Kirk and Anne (Turner Classic Movies)

by Kirk Douglas

  Sincerely yours,

  Hillary

  ANNE:

  I am so proud of the way my husband has used his celebrity to support worthy causes and speak out for his beliefs. He is also quick to write congratulatory letters which, because of his fame, are usually answered just as quickly. Here’s one to and from President Obama after his historic election in 2008:

  November 7, 2008

  Dear Mr. President,

  This is a happy day for my wife, me, and my staff.

  This is what I heard on Public Radio:

  Rosa sat so Martin could walk.

  Martin walked so Barack could run.

  Barack ran so our children could fly.

  May God look after you and your family.

  Sincerely,

  Kirk Douglas

  November 20, 2008

  Dear Kirk,

  I just wanted to send this note to thank you for your kind words. Your films have inspired generations of Americans, and I appreciated your heartwarming message.

  I’ve traveled to every corner of the country over the past 21 months. I’ve heard countless stories that I will take with me to the White House, stories of hope, promise, and opportunity. They are part of the larger American story we will continue to write in the years to come. There is no question that our work is only beginning. Our nation faces enormous tasks ahead, but if the American people stay engaged, I have no doubt that we will rise to the main challenges of our time.

  Once again, Kirk, thanks so much for your letter, and please give my regards to your family. I’m so pleased that we are moving into a brighter future together.

  Sincerely,

  Barack Obama

  Eight years later, President Obama also sent Kirk a letter on the occasion of his 100th birthday:

  Kirk—

  As a big fan of your work, and an admirer of your work on behalf of so many social causes over the years, let me wish you a joyous 100th birthday.

  What an amazing contribution you’ve made to America. We are grateful!

  Barack Obama

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Friends and Family

  KIRK:

  I don’t go to my Bryna Company offices anymore. It no longer gives me pleasure to look at the signed posters of my movies hanging there. I’ve outlived many of the friends I worked with and I miss them. I also miss the camaraderie we shared in locations all over the world.

  Ninety movies in sixty years—impressive, right? Seven films with Burt; three each with John Wayne, Tony Curtis, Vincente Minnelli; two with Tony Quinn, Lauren Bacall, Walter Matthau, Yul Brynner; only one with Frank Sinatra and my favorite costar of all, Michael Douglas.

  When I think of it, we were primarily a bunch of left-leaning liberals. All except for John Wayne, a conservative Republican through and through. He approved of the blacklist and supported candidates like Barry Goldwater. We pretended to be more bothered by our differences than we were, and we were very fond of each other.

  In 1966, John and I were in Durango, Mexico, shooting The War Wagon for his independent company, Batjac. A few weeks before election day, we were photographed casting our absentee ballots for the California gubernatorial race. John, of course, was voting for Ronald Reagan and I was supporting Governor Pat Brown.

  AP’s side by side captioned photos ran everywhere. Governor Brown enclosed the clipping in this letter he sent me:

  October 27, 1966

  Dear Kirk:

  Thank you for your kind letter. I am enclosing pictures appearing in the Sacramento Union today of both you and John Wayne completing your absentee ballots. I must say that Mr. Wayne looks far less confident of his decision than you do.

  Perhaps he is really one of those undecided voters who will be so crucial on November 8.

  Kirk, your TV spot has been marvelously received, although there are a few of my back-sliding friends who are claiming that perhaps you would have made a better candidate than I.

  With best wishes and many thanks for all your help,

  Sincerely,

  Pat

  EDMUND G. BROWN, Governor

  ANNE:

  I went to Durango, even though Kirk warned me of the primitive accommodations at the Super-Motel where the company was based. I was feeling adventurous and lonely for my husband, so I decided it was worth a little discomfort.

  Sitting at the entrance of cabana 3 of the motel when I arrived was Robert Walker Jr., the son of our friend Jennifer Jones and her ex-husband Robert Walker. Bobby wasn’t on call that day so Kirk asked him to look after me. We went into what passed for a suite, and I said I’d meet Bobby after I cleaned up. I went to the bathroom and was hit by a sign pasted on the mirror. I thought it was probably a reminder to use only bottled water for brushing one’s teeth. But here was a health notice I’d never seen anywhere: “Shake out your boots and check for tarantulas and scorpions before putting them on.” That did it. I marched to the Production Office and told them to book me on the next plane home. When Kirk arrived, I greeted him with my packed bag already in the car. “You were right, darling,” I said, “so hello and good-bye.”

  Duke’s Peruvian wife, Pilar, had more guts than I did; she stuck around. Here’s a letter Kirk wrote her several months after the film wrapped:

  Dear Pilar:

  Wherein did I fail? It’s now almost two months since the finish of War Wagon, and Duke hasn’t come to me with another script. What did I do wrong?

  After all, when he needed someone to help him hold up the War Wagon, who did he come to? Precious!

  When he got in that stupid brawl in the barroom, who kicked the gun out of the hand that was going to shoot him? Precious!

  When he needed someone to open up the safe and get the nitroglycerin for that drunken buddy of his, who did it? That’s right. Precious!

  That’s what he thinks, because I found out where he kept it and used some of it to make this flower for you. Don’t you think it’s precious?

  Affectionately,

  Kirk

  KIRK:

  A year before The War Wagon, I was in another film with Wayne. Cast a Giant Shadow was about Colonel Mickey Marcus, an American hero of Israel’s War of Independence. A graduate of West Point, Mickey had been highly decorated for his service in World War II. After the Jewish State was declared in 1947, war with the surrounding Arab nations was inevitable. The retired Army colonel was recruited to train the neophyte Israeli troops. They won the war, but Mickey was killed by friendly fire from a nervous Israeli sentry.

  John Wayne sent me the script. He said, “It’s a great part for you. I’m going to play an American general, and Yul Brynner and Frank Sinatra have agreed to be in it.”

  How could I say no to that? If nothing else, the four of us would have fun. I came with my son the driver (Michael) and my son the bodyguard (Joel). I thought they would have fun, too. Cast a Giant Shadow was Mel Shavelson’s passion project. He couldn’t get funding until he got Duke interested. Wayne liked the idea of an American military hero coming to the aid of a weak young democracy. Wayne’s Batjac Productions and my Bryna Company joined Llenroc Productions and the Mirisch Corporation in the financing.

  Oy veh! It was 126 degrees in the desert, but tsuros with the military was even more scorching. Yitzhak Rabin—later to become prime minister and my good friend—was commander-in-chief of the Israeli armed forces; he demanded script approval. There was also a military committee to review the footage. They insisted Mel reshoot a scene of young people dancing the hora because one of the girls was out of step.

  One day, a hundred Israeli tanks took off in the middle of the movie’s battle scene to go to a real one on the Syrian border. On another—in what reminded me of my Norwegian Vikings experience—two hundred Israeli extras walked out halfway through the day. They returned hours later and announced they had formed the Israeli Screen Extras Guild and wanted triple pay.

  ANNE:

  I heard the guys were raising holy hell in the Holy Land, s
o I packed up Peter and Eric and went off to see for myself how badly they had corrupted Michael and Joel. I hoped they were staying away from the sabra women—a tough bunch of beauties who were handy with guns.

  One night around midnight, while Frank, Yul, Duke, and Kirk were filming a street scene, Frank said, “Sure would like a plate of pasta.”

  There was something about Sinatra that made you want to please him. But to find an Italian restaurant in Jerusalem and one open past midnight was akin to an Old Testament miracle. In this case Yul Brynner was the miracle worker. “Boys,” he said triumphantly, “come with me. It’s all arranged. We’re having pasta at the best Chinese restaurant in Israel. Don’t forget, it was Chinese before Marco Polo brought it to Italy.”

  Yul, a true citizen of the world, seemed to know everything and everybody. Yet, he maintained a certain air of mysterious glamour even with those of us who were close friends.

  KIRK:

  John Wayne was larger than life, a gentle soul who loved to play chess and would only ride a horse when he was paid to do so. I never called him Duke. I don’t know how or when he acquired the nickname, but I bet he dumped his given name of Marion Morrison because it didn’t suit his macho image. He felt that stars like us should play tough both on and off the screen.

  Years later, it was hard to see John, the American hero in so many war films, battling cancer. He had won his first fight against the disease in his lungs, but then it moved to his stomach. While he was at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston for treatment, I sent him two mailgrams on April 21, 1978—the year before he died. The hospital’s address was 32 Fruit Street:

  DEAR JOHN,

  I DIDN’T WANT TO WRITE YOU ON FRUIT STREET. I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU TO MOVE TO MACHO ALLEY. WHAT THE HELL… GET WELL SOON

  KIRK DOUGLAS

  A few hours later I followed it up with this:

  DEAR JOHN,

  DURING THE PASSOVER HOLIDAYS I WILL PRAY TO MY GOD JEHOVAH FOR YOUR QUICK RECOVERY AND TO INSURE A RESPONSE I WILL NOT MENTION THAT IT WAS A NON-KOSHER OPERATION.

  KIRK DOUGLAS

  On April 26, he replied:

  DEAR KIRK,

  THANKS FOR THE TELEGRAMS. OH BY THE WAY WHILE I WAS HERE I HAD A LITTLE SORT OF DIMPLE PUT IN MY CHIN. I KNEW YOU WOULDN’T MIND

  DUKE

  ANNE:

  Kirk was realistic enough to accept that things were changing for actors, especially for ones getting on in years. It was no longer anathema to take a good role on television. Karl Malden, after all, seemed happy enough working with Michael in The Streets of San Francisco. Tony Curtis was in England doing a series with Roger Moore called The Persuaders. Kirk, too, took on more work for the small screen.

  In 1982, he did Remembrance of Love in Israel and we were very proud of our son Eric’s performance in that film. Our son Peter won an Emmy for producing the 1988 TV version of Inherit the Wind. Peter also produced the theatrical feature The Final Countdown under his Vincent Pictures banner. We were impressed that he got the navy’s permission to shoot on the U.S.S. Nimitz.

  All four of the young men in our family chose to work in “The Industry” either in front of or behind the camera. Joel ran Victorine Studios in Nice, France, before returning to the States to produce films with Michael. Like any Jewish father, Kirk had hoped at least one would be a doctor or lawyer.

  KIRK:

  Michael was hosting the 1985 Academy Awards, and Burt and I agreed to be presenters. What a thrill it was for me to have Michael introduce us with a clip from our 1958 appearance doing It’s Great Not to Be Nominated. We were a hit with two young writers in the audience. They looked at each other and said, “Let’s write a film for them.” Disney liked the idea and so did we. We were working on Tough Guys later that year.

  Relaxing in Palm Springs, left to right: Tony Curtis, Kirk, and Dean Martin

  Burt and I loved the story of two old geezers who get out of jail after sharing a tiny cell for thirty years. They decide to take another crack at the botched robbery that landed them behind bars. In one scene I got to slam dance, in another I ran on top of a moving train and mooned Charles Durning. The hardest thing about that stunt was convincing Anne I wasn’t too old to do it. After all, I still had a few months to go before turning seventy.

  Ever since a fan called out to me “Hey, Koik! How’s Boit?” at a Dodgers game in Brooklyn, that’s what we called each other. But when I sent Burt this birthday telegram on November 1, 1985, we were still in our Tough Guys mindset as our characters, Harry (Burt) and Archie (me):

  DEAR HARRY: I HAVE BEEN LIVING IN A NURSING HOME FOR SOMETIME. THE GUY NEXT TO ME GOT KNOCKED OFF. THE BED IS EMPTY. IT IS YOURS IF YOU WANT IT. HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

  LOVE ARCHIE

  Here is Burt’s reply of November 7:

  DEAR ARCHIE

  NOW WHAT WOULD I WANT WITH AN EMPTY BED? BUT THANKS FOR THE THOUGHT

  LOVE AND KISSES

  HARRY

  ANNE:

  I fell in love with Kirk the night he swept up the elephant poop at the Cirque d’Hiver. We both are irritated by pompous people who can’t laugh at themselves. No such problem with Tony Curtis. Here’s a thank you note from him dated June 5, 1964, that made it into my collection of memorabilia. I suspect the gift was a photo in a fancy frame:

  Dear Kirk:

  How did you know I love to look at my face?

  It’s by far the best thing I’ve seen!

  Those cruelly, penetrating blue eyes—the dark, impertinent hair—the very expressive eyebrows—those mobile and sensuous lips—that fabulously cut jaw______________oh shit,

  I’m in love again!!

  Thank you.

  Affectionately,

  Tony

  KIRK:

  When I was in town, I liked to lunch at the Hillcrest Country Club (where the food was great) or at the Friars Club in Beverly Hills (where the food was not), but only if I could snag a spot at the comedians’ table. It was a chance to kibbutz with Jack Benny, George Burns, Georgie Jessel, Milton Berle, Red Buttons, Don Rickles, Groucho Marx, or whoever else turned up.

  I adored those guys and their Yiddish-tinged humor. Even their written notes were clever, like this undated one from Red Buttons:

  Dear Kirk,

  To answer your question “How did you manage to get such a beautiful wife?”

  It’s all in the wrist!

  A hug for you and Anne

  With love

  Red

  ANNE:

  As you might imagine for a man who has been on the so-called A-list for some seventy years, Kirk has received multiple tributes in America and abroad. In addition to the Medal of Freedom, he received the Medal of the Arts from President George W. Bush, the Legion d’Honneur from the French government, a Kennedy Center Honor, the AFI Lifetime Achievement, and an Honorary Oscar. These last two were particularly meaningful because of the dramatic life-threatening events that preceded them: a back-breaking helicopter crash and the stroke that left him with impaired speech.

  KIRK:

  I was always more comfortable being a presenter than an honoree. My friend “Boit,” who emceed my tribute from the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, knew I never ate before making a speech. After I delivered my words, I sat down and looked at him expectantly: “How was I?” I asked. “Koik,” he replied, “You could have eaten.”

  The shortest speech I ever gave was the one at the 1996 Oscars. Unable to utter coherent words when the letter about my Honorary Oscar arrived, I asked Michael to accept on my behalf. I wasn’t ready or able to face the public yet. “Work with your speech therapist, Dad, because I am going to watch you from the audience.”

  I learned to say two words, “thank you,” pretty clearly. I could handle two syllables. But I wasn’t satisfied. It was just the incentive I needed to surprise my family and the worldwide audience with something more. From the stage I pointed to my four sons sitting in the audience: “They are proud of the Old Man,” I said clearly. I held up the
Oscar: “Anne, this is for you.” I could see her crying in the audience, ruining the beautiful makeup job she had left the house with. I got a standing ovation.

  What an outpouring of letters from everywhere. Gena Rowlands, my wonderful costar in Lonely Are the Brave, Bruce and Patti Springsteen, Goldie Hawn, Janet Leigh, Patricia Neal (who had come back from a more severe stroke than mine to act again), and even King Hussein of Jordan, who invited me to be his guest in Amman when I felt well enough.

  Robin Williams wrote:

  Mazeltov!

  Remember the mohel* gets final cut.

  Robin Williams

  *mohel: Hebrew name for one who performs ritual circumcisions

  Jerry Seinfeld, another comic genius, said simply:

  Dear Kirk

  Congratulations on achieving legend status as an artist and as a man. No one more than me is grateful for you having blazed the trail in our business for good looking on camera Jews.

  Mazel tov,

  Jerry Seinfeld

  Billy Crystal—one of my favorite Oscar hosts—wrote in a more serious vein in a letter dated March 28, 1996:

  Dear Kirk

  Watching your brave appearance on the “Oscars” is one I will never forget. One can only hope that their families will look at them with the same love that your lovely wife and sons looked at you with. You are Spartacus!