Kirk and Anne (Turner Classic Movies)

by Kirk Douglas

  ANNE:

  When our friends came to houseguest with us in Palm Springs, I would usually arrange a dinner party in their honor. Truman Capote didn’t stay with us, but I invited him to a dinner for twelve when he was visiting someone else. He arrived with a strange young man none of us knew. It turned out Truman didn’t know him either.

  He worked at the gas station up the road, and Truman said, “Would you like to have dinner with me?” The guy hopped into the car. Truman loved to shock.

  My maid Myrtle, a dancer in vaudeville in her youth, also intrigued him. Truman loved her stories about her show-biz days in Harlem and on the circuit. He sent Myrtle a plane ticket to New York and invited her to stay with him for a few days.

  On her arrival, he announced he was throwing a luncheon in her honor at the swank Colony Club for his friends to meet her. Of course, he was talking about the beautiful socialites like Babe Paley, Lee Radziwill, and C. Z. Guest, whom he called his swans. Myrtle was mortified. She didn’t have a proper outfit, she protested, so Truman took her shopping.

  Truman had a vicious, vicious sense of humor. It titillated him to do shocking things; but, of course, it all backfired when he wrote about his swans in Unanswered Prayers and they dropped him.

  KIRK:

  Frank Sinatra held a special place in all of our hearts. He held court at the “Compound” in Rancho Mirage. He moved there after his divorce from Ava Gardner in 1957. They had lived together at Twin Palms, the house in the movie colony of Palm Springs with the grand piano–shaped pool, where we would drop in for cocktails as soon as he hoisted the flag with the Jack Daniels symbol. The Compound was his main residence until his death, although he also lived in Beverly Hills.

  Frank had an entourage of old friends—none of them in show business—who hung around him. They would wait home every afternoon to see if Vi, Frank’s housekeeper, would call to invite them to dinner.

  ANNE:

  There was Danny Schwartz, who made a lot of money building low-cost houses in Las Vegas for casino workers, financed initially with a $30,000 loan from Frank. Danny and his wife, Natalie, lived next to the Compound across the golf course from where Zeppo Marx and his wife, Barbara, lived. And, of course, there was Jilly Rizzo, who was sort of Frank’s bodyguard.

  Zeppo had no other interests than playing golf and playing hearts, and pretty soon Barbara caught Frank’s eye. She divorced Zeppo and became Frank’s lady. However, he didn’t want to get married again, and they broke up. Both of them were obviously unhappy apart, so I decided to do the unheard of. I called Frank and told him he was being foolish. Barbara was a perfect wife for him. She had been a showgirl in Las Vegas and enjoyed his lifestyle. Kirk told me not to interfere, because Frank could be quick to anger. But Frank and I had a special relationship. He called me Frenchie, and would come to the house and cook big Italian meals for me on my birthday. Kirk was his sous-chef. He called Kirk Spartacus.

  Frank took my advice, and Barbara Marx became Barbara Sinatra in 1976. There was a big prewedding reception at Melvyn’s Restaurant, one of his favorite hangouts, the night before. Everybody came to our house to dress for the wedding, including Sidney Korshak, the well-connected lawyer who handled a lot of business for both movie moguls and mobsters, and his wife, Bea, who had decorated the main house of the Compound in Frank’s favorite color, orange. After arriving, Sidney said to me, “It would be great if Bea and I could live on this street.”

  “There just happens to be a very nice house for sale a few doors down,” I told him. He asked the price. “I think they are asking $45,000.”

  Sidney made the owners an offer of $30,000 before we headed off to the wedding ceremony at Sunnylands. By the time we got back, Sidney had finalized the deal for $35,000 and we had new neighbors.

  KIRK:

  When I was still a theater actor in New York, I was irritated at this Frank Sinatra, whose fans snarled traffic in front of the Paramount Theater every night, making it hard for me to get home to Greenwich Village. But we became good friends in Hollywood, and when my recording of “Whale of a Tale” topped his latest single on the Billboard charts, I lorded it over him.

  In 1956, we were competing for the title role in Pal Joey. This was right after Frank won the Oscar for his stunning dramatic performance in From Here to Eternity. My agent let me know that Sinatra had been given the part, and I sent him this note on February 20, 1956:

  Dear Frankie,

  What are you trying to get—bookends? I’m a little jealous, but congratulations.

  Sincerely,

  Kirk

  On March 14, 1956, Harry Cohn, the president of Columbia Pictures, wrote me this letter. It was unusual, I was told, for him to explain a casting decision to an actor. Of course, it wasn’t news. The columns had written about it weeks before.

  Dear Kirk:

  The way our script of Pal Joey is developing, with emphasis on the singing and musical elements, the role of Joey does not seem as suitable to you as was contemplated when we discussed the picture.

  We were obliged, therefore, to think in terms of a singer-actor like Frank Sinatra and change our production plans until his availability, which will be in the early part of next year.

  I want to express my appreciation to you for the consideration and courtesies you gave us in this and on other subjects. And I hope that we will find an important project soon which will be good for you and which you will want to do.

  My cordial regards to you. Sincerely,

  Harry Cohn

  ANNE:

  I don’t think Frank ever got over the hurt of President Kennedy’s rejection. He had worked so hard to get JFK elected and expected him to visit the Compound often. He made sure the Secret Service would find it a secure location with sufficient accommodations for the president’s needs. After Bobby convinced his brother that staying there was a detriment because of Frank’s suspected mob ties, Frank became an ardent Republican. However, he remained liberal to the core in his dedication to righteous causes, and was particularly partial to Jews and Israel.

  KIRK:

  Sinatra and I were the kind of friends who would always go the extra mile for each other. I miss him. He had an intelligence and grace that added so much to my life. It was an honor and a privilege to give a eulogy at his funeral.

  When Frank tried to get a casino license in 1981, he asked Gregory Peck and me to speak on his behalf before the Board. This is the letter of thanks I got:

  February 12, 1981

  Dear Kirk:

  I don’t want to let the moment of the Vegas hearing go by without expressing my love and gratitude to you for stepping out of the crowd on my behalf.

  Hopefully this hearing has ended the parade of abuse that has been marching through my life for these past years. If so, I owe much of the peace ahead to you.

  I pray the good Lord will bless you and keep you forever in his heart. And that you’ll always keep my number handy. No matter what the need, I’ll be there.

  I appreciate your faith in me. I hope you know it was not misplaced.

  I love you,

  Francis Albert

  I have a number of other letters from Old Blue Eyes that I treasure equally. For a man who never had the benefit of a college education, I consider Frank to be one of the most eloquent and intelligent communicators I have ever known. I will share just a couple more:

  Master chef Sinatra and sous-chef Kirk prepare Anne’s birthday dinner

  March 30, 1978

  Dear Izzy:

  1. I read the script as soon as I received it.

  2. I got the flu and had it for four weeks.

  3. Packed my bags and went on the road.

  4. I reread the script.

  5. I finally got around to writing you about it.

  6. The script is fun but it’s not really anything I want to play.

  7. I’m on my way to Israel.

  8. Sorry you couldn’t be with us.

  9. Barbara sends love to you and An
nie as do I.

  10. Goodbye.

  Francis Albert

  December, 1982

  Dear Kirk,

  Received an invitation to attend your being honored by the Israel Institute of Technology. I am delighted they’ve chosen you because you are one of the world’s great scientists. Einstein would have envied you with your knowledge of aerodynamics, nuclear energy, etc. etc. etc.

  Naturally I would have attended if I were not working in Vegas to make a pot of money. However, if I could have attended, noting in the invitation that Barbara Walters is the guest speaker, I would have brought a translator with me.

  I send Anne, the woman who is your wife, hugs and kisses; for you, nothing!

  Francis Albert

  P.S. My love to Mother Lancaster

  CHAPTER TEN

  A Life Beyond Hollywood

  ANNE:

  When Senator John Fitzgerald Kennedy defeated Vice President Richard Milhous Nixon for the presidency in November 1960, we were all giddy with hope for the new decade. We first met JFK during a party at Charlie Feldman’s house soon after Kirk and I were married. Charlie was the überagent who created Famous Artists; Ray Stark worked there. Charlie pointed Kennedy out and said, “He’s going to be president of the United States.”

  KIRK:

  I certainly knew he’d get the women’s votes, because all the ladies at Charlie’s were gravitating in his direction. He had more charisma than all of us movie stars put together.

  But, then, politics is a performance art, too. There’s always been synergy between Hollywood and Washington. The lines between our worlds of make-believe and reality often blur—sometimes in the most bizarre ways. The motivation of John Hinckley Jr., the would-be assassin of President Reagan, wasn’t political. He just wanted to impress Jodie Foster, whom he’d been obsessed with since seeing her in Taxi Driver. Ironically, he chose the one president who came out of the film industry.

  I don’t know what in human nature makes people care about what famous people do, what they think, and what befalls them, but those of us who fall into that category seem to inspire insatiable curiosity from the public.

  Jack Kennedy knew and understood the phenomenon and used it to his advantage. In my opinion, he—not Ronald Reagan—was our first movie star president. But then, his family had had a toe in the film business ever since Joseph P. Kennedy Sr. refinanced three studios and combined them into RKO. While the old man had dabbled in Hollywood romances (primarily, it is said, with Gloria Swanson), he now had a daughter married to a movie star and two married sons who were gossiped about for supposed liaisons with Marilyn Monroe.

  ANNE:

  I met Patricia Kennedy Lawford, Peter’s wife, through the playwright and Oscar-winning screenwriter Lenny Gershe. He took me to a luncheon at the Lawford beach house in the summer of 1960, just before the start of the Democratic Convention in Los Angeles. Pat seated me next to her father, and I committed an instant faux pas when I reminded Mr. Kennedy we had met before in Paris at the races. I mentioned the well-known demimondaine beauty who accompanied him. Now that his son was running for the highest office in the land, the Kennedys were trying to downplay their racy reputations.

  Pat introduced us to Bobby and Ethel, and they became great pals of ours. None of us could have imagined the great tragedies that lay ahead for this tight-knit clan which was so much fun to be around.

  KIRK:

  I wrote President Kennedy this letter the first week of 1963 in response to one he had sent me. This is what I said:

  Dear Mr. President:

  I certainly appreciate your taking the time to write me a note of thanks for the narration that I did on the picture, An Answer.

  I feel that, more and more, you instill in the American people the feeling that they must “ask not what your country can do for you—ask what you can do for your country.” In my opinion, this is the strongest way that we can give thanks for a way of life that enables us to attain here what we could not get under another system.

  I also feel that you’ve succeeded in making people proud to be called upon to do something for our country—no matter how small. I’m happy to be asked to participate in the Inaugural celebration on January 18th.

  May God give you health and wisdom to cope with any problems that may lie ahead.

  Sincerely,

  Kirk Douglas

  My role at the Second Inaugural Anniversary Salute was to be Master of Ceremonies with Gene Kelly. We assembled a stunning program with performances by George Burns; Carol Channing; Carol Burnett; Shirley Bassey; Diahann Carroll; Yves Montand; opera diva Joan Sutherland; the folk trio Peter, Paul and Mary; and both the Flamenco Ballet and the New York City Ballet featuring Arthur Mitchell. While Washington still had segregated restrooms and drinking fountains, this Inaugural Salute was fully integrated and international. Before our Inaugural Salute at the National Guard Armory, President and Mrs. Kennedy attended the $1,000 a plate dinner at the International Inn. The Gala tickets were only $100, with no food. The two sellout events wiped out the large debt the Democratic Party was carrying.

  ANNE:

  While Kirk and Gene were getting ready, I was at the pricey dinner with Carroll Rosenbloom, the owner of the Los Angeles Rams football team.

  It’s hard to describe my feelings, both as a woman and as a naturalized American, when JFK stopped by our table. With his blue eyes twinkling, the president shook my hand and said, “Aren’t you with the wrong guy?”

  It had been a rainy day in Washington, which turned into an icy deluge that was expected to last the weekend. The airports were shut down, stranding us for a few extra days in the nation’s capital. Ethel Kennedy suggested Kirk and I round up some of the others from the show and come to dinner the following day. We had a merry meal at their estate, Hickory Hill, with Gene Kelly, George Burns, the Tom Bradens, Carol Channing and her husband, our hosts Bobby and Ethel and the Ted Kennedys. Then we all trooped off to the White House in a small convoy of station wagons.

  KIRK:

  The president and first lady had been scheduled for a weekend at Camp David with their good friends, British Ambassador Sir David Ormsby-Gore and his wife. The weather changed their plans, too.

  In the movie business, we expect the unexpected. But this unexpected invitation from the president of the United States topped any others in my life. I think Anne will agree.

  ANNE:

  There we were, sitting on the floor in the living room of the first family’s private quarters—cracking jokes, drinking, and almost everyone but me giving impromptu performances. The president poured champagne into Jackie’s shoe and drank from it. Joan Kennedy went to the piano and played as Ted sang something rousing. Carol Channing sang “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend,” George Burns did one of his routines, and Kirk sang a raucous “I’m Red Hot Henry Brown, the Hottest Man in Town.” The president sat in his famous rocking chair and gave Kirk a thumbs-up. Then, not to be outdone, Bobby and he got up together and sang, almost in a monotone, a camp song they learned as kids.

  KIRK:

  After that, Jackie offered to take the ladies on a tour of the private quarters, and off they went. We men remained with the president, who offered us cigars from the private stash of Cubans David Ormsby-Gore smuggled in for him in his diplomatic pouch. I had stopped smoking years before, but this was a special occasion.

  Just after Jackie and the ladies took off, the president looked at me in great amusement: “I wonder if Jackie remembers that my mother is in the Lincoln bedroom?”

  ANNE:

  We were all curious to see what passed for normal life in the White House and how Jackie had decorated their quarters. When we came to the Lincoln bedroom, Jackie knocked lightly and opened the door. Rose Kennedy was in bed reading a book. We were all embarrassed to intrude on her, but she acted as if this was nothing out of the ordinary. I guess with that many high-spirited children, nothing could faze her. A few years later Kirk and I were sleeping in that same
bedroom as guests of President and Lady Bird Johnson.

  Sir David and his wife were charming, but the next time we saw them was not such a happy occasion. It was June 6, 1968, at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York. The ambassador was no longer in public life, having assumed the title and duties of Lord Harlech when his father died. He was a pallbearer at Bobby’s funeral, the second of his Kennedy friends to fall to an assassin’s bullet. Afterward, we all boarded the train bearing Bobby’s body to Arlington Cemetery.

  KIRK: