The Letters of Cole Porter

by Cole Porter

  All the news about the Beard* is grand. He has become entirely Arcadian. He is up for his swim every morning at seven – sometimes at six – he eats very little, he drinks at most, three cocktails before dinner & nothing else, during the day, he is usually in bed by 9.30 – but never later than 10.30, & due to his constant swimming, sun-bathing & ascetic life, he has become very handsome, & all the photographers fight for his profile. Also, his future has been temporarily fixed, for Moss has asked him to direct the book of our show,† & as Moss & I seem to have complete control, I don’t believe this will not work out.

  Suddenly, yesterday, our show looked nearly finished. I still have much more to do than has Moss, but if it were necessary, we could go into rehearsal tomorrow, especially as Monty has been in at all our discussions & could take a company over immediately.

  Moss, by the way, is an angel from Heaven & we all love him dearly. In fact, everybody loves everybody else & its [sic] all rather sickening.

  I leave you now. I’ve got to be cute in the morning as we all are being received by His Black Highness, the Sultan of Zanzibar.‡

  Give my love to that Hermie & tell him that today at noon we were Lat. obd. 4043E.

  Goodbye & great love to you

  [signed:] Cole.

  Linda has a hate on Weston.

  In addition to his New York and London shows of the early 1930s, Porter also started writing for films. The first was The Battle of Paris (Paramount, released 30 November 1929), for which Porter wrote two songs, ‘Here Comes the Bandwagon’ and ‘They All Fall in Love’, while the film Adios Argentina, on which Porter worked in late 1934 and early 1935, was never produced. Both Born to Dance (MGM, 1936), an Eleanor Powell and James Stewart vehicle, and Rosalie (MGM, 1937), with Nelson Eddy and Eleanor Powell, made it to release. As Porter noted in a letter to Harvey Cole, in mid-1935 he was not only financially well-off due to the success of Anything Goes, but had received the first instalment of his pay for Born to Dance:

  3 July 1935: Cole Porter to Harvey Cole30

  Dear Harvey:

  Dick Madden suggests that instead of letting that money lie around in the bank in Indiana, that you invest it in something and make a little profit for me. I have enough money here, what with “ANYTHING GOES” running through the summer in New York, and having opened with great success in London, to live on royalties.*

  The first installment of Paramount money† arrived – $10,000. When the next and last installment arrives, then we can talk annuity. As I wrote you, I have a man here who is interested in arranging it, but you may think this unnecessary and that you could do it all yourself. Please advise me about this.

  Best regards to you both.

  [signed:] Cole‡

  The success of Porter’s early 1930s shows, and Anything Goes in particular, led Theatre World to dub him the ‘ace’ composer and lyricist of the day in an interview published in September 1935:

  “They used to regard me as a dilettante . . . and refused to believe that best-sellers could possibly emanate from a young man well-endowed with the world’s goods. Luckily my first number, ‘Old-Fashioned Garden,’ sold two million copies, after which the denizens of Tin-Pan Alley stopped talking about the ‘millionaire playboy!’

  “I usually work after midnight, so that my studios in Paris and Nice are sound-proof. But I sometimes compose at other times, and am quite liable to wander off to a piano while my guests go into dinner, and then appear later in the evening with a completed number. ‘Miss Otis Regrets’ was written at a party just as a joke, but it caught on and people started to talk about it. They were singing and playing it in New York before it was published.”

  . . . Like many American revue writers, he starts at the end and works backwards. That is to say, he first finds his “kick” and builds up to it. This, incidentally is why American lyrics and sketches usually have more point than their English counterparts. His latest sensation, “You’re the Top,” was composed with the idea of providing a number to be sung in front of the curtain while the necessary costume changes were made . . .

  Talking of Cole Porter’s work, Fred Astaire once told me that his favourite melody was “Night and Day,” to which he danced his famous routine for nearly 1,000 performances over here and in the States. “People often ask me if I am not tired of hearing this number,” he [Astaire] said. “But I can honestly say that I never grow weary of it. There is such inspiration to be derived from it and it is my first choice of all the songs I have sung in musical productions.”31

  In December, Porter, with Linda, went to Hollywood to work on Born to Dance. While he was there, he kept an extensive journal, documenting in detail his meetings with MGM:

  Born to Dance diary, 20 December 1935–9 June 1936

  FRIDAY, DECEMBER 20, 1935

  Went to Sam Katz’s* office. He could not have been more charming and told me that unlike other productions on the MGM lot, my picture would not be the result of havoc, as most of them are. After having explained that he had engaged Jack McGowan and Sidney Silvers† to construct the book of my picture, he called them in and they told me the idea of their story.

  The idea was based on the recent escapade of Jack Barrymore and Elaine Barrie.* Sam Katz explained that what they wanted to do was to have Clark Gable play the Jack Barrymore part, and Jean Harlow the Elaine Barrie part.† I held out for more singers in the principal leads, and they finally decided that if the girl playing the love interest opposite Gable could sing, the trio would be a very strong box office draw.

  When the conference was. over, Sam Katz said “Come back in a few weeks.” I left, feeling that once we started, all would be peaceful.

  MONDAY, JANUARY 6, 1936

  Dined with Sam Katz in the commissary on the MGM lot. Present: Sid Silvers, Jack McGowan, and a new author named Hatch (Hatch evidently is a magazine writer, and has moments of being a complete Englishman, and other moments of being a middle-Westerner), Mr. Pye (Sam explained that Pye was an excellent art director on the lot and had a great many fine ideas for staging concerted numbers), another gentleman whose name I did not catch, but obviously an assistant of Sam Katz, and Alex Aarons, whom I had known in New York, but who now is also working for Katz.‡

  After dinner we went to Sam Katz’s office for a conference. Immediately I was told that all ideas of the original story, and of having Clark Gable and Jean Harlow, had been discarded. Sam held forth that it was dangerous to have two principal leads who could not sing, play in a musical, and suggested that whatever story we decided upon should be done by singing and dancing people. I remarked that this had been my contention when the first conference took place, but that they had persuaded me that the box-office draw of two such great stars as Gable and Harlow would give the picture importance, which would make up for their not singing. So I found myself holding up for their ideas at the first conference, and they holding up for mine at this second conference. Soon it became evident that the authors had no story in mind at all. Someone suggested why not do a musical of “If I Had a Million”,* but Sam did not like the idea, as he wanted a boy and girl love story running through a revue. It was suggested that no audience would pull for a boy and girl if they were consistently being interrupted by a large concerted dance routine. So this was discarded.

  The next suggestion was that we do a story based upon the sight-seeing automobile, which shows the homes of the movie stars in Hollywood. This in order to utilize all the stars on the lot.

  Then someone said, “I have a great idea for the beginning of a picture. Why not show in an opening chorus a long line of people waiting to see the body of a dead movie actor, and then take up the separate lives of the people who are waiting in line.” This was met with great enthusiasm for a few minutes, and then suddenly the whole crowd turned on the suggestion.

  Several other suggestions were presented. Finally Jack McGowan said to me, “Cole, why don’t you write an opening chorus, and it may be we can get a story from that?” By
this time I felt as if I were attending a performance of “Once In a Lifetime”, or “Boy Meets Girl”,† but I was not upset, on account of the numerous warnings I had received from others who had come to Hollywood.

  Then, one by one each of the people at the conference took me in the other room, patted me on the back and told me not to worry. As a parting shot, Sam Katz said to the authors, “Try to think of a story within a reasonable time, and when you get it, let Cole know.” The authors then gaily suggested to Sam Katz that they all have a vacation in the desert, and he said, “Yes, boys, by all means.”

  Then Sam Katz drew me aside and said, “Now, Cole, don’t worry about authors, because I can spend $200,000 on authors in order to give you the right script. Goodbye, Cole, come back in a few weeks.”

  This was the end of the conference.

  MONDAY, JANUARY 13, 1936

  Present:

  Eric Hatch

  Alexander Aarons

  Jack Cummings.*

  They came to the house for lunch, as a result of having called me up and told me that at last they had a great idea for my picture.

  On arrival, Jack Cummings took me aside and told me that McGowan and Silvers had been thrown out of the picture, as they were exhausted from just having finished “Broadway Melody.”

  Jack Cummings is to be the producer of my picture, and he is another member of “The Family.” “The Family” means that he is related to Louis B. Mayer,† as is practically every other person you meet on the Metro lot.

  The idea of the picture was this – a boy and a girl on newspaper syndicates try separately to win the Pulitzer Prize for the best-written newspaper story of the year. They are in love, but in competition, and finally together write a story which wins the Prize.

  Cummings suggested that we show relief maps of two hemispheres, and that, say, we were going to cover a story in Tibet, an electric line would take us from the newspaper office across America, over the Pacific into a certain spot in the Himalayas. This method of presenting sketches to be used throughout the picture.

  As it was explained to me, I liked it much better than anything that had been suggested so far, and we parted very exhilarated.

  I immediately got to work on an opening number and finished it.

  TUESDAY, JANUARY 14, 1936

  Sam Katz telephoned me and asked me to be at his house at 2:00 P.M. for a conference. I went there and found Cummings, McGowan and Silvers. Before we started, Sam drew me aside and told me that Hatch had been thrown out of the picture. He then announced to us all that he had just had a meeting with Louis B. Mayer, and that Mayer definitely wanted my picture to be a revue, in order to utilize all of the stars on the lot. Then there was a long discussion as to whether or not to use “As Thousands Cheer”, which Metro owns.* Once more they all suggested to me that I write a new “Man Bites Dog”, which was the opening sketch in the stage production of “As Thousands Cheer.” I killed this as soon as possible, knowing I could not possibly top Irving’s number.

  By this time all thought of “As Thousands Cheer” had disappeared, and Sam said, “I don’t think we should use ‘As Thousands Cheer’ at all. I think we should make this the ‘Metro Revue,’ and all we need is a central idea to start it off.[”]

  Silvers, thinking of the days when he used to be a stooge for Phil Baker in vaudeville,† suggested we open by showing him in the box of a theater watching a stage performance. No one liked this idea, and for half an hour there was complete havoc. Then I suggested that it might be interesting to base our Revue on the different sections of a newspaper.‡ If this device were taken, all we would have to do would be to plant the newspaper in the beginning, then turn the pages to find our different sketches. They all leaped at this, as if I had suddenly discovered radium, and Sam suggested that after such a great idea I should go to the desert and take three weeks rest. Silvers and McGowan then asked if they could go too. So for a few minutes it looked as if I were going to the desert alone with two maniacs. I insisted that we begin work on this Revue immediately, and here in Hollywood, as time was flying, so it was decided that tomorrow Silvers and McGowan come to the house at 2 p.m., and we talk all afternoon – every afternoon. They wanted to come in the morning at 11 and remain all day, but I firmly announced it was too long a session for me, and that I did my best work alone.

  That was the end of this conference.

  ***

  On arriving home, Alexander Aarons called me up and I told him what had taken place. He said that within a few days I should go myself to Sam Katz and tell him that it is impossible to work with McGowan and Silvers.

  We shall see.

  WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 15, 1936

  Present:

  Jack McGowan

  Sid Silvers.

  They appeared immediately after lunch and announced that, after thinking the matter over, they did not like the Revue being based upon the different sections of a newspaper. They began to discuss the Eric Hatch idea of the boy and girl rivalry on a newspaper, and decided they did not like that either. Then McGowan suggested we do a picture based upon the pursuit of John Barrymore by Elaine Barrie, and give up all idea of writing a Revue, but instead do a straight musical story.

  I suggested that Sam Katz’s reason for wanting me to do a revue was to utilize all the stars on the lot. Then Silvers asked me, “Do you want to do a Revue?” I said, “No, I don’t believe I do, unless we can find a revolutionary idea, but I have great respect for Sam Katz, and as long as he clings to a Revue so much, I want to give him a few days before I tell him definitely that nobody has been able to present an idea good enough to warrant doing one.” At this Silvers and McGowan yelled with joy, and said, “We don’t want to do a Revue either and we had hoped you would say yesterday that you didn’t, when we all met.”

  McGowan went on to explain that before my arrival at the conference yesterday, Sam Katz told them that what he would like to do, would be to throw out Freed and Brown, the songwriters of the next BROADWAY MELODY,* and give me the score, but that he could not do it because it would break their hearts.

  There was a period of silence, during which McGowan read the New Yorker, and Sid Silvers began nursing a large whisky and soda. Suddenly McGowan leaped to his feet and cried “I have a great idea.” The only reason Katz doesn’t want to throw Freed and Brown out of the BROADWAY MELODY is, because they did the first BROADWAY MELODY, but if we change the title of the second BROADWAY MELODY to something else and write a new Broadway Melody for them, they cannot complain. Silvers thought this was the greatest idea that McGowan ever had, and suggested that they both rush to the office and tell Katz, but I persuaded them not to do this, but instead bring me the script tomorrow and let me see whether or not I like it, before speaking about this violent change in plans.

  So, they left feeling that everything had been solved, and we are meeting again tomorrow.

  THURSDAY, JANUARY 16, 1936

  Present:

  Sid Silvers

  Jack McGowan.

  Arrived 3 p.m. I asked them whether or not they had found, overnight, any idea for a Revue, and both of them confessed that they had been so drunk that they had not thought of pictures since they left the house yesterday.

  Then I asked whether they still liked the idea of changing the title of the new BROADWAY MELODY, and giving me the script. They both decided it would be impossible to make this suggestion, on account of the danger of breaking Freed and Brown’s hearts. So they told me the complete story of BROADWAY MELODY, which took about an hour. McGowan then brought up a play that he had written in New York last year for Harry Richman called Say When,* and asked me whether I would like to use it. I could not remember it well, after so long a time, so he told me the story of “Say When”.† I asked whether Metro owned this, and he said “no, but he thought if I asked for it they would buy it from him.”

  By this time we realized it was entirely useless that we ever meet again, and I made an appointment with them to go to Sam Katz
’s office tomorrow and tell him the way we feel about his Revue. On the way out they both asked me to come to their office about half an hour before the appointment so that we could all say the same thing.

  Then they said “Goodnight.”

  FRIDAY, JANUARY 17, 1936

  Went to the office of Jack McGowan and Sid Silvers at 11:30, and they were both in a state of jitters, and also rather terrified at the idea of announcing to Sam Katz that we did not want to do a Revue, but I told them not to worry, that I thought I could explain our reasons without upsetting him too much.

  So at 12:00 we went to the office of Sam Katz. In came Jack Cummings, who had obviously been ordered to listen in. I explained to Sam that after a great deal of conversation amongst us about some angle for a revue, we could get no further, because in our hearts none of us wanted to do a revue, and that the boys had contributed nothing to me and I had contributed nothing to them. I told him I felt guilty accepting so large an amount of money per week and not being able to work on something about which I was enthusiastic. Told him what I could do well would be a Cinderella story on a low-comedy premise, with Eleanor Powell* in mind. I could see that he was very disappointed, but was somewhat assuaged by my suggestion, in that it included the person of all who he is trying to make an important star – Eleanor Powell. So he very nicely said, “Then boys, we will give up all idea of a Revue, and all you have to do is find what Cole is looking for.” McGowan suggested a musical, based upon a six-day bicycle race. Silvers did not like this, and thought a radio story would show off Powell to her greatest tap-dancing ability.

  “Say When” was brought up again, but it obviously could not do anything for Powell, so this was discarded.

  Suddenly Silvers thought of a musical play that he, McGowan and Buddy De Sylva† had worked on four years ago, about two sailors and the hostess of a lonely-hearts club. McGowan brought up the objection that De Sylva would probably have to be paid about $5000 for his rights in the property, but Sam waved that aside saying, “Oh, that’s all right, boys; don’t let that stop you.” As they explained it, it sounded amusing and a good vehicle for Powell. Sam was obviously pleased.