next we’ll get something else—possibly a real good painting that we’ll donate to a museum.
Izzy—the collector of rags, bones, bottles and paintings—is on his way!
I love you—but please take good care of yourself and keep in constant check with the doctor—maybe you should have another one as well! Kiss Peter for me.
K.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Facing Difficulties at Home
KIRK:
I couldn’t wait to get back to Anne and Peter after production on The Vikings wrapped. While I was still abroad, Anne told me I was going to be a father again, sometime in June of 1958. I had been imagining an idyllic respite with my family. Unfortunately, far from enjoying unbroken domestic bliss, Anne and I were at loggerheads about Sam Norton—my best friend, lawyer, and business manager for almost fifteen years. To be honest, Sam gave me the love and attention I never experienced with my father. I trusted him completely.
Anne was not a fan, and Sam did little to woo her. While I was in Munich, Anne had written me a letter in which she described how Sam had disrespected her. It read in part:
For a change I got really mad at Sam today. He announced to me en passant that he rented the Palm Springs house to Gordon MacRae for one month for $1,250—we to pay gardener and pool. I just asked why I was not consulted and he said that this is business which did not concern me and I should stick to what to buy at Saks or Magnin’s! Can you imagine me—it was ten times worse! After I told him very calmly that he was insulting my intelligence, I also advised him to speak to the Gregory Pecks, who had expressed the wish to take the house for the season with an option to buy. He also calmed down and invited me for lunch tomorrow.
During her visit to Munich with Peter, Anne had seen the note Sam sent me—no sugar-coating—to say Spring Reunion was a box-office flop. Sam had insisted that, for tax purposes, Bryna needed to produce movies I didn’t star in. I didn’t like the idea; but, as usual, I followed his advice. Another production, Lizzie, had also lost money. Sam’s news depressed me.
I didn’t know about this letter Anne wrote. I can see how hard she tried, for my sake, to be diplomatic:
Dear Sam:
I hope you don’t mind my writing you this personal letter, but since I’m most concerned about Kirk’s health I feel it is imperative. I do not know if you realize in what state Kirk is actually. Overworked and exhausted. Therefore your letter—I mean your two lines—of yesterday, with which you forwarded to him Myer Beck’s statement on Spring Reunion was a terrible blow to him. I don’t mean only the actual figures, Sam, but I do also mean the way you brought this to his attention. I feel very strongly that one cannot bring such a news to a client, and even less to a friend, in just two lines without any comments on your behalf. I’m surprised that your psychologic knowledge didn’t tell you that you had to explain this a little more detailed rather than merely forward the message.
Sam, I do hope that you understand my note to you in the right way; I don’t think I would have written it unless I personally would have felt so strongly about it, and if I wouldn’t have been so worried about Kirk.
All the best to you and Bea.
Love, Anne
ANNE:
My suspicions about Sam continued to build. I certainly didn’t believe my husband was as financially secure as Sam proclaimed. There was no paperwork to back up his repeated assurance that Kirk was a millionaire. Meanwhile, the play, A Very Special Baby, for which Kirk guaranteed the financing, closed after a one-week run on Broadway—another result of Sam’s advice to diversify.
Some of our friends tried to tell Kirk to rescind Sam’s power of attorney. It wasn’t wise to give another person so much control over one’s earnings, they said. But Kirk always brushed their doubts aside. He supported Sam all the way—in more ways than he could possibly have imagined, considering what I learned after investigation.
Our most contentious fight happened when I told Kirk what Sam had done to me in Las Vegas just before we were married. He handed me a legal document and a pen and told me to sign. I had no time to read it. This went against everything my father had taught me, but stolzig just then was out of the question. The justice of the peace was ready to join me to the love of my life. After only a few days of marriage, I had to return to Paris to go through the excruciating two-month process of getting my American papers. I was dependent on Sam to help me through the legalities. But now, nearly two years later, I wanted to read what I had signed on May 29, 1954.
“Don’t worry, Anne,” Sam said. “It’s just a prenup. Everyone in America has one.” He brushed off my request for a copy.
KIRK:
I didn’t know we had a prenuptial agreement. I only knew that, like always, Sam had my best interests at heart. I refused to get in the middle of it.
Anne saw she was fighting a losing battle. She dropped the subject. I underestimated my wife. Without telling me, she hired Greg Bautzer, one of Los Angeles’s most prominent attorneys, to sue Sam for a copy. Once Bautzer had it, Anne and he pored over it together.
Our discord resumed: “Did you know,” Anne demanded, “that I and my children have no claim on your estate until we’re married five years? What if, God forbid, something happens to you—if one of your dangerous stunts, like walking the oars on that Viking ship, were to go terribly wrong? How would I provide for Peter and the new baby? Where would your money go? To Sam, no doubt, using his power of attorney.”
I was angry, not at Sam but at my wife. Sam prepared a document giving Anne ownership of all our art, some of which she had brought with her into our marriage. This, he assured me, would satisfy her.
This only fed the flames of her indignation. Anne’s lawyer prepared a new will for me and Anne insisted I take out a very expensive insurance policy. If only to restore my happy home life, I agreed to both.
I took refuge from these domestic upsets in work. I read Howard Fast’s book, Spartacus, at the suggestion of Eddie Lewis, a talented producer I had under contract. I optioned it from Howard. I joined forces with Burt and his company for The Devil’s Disciple, an adaption of the George Bernard Shaw play, to film in London. I wouldn’t have any of the actual producing headaches on this one, but would share in the profits.
Sir Laurence Olivier—arguably the greatest actor alive—wanted to be in it. Perfect! I could ask him to direct Spartacus when we were in England. Hopefully, I would have a good enough script by then to interest my dream cast of British stars: Olivier, Charles Laughton, and Peter Ustinov.
My good spirits returned. United Artists was pleased with what they were seeing of The Vikings in postproduction. I was looking forward to working with Burt again and putting together Spartacus. Anne and I were spending long weekends at our Palm Springs house, where my pal Mike Todd and Elizabeth Taylor lived across the street from us.
ANNE:
I had never seen Mike as besotted with any woman as he was with Elizabeth. Here’s one of my favorite memories. On a weekend break from The Vikings, Kirk and I went to see them in London at the Dorchester Hotel. Elizabeth was pregnant with Liza, who would be born on August 6, 1957.
When we arrived at their suite, Elizabeth was in bed eating chocolates. Mike poured us some drinks. Elizabeth kept calling to Mike for more treats. Finally he went into the bedroom and yelled, “Just shut up and be beautiful!”
A bit later, Mike said, “Let’s have dinner.” He went back to Elizabeth. “What would you like to eat tonight, sweetheart?”
It was about seven o’clock by then. Kirk and I were giggling as we listened to their conversation:
“Mike, do you remember that little French restaurant on the Left Bank in Paris where we had that delicious meal a week ago?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“I feel like that.”
Mike got on the phone to the restaurant. He chartered a plane, had the food put aboard, and sent a car and driv
er to fetch it from the aircraft as soon as it landed. We ate that dinner at 10 o’clock. Now that’s a showman!
KIRK:
Mike was a fantastic guy, but I hoped his extravagance with Elizabeth wouldn’t give Anne ideas!
In Palm Springs on Friday, March 21, 1958, Mike phoned us to come over and see his latest gesture of love. Spread atop the grass was an extraordinary array of jewels: necklaces, bracelets, rings, earrings—all encrusted with precious stones and shimmering like a mirage in the late-morning sun. Mike had gotten Van Cleef & Arpels to set up the display before Elizabeth woke up. Then he led her out to it and said, “Go ahead. Pick whatever you want.” It wasn’t her birthday; it wasn’t their anniversary; it wasn’t a holiday. Mike didn’t need a reason to indulge his passion for his young wife.
The following morning, March 22, I was on Mike’s tennis court for our regular game. “You sure know how to make a guy look bad with his wife,” I joshed him about the jewels.
Mike was flying to New York later that day with a few pals. Elizabeth wouldn’t be going. She had a cold. “Come with us,” Mike urged. “You can present me with the award I’m getting and then, tomorrow, we can stop in Independence, Missouri, and visit with Harry Truman.”
Truman was an idol of mine. It sounded like a lot of fun. I went home to tell Anne.
ANNE:
I was six months pregnant, and this time together with Kirk was very precious to me. Soon he would be promoting The Vikings and then leaving for England to make The Devil’s Disciple.
Surviving Mike—Elizabeth and Kirk dance at Spartacus premiere
Kirk came back from the match in high spirits. “Guess what, darling, I’m flying to New York with Mike in a few hours.”
I don’t know what came over me, but I had a strange feeling. “Absolutely not, Kirk. I don’t want you on that plane. You can fly commercial and meet him there.”
We started to fight. “I’m expecting a child and you know I don’t want you to go,” I insisted. Kirk gave in. He was furious. If he couldn’t fly with Mike, he wouldn’t go at all. I was ruining his fun for no logical reason. He stomped off to bed without kissing me goodnight.
KIRK:
In the morning we piled into the car—Peter, his nanny, Anne and me. We still weren’t talking as we headed toward L.A. To break the uncomfortable silence, I turned on the radio. Within minutes the music was interrupted by a news flash. Mike’s plane, the Lucky Liz, had crashed over New Mexico a few hours after takeoff. No survivors.
I pulled onto the shoulder of the road immediately. Shakily, I got out of the car. Anne joined me. We stood, wrapped together in a strong embrace, tears streaming down our faces. Finally I said, “Darling, you saved my life. I will always trust your intuition from now on.”
Just one year into their marriage and the happiest I’d ever seen her, Elizabeth Taylor was a widow at twenty-six. Eddie Fisher, Mike’s best friend, stepped in to console her—and we all know where that led. I wonder who of my friends would have stepped in with Anne?
Maybe I was channeling Mike when I planned the publicity and marketing campaign for The Vikings. He was the greatest showman of our times.
Arthur Krim had been patient with me during filming, which went a million dollars over the initial budget. I had strived to make the picture historically accurate. We built an entire Viking town. We paid Norwegian rowing clubs to be the oarsmen on Viking ships, constructed to the dimensions of the ninth-century originals. I even lived aboard one of them with some of the cast to get the feel of being Viking.
Before the film opened, we sent Viking dagger letter openers to members of the press. For the May 9 premiere in New York, seven Viking vessels, en route from Bergen, Norway, would arrive to great fanfare in New York harbor.
We had a 261-foot replica of a Norse ship hoisted above the marquee of the Victoria and Astor Theatres at Broadway and Forty-Fifth Street—several stories high and almost a block long. I was hauled up in a boatswain’s chair and christened the prow with a bottle of champagne. Then Tony, Janet, Ernie, and I waved from the boat to the crowd below.
Anne was too far along in her pregnancy to be there, but I brought my mother down from her Albany nursing home. She saw her name in lights over Times Square: “BRYNA PRESENTS THE VIKINGS.” She was overwhelmed. “America, what a wonderful country,” she whispered to me in Yiddish.
United Artists forgave me for going over budget. The Vikings was the fifth highest-grossing film of 1958—it earned $7 million domestically and $13 million worldwide, which were huge numbers in those days.
Anne’s production, too, was a success. I was home for the birth of our second son, Eric Anthony Douglas, on June 21, 1958, his name a souvenir of the adventure where he was conceived.
Then I left for London. On July 8, 1958, The Vikings had a royal gala premiere in Leicester Square, London. HRH Prince Philip represented the Queen, and Princess Margaret joined him in the receiving line. Anne sent me this cable for the occasion:
=DARLING DADDY OUR LONELY LITTLE VIKING FAMILY IS WISHING YOU ALL THE BEST OF LUCK FOR TONIGHT WE LOVE YOU AND MISS YOU VERY MUCH= PETER ERIC AND MOMMIE=
The next day I wrote Anne about my triumphant evening:
Darling—
Last night was the premiere and I’m not over it yet. Everyone seems to agree that it went very well. I am sending you the clippings. I was more nervous than I was at any other premiere—probably because of Prince Philip. He was most charming.
The party was a real smash—by far, the best party of all. The way they had the place decorated was fantastic. I’ve become a junior Mike Todd.
Now that it’s over, I want to settle down and just work on my script.
I loved your letter written on the yellow paper. It made me so homesick. I miss you all so much tonight.
By the way, Richard Gully [an aristocratic British expatriate doing society p.r. in Beverly Hills], Princess Pignatelli and a couple of French dames came to the opening. This morning, Richard dropped off a little gift for you—a couple of Hermès scarves. I thought that was very considerate of him.
This is such a well-located place [27 Eaton Square, Belgravia]. So many people live near here. The Oliviers live just across the square, the Harmsworths around the corner, etc.
Rehearsals are going fairly well. But I’ve got to start doing some work.
With Peter and Baby Eric
It’s 11—I had dinner home tonight—very good. And so far, that butler-driver is ideal! If he keeps up, you will want to get him. I’m waiting for the catch, because he does everything—knows wines, menus, serves perfectly, etc., etc.
I love you my love and I miss you very much. I’m tired and I’ll try to sleep now with nice dreams of you, Peter, and Eric.
—K.
ANNE:
I was used to our periodic separations. Peter was not. Kirk and I spoke every Sunday by phone, but placing a call overseas was difficult. The operator had to call when the line was clear. Sometimes it took hours. Between that and the eight-hour time difference, Peter was often asleep and couldn’t speak with his daddy. But it was wonderful when we connected.
Dear Darling,
Thank God for that Edison invention, or was it Bell—the Telephone! It was so good to talk to you, love. I was so full with beautiful thoughts and feelings.
I looked at my two boys—my beautiful house, my gorgeous car, at all the servants and I say to myself—
Gee—that Douglas, he sure is lucky! No, Sweetheart, I should be so grateful that I don’t have the time for anything else. Darling, let us appreciate it together and remind each other constantly when some unpleasant moments occur.
For a change I am in bed waiting for Eric to go to the source! I had two beers, so there should be plenty! Peter told me tonight very seriously: “Mommy—you want to do me a favor? Tell my Daddy to come home!”
I had a little radio on, not very loud. Peter came storming into my room, turned it off and said: “It is going to wake my baby brother up!”
Oh, my Darling, how proud I am of our two boys! And how proud I am of myself—and YOU.
I’m looking at Eric right now lying there beside me and eating—you know he is beautiful and, you know, he looks very much like me! I shall study him very carefully and as soon as I discover something which looks like you I will let you know!!
I am delighted that you like your little bachelor flat and also the butler. Don’t worry about the Bentley. Darling, if you love the car that much we shall sell Peter’s bicycle, his Hot Rod Racer, Eric’s buggy, and even your Karmann Ghia!
You seem to have such a busy social schedule. They love you, Sweetheart. Have good rehearsals from tomorrow on. Miss me, baby, miss me! Take good care of everything good in you—clear out everything bad. Watch out for those girls who are after you.
I love you very much! Stolz
KIRK:
Larry Olivier was going through a rough time with his wife, Vivien Leigh. She was bipolar. In 1958, treatments such as lithium were not widespread and the disease is very complex. Years later, Anne and I learned that our sweet baby Eric had the same affliction.
Larry was very gentle with Vivien, but she could be vicious to him in public. In private she also made his life hell—sometimes raging at him through the night. Vivien’s hypersexuality—a common symptom—was also a problem. She would proposition male dinner guests even when she and Larry were hosting them. She did it with me. Despite the strains at home, Larry remained the consummate professional. He was the best thing in The Devil’s Disciple, which should have been a much better film than it turned out to be.
