by Kirk Douglas
One day Larry approached me at the studio. He was in charge of entertainment for the Motion Picture Relief Fund’s annual charity gala, the “Night of a Hundred Stars.” Would Burt and I participate in the July 24 event?
Four months before, Burt and I had done a song-and-dance routine, “It’s Great Not to be Nominated,” at the thirtieth annual Academy Awards which were televised on March 26, 1958. (Almost sixty years later, I was able to watch it on YouTube.)
We thought we could do something similar at the Palladium. We settled on an old English music hall number, and finished with me standing on Burt’s shoulders and somersaulting in unison off the stage.
“Boit” and “Koik” made a good team. The Devil’s Disciple was our third picture of the seven we would eventually make, plus our star turn in the play The Boys of Autumn. When I offered Burt a lead role in Seven Days in May, I magnanimously said, “You can have whichever part you want. I’ll play the other.” Naturally, he picked the one I really wanted. It’s always more fun to play the bad guy.
I wrote Anne on July 19 about the upcoming show:
Darling—
This is just about an hour after our phone conversation. How nice to talk to you and Peter!
How often I think that if I weren’t married to you, I’d be in awful shape. I’d be a bum and a drunkard without you. And the awful thing is I keep needing you more and more as I get older!
Larry is terrific in his part. I feel I still need so much work to do on mine, but maybe it’ll begin to come later on.
Burt and I have been rehearsing our number for the Night of 100 Stars. We will be dressed up like typical Englishmen with bowler hats and umbrellas and we sing a song called “Maybe It’s Because I’m a Londoner.”
I’ll tell you all about my trip to Spain when I get back. [I was headed to the San Sebastian Film Festival.]
Ah, I almost forgot to thank you for the new money clip with the new initials. Now we can’t have more kids, because there’s no room for more initials!
Goodnight, my love—and all my love!—- K.
ANNE:
I answered at once:
Mon Chéri,
I hope you will find this letter when you get back from your Spanish escapade! God, am I sorry I can’t be with you to visit a new country together for the first time! Well, that’s motherhood for you—no regrets—just comments.
Eric is 8.6 ounces today—not one month old and gained over 1 pound. I am so proud of myself. You would see a tremendous change in him. His hair is very light blond and his complexion like Peter. Peter is such a wunderkind. When I look at him, I drool. He is so bright and so tender underneath his roughness.
I had a long talk with Eddie Lewis today. Eddie will write to you in detail, but what I can see, as a matter of fact what I always say—I don’t see the possibility for you to stay with R & N [Rosenthal & Norton]. It is much too involved to explain it to you in detail, but financially it is a great risk. The fee they have charged you for the last five years is outrageous and the legal advice was more than poor! Conclusions are up to you! This has been checked by authorized people, Lew Wasserman, Bautzer, etc.—My humble little opinion comes only trailing behind! No decision should be taken while you are abroad—therefore everything has to come to a standstill until you return.
I miss you and I adore you.
Peter & Eric & Mommy
Kirk was urging me to come to England as soon as the doctor gave his okay. It was a hard decision for me, but eventually I decided my “big boy” needed me as much as my little ones. The children would be in good hands with nannies and the rest of our household staff. By the end of July I was weaning Eric to a bottle so I could travel. I described the process to Kirk in this excerpt from my letter of July 29:
My Darling,
… I feel a little better today but I still have ice packs around me and continue to take those awful pills. I think by tomorrow I will be a lot better. Maybe God is punishing me for trying to dry up the good milk Eric is supposed to get! But in order for me to leave after my six weeks checkup, I had to do it and also when I see him so happy with his bottle and myself so miserable being separated from you—there is no pain which can stop me!!
KIRK:
I had given Howard Fast’s Spartacus to Sir Laurence after the Palladium triumph where Burt and I were the highlight of the evening. He said he was fascinated by the book. Eddie Lewis was bringing the first-draft screenplay to London the following week. We hoped Larry would like it enough to sign on as director and play Crassus. At this stage, we were using the fiction that Sam Jackson was Eddie Lewis. Neither of us were comfortable with the ruse, especially when Larry complimented Eddie on his masterful writing.
My agent, Lew Wasserman—one of the most powerful men in Hollywood—also represented Olivier as well as Charles Laughton and Peter Ustinov. I already knew United Artists would not finance Spartacus. They had announced a new Roman spectacle called The Gladiators with Marty Ritt as director and starring Yul Brynner. Lew told me they, too, were going after my dream cast so it was imperative I get my script to them first. Lew said not to worry. He would get Universal to back my project and he would “sell” his clients on being in the picture. No one yet knew that Lew was in the process of buying the studio. Lew cautioned me not to let anyone know my screenwriter was Dalton Trumbo, the blacklisted scribe who had spent a year in prison for defying the HUAC almost a decade before.
ANNE:
Kirk had promised me after the Mike Todd tragedy that he would always trust my instincts. This didn’t apply to Sam Norton. He was moving a few responsibilities away from him, although Sam was still taking 10 percent of Kirk’s gross earnings, and his law firm, Rosenthal and Norton, was extracting 10 percent more. I didn’t trust them, or their partner, Fitzgerald, who was the investment banker.
I asked Greg Bautzer: “Can raising questions about Sam backfire on me because I don’t have the complete proof?” Greg advised me to discuss it with one of Kirk’s confidantes and ask, “What should we do to have the books checked?”
That’s when I went to Eddie Lewis and said: “I don’t trust Sam Norton, but what am I going to do about it?”
“Let’s call Price Waterhouse and have the books examined and you stay out of it,” Eddie recommended. I got the report just before I left for England, but I didn’t want to upset Kirk until he got home and we could work out a strategy with a new lawyer.
KIRK:
I’m glad I didn’t know. I was getting rosy letters from Sam all the time about my wonderful investments: “Oil continues to flow like liquor at a fireman’s ball,” he wrote in one.
The Devil’s Disciple was plodding along, a new director at the helm. Anne’s visit seemed near but not near enough when I dashed off this letter to her on August 5, 1958:
Darling—
It was good to talk to you last night. I am writing this at the studio between shots. This is the first day with the new director—Guy Hamilton. I think he’ll be fine.
They just called me for a shot. I’ll be back—We just broke for lunch and I’m waiting here in my dressing room for it.
I can’t believe Eric is now ten pounds. He must look quite different. Why don’t you take a photo and send it to me.
The first weekend you arrive, I will try to line up some place in the country—that will give you a chance to rest a bit because the change in hours will knock you out. Then we can go to the Brussels Fair for one weekend and Paris for the other. When we go to Paris, you can leave a few days earlier and I will meet you there Friday night.
I miss you and the kids so much that sometimes I ache.
When Eric gets a little older, I would like to arrange that we always travel together except for short periods of time. Just think, darling, this is our family. We’re very lucky.
Tomorrow we’re going to shoot outdoors. I hope the weather is good.
I played one set of singles this weekend—didn’t do too well. I’m at that age, honey. I’ve got
to work to keep my weight and stay in condition.
Am I glad I have none of the production problems on this picture. In fact, from now on I want to have very little to do with any production problem even if the picture is in my company.
I’m anxious to read the script of “Spartacus” if it’s that good. I’ll be anxious to know what you think of it.
Get all the sunshine you can, because there isn’t too much here. With your clothes, remember that we’ll be going into fall weather.
By the way, did I tell you that I won one of the prizes for best acting in The Vikings at the San Sebastian festival? I felt embarrassed about it.
You sounded in good spirits when I talked to you on the phone. Stay that way! I love you very, very, very, very much my darling.
—K
ANNE:
Our letters crossed. I, too, was writing to Kirk on August 5. I had just finished reading the first draft of Dalton’s—I mean Sam Jackson’s—screenplay:
My Darling,
In the script of Spartacus it says here—I love you—I give myself to you—Forbid me ever to leave you!! The only hope I have is that your answer, Kirk, will be “I forbid you!!”
I just came home from dinner at Perino’s with Sammy and Gloria Cahn. Afterwards to the Cocoanut Grove—closing night of Judy Garland. It was a great thrill. I loved her and she is a fantastic performer. Drinks after the show in her bungalow. Liz Taylor—15 pounds heavier—with Arthur Loew Jr. (serious romance). Betty Bacall, Doris [Day] and Marty Melcher, etc.
You won’t believe it but I read Spartacus, all 223 pages. It was very interesting to read but I don’t know enough about this kind of script or picture to judge if it is fantastic or formidable! Lew Wasserman thinks it is great and Eddie and Stan think the same way.
I cancelled my reservation for the 18th today with a tear in my eye and start to count the days up to the 21st. How I will manage to leave Peter and Eric I don’t know yet, but I know I will—because my big son needs me more now, I know—and I need him badly. All evening, when I was enjoying myself so much, I was feeling sad because it would have been so much better with you!
I finished my checkup. I can play tennis again, take massages, do exercises and f—! The latter will have to wait.
Tomorrow I take Peter to the beach. We will have lunch there and come home before the traffic.
I am installing a burglar alarm in the house—directly relayed to the police in Beverly Hills. Three buttons. One in the nurse’s room, maid’s room, and our room. I feel better this way and I think it is wise anyway.
Mon Chéri, keep up the wonderful thoughts you have about me. I am really a dreamboat and you are a lovely man—because I am in love with you.
Stolz
KIRK:
Things were moving along nicely on Spartacus. Larry agreed to direct. Only one snafu: he wanted to play Spartacus. He had a completely different vision of the role than I did, but I’d leave it up to Lew to sort it out. On August 12, I wrote to Anne again:
Darling—
Your letter this morning with the 3 pictures was a delight. I can’t get over how big Peter looks. He’s really going to be a strapping boy. And Eric, he’s changed so! He’s so much bigger.
Peter Ustinov just called from Switzerland. He’s excited about the script and wants to play the part. We are now waiting to hear from Laughton.
By the way, Eddie told me about your $10 bet. You lose, honey. Perhaps it’s taken me a long time to see it, but my relationship with Sam is impossible. In fact, I don’t see how he can represent me even as a lawyer! I’ve got to have peace of mind in this area for both of us.
I’m writing this on the set waiting for my next shot. The picture is going along well but I can’t work up much excitement for it! I have much more for Spartacus.
The Oliviers invited us out to the country, but I didn’t want to make a definite date until you arrive. Do you realize how important you are to me? If you did, you would take better care of yourself for my sake. I need you very much—and everything I do is for you and our family.
If Spartacus ever comes off the way I hope—this will be the picture with which we can make our world tour.
It is thundering outside—I wish you were here so that you could be frightened and I would cuddle you.
Stop complaining about lack of letters. The boss is thinking so hard about you that often I can’t write.
I love you and the boys madly!—K
P.S. Like Eric, I have gas and constipation. I need to be breast-fed!
Just over a week later, Anne was finally on her way to London. While she was en route I wrote her an impassioned love letter in anticipation of our reunion. As of the time of this writing, we have been married more than sixty-two years and my unabated admiration and need for this remarkable woman still astounds me. I shake my head at the line I wrote on August 21, 1958: “if we live to be a hundred, there will still be so many unsaid things.” As I have now reached that milestone, I can attest that it’s still true.
My darling wife—
As I write this, you are thousands of feet above the earth—sleeping peacefully I hope—but racing toward me. I say “racing” because they say airplanes fly so fast. To me, it seems you are creeping.
Why am I writing? You will be here soon. But I know that when you get here, we will still not have time to say all the things we want to say to each other. In fact, if we live to be a hundred, there will still be so many unsaid things which is just as well, perhaps, because then, if there is a life after death, we will have many things to talk about later.
As I write, I realize that I have been the happiest in my life with you—talking with you or just being with you. Really, I should talk more with you because je me suis rendu compte [I figured out] that you fell in love with me on an evening in Paris in my apartment near the Bois while I talked. It was about five or six or seven—I don’t remember. All I know is that I did most of the talking, you listened, and I felt that parts of you that had been closed for so long opened up, until it seemed that all of your pores were open too—and every part of you was ready to receive me. I don’t know what makes me think of that evening. Do you remember?
Perhaps it’s strange that I should write about when I think you fell in love with me! It’s just that it’s important for me always to know and feel that you love me. Sometimes, you close up parts of yourself and then I’m not sure whether or not you take your love for me behind that barrier that can spring up so suddenly.
It’s also important to me that you know and feel that I love you always. Sometimes I sense that you are not sure. You must be sure always—because your love for me would be less if you didn’t know how much I love you in return.
When did I fall in love with you? I don’t know. Unfortunately, with me, I become aware of love only through a sense of loss. I remember how anxious I was for you to join me in Rome. I remember too well when you were in the south of France and I was in Paris with Pier Angeli. Suddenly my love for you came over me like a tidal wave and I called you. I remember when I came back to America and you stayed in Europe—How I missed you then and how I miss you now! I want to change that—I want to be more aware of my love for you when you are with me than to realize how deep my love for you by my sense of loss when we are apart.
But you must realize—this right hand of mine that writes these words, I take for granted. But oh how I would miss it if it were cut off!
How silly I am! You will be here tomorrow and I am writing you a longer letter than when we are apart! Maybe I should save this letter for some later time, when you rebuke me for my short letters. But, no, I want you to have this now because I hope we will be seldom separated in the future. But more important, I want you to know now, when I am near you, not thousands of miles away, that I love you, my darling wife, with all my heart!
—K.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Becoming Spartacus
KIRK:
I came back from England in fine
spirits. That lasted for about thirty-six hours. As soon as Anne felt I was rested, she sat me down and showed me how right she had been in her fears about Sam. He had played me for an absolute fool—another father who had taken my hard-earned money the way Harry took Issur’s. This was worse, because Pa never suggested he had my best interests at heart; Sam always insisted I came first.
I had put my family’s future in jeopardy by not listening to Anne. In brief, this is what the Price Waterhouse audit uncovered: I had no money in the bank. I owed the IRS $750,000. The eighteen months I had spent overseas did not qualify for the tax-free income break. My “solid investments” were all funneled through dummy corporations owned by Sam Norton. Sam had even cross-collateralized the profits from The Indian Fighter with the losses from Spring Reunion, leaving a zero balance.
I had made some twenty-seven pictures with Sam in charge of my income. He became a wealthy man. I was broke and in debt. In my righteous wrath, I wanted to confront him with my fists rather than my brains.
I certainly had right on my side. Even better, thank God, I had Anne there. We went to the new lawyer she had retained. He gave us wonderful advice, but it would be up to me—the trained actor—to implement the plan.
A few days later I stormed into Sam’s office, waving the Price Waterhouse report in front of him. I threatened to send him to jail. Sam panicked. “I’ll kill myself,” he cried, matching my theatrics. I put down the stick and waved the carrot: “Sam, I know that greedy gonif Jerry was behind this. I don’t want him to make any more money off of me. If you sign a paper saying that Rosenthal & Norton relinquish all rights to commissions, percentages or fees on The Vikings and any of my future income, you and I will start fresh. You can be president of Bryna, handling all my business and producing my films. That’s how we’ll both get back at Jerry.”
