Get Happy (74 page)
Authors: Gerald Clarke
After her ebullient performance in Copenhagen’s Falkoner Center, one admiring reviewer declared that Judy Garland had eighteen lives. What that Danish critic did not know was that Judy had already used up seventeen of those—and was fast consuming the final one. What he also did not know was that her costume had hidden a wasted body, thin to the point of emaciation. A woman once possessed of a ravenous appetite, Judy now scarcely ate, doing little more than moving her food around her plate and erupting in annoyance when anyone nudged her to eat more. “I have a husband,” she would shoot back, “and my husband tells me what to do!”
Body and mind are inseparable, and Judy’s physical decline had been preceded by an emotional one. The life she had led had made her the oldest woman in the world, she had told John Meyer a few months
earlier—by her own reckoning, she was four hundred and twelve. When Meyer had protested that she would, as always, bounce back, Judy had responded with a truth born of exhaustion. “No, darling, I’ve bounced back too often. The spring is shot.” She had lost not only her resilience, but her spirit, her willingness to fight.
Even more, Judy had lost her reason for being. A creation of her audience, she had proudly pronounced herself, and she had clung to the sound of applause with religious zeal, fearful, perhaps, that if it disappeared, so would she. One witness to that chilling rite of devotion was Allan Davis, a London director, who visited her backstage at the Talk of the Town, where she was listening to a recorded playback of that evening’s performance. “Oooh!” she cried when she heard the first burst of applause. Then, leaning into her makeup mirror, she kissed her own reflection. “You’re a star!” she exclaimed. “You’re a star! You’re a star!”
By June all the cheers in the world would probably not have convinced her of that, however. Her public was slipping away, she believed, and she was slipping away with it. “I’ve lost my audience,” she informed John Carlyle. But she was mistaken. She had not lost her audience. Her audience had lost her: she no longer had either the energy or the desire to stand on a stage and conjure up the magic, the phenomenon that had been Judy Garland.
On June 17, a week after her bleak birthday in Manhattan, Bob Jorgen took Judy and Mickey to New York’s Kennedy Airport for their return flight to London. Having recently watched his mother decline and die, Jorgen recognized the danger signals. After waving good-bye at the gate, he suddenly called Mickey back. “Take very good care of her,” he said, “because she’s dying.” But not even Jorgen could have guessed how soon that ominous prediction would be realized, how very little time Judy had left.
Her mood had brightened somewhat after leaving New York, and the following Saturday, June 21, she and Mickey planned to have some fun, to see a show put on by Danny La Rue, a female impersonator. When they failed to appear, Matthew West called their house at intermission.
Mickey had a cold, Judy told him, and they had decided to stay home. They still expected to join him the next morning—the first Sunday of summer—for an outing to the Deer Tower.
That was a trip not taken. At ten-forty on Sunday morning, Mickey was awakened by a call from Los Angeles. Partying late—it was the middle of the night in California—John Carlyle and Charlie Cochran wanted to talk to the lady of the house. But Judy was in the bathroom, the door to which she had, as always, bolted from the inside, and she did not respond to Mickey’s knock. Alarmed, he climbed onto the roof, looked through the bathroom window and saw her apparently asleep on the toilet, her head slumped forward, her hands on her knees. Climbing inside, Mickey lifted her up and was reassured to hear what sounded like a moan. What he actually heard was the last bit of air escaping from her lungs. As he raised her farther, he saw that her skin was discolored and that blood was dribbling from her mouth and nose. She had been dead, the coroner later reported, for six to eight hours.
“Barbiturate Poisoning,” the coroner, Gavin Thurston, wrote on her death certificate, and an autopsy showed that her blood contained an extremely high level of barbiturate, 4.9 percent—the equivalent of ten one-and-a-half-grain Seconal capsules. Thurston found no evidence of suicide, however; he attributed her death to a mistake, an “incautious self-overdosage.” What had probably occurred, he said, was that she had taken several capsules, woken up and, forgetting how many she had already swallowed, gulped down a few more to put her back to sleep. “The circumstances of her death,” he ruled, “are quite clearly accidental.”
Judy had explained how easily such an accident could happen—she had, in effect, foretold the manner of her ending—two years earlier in a reflection on the death of Marilyn Monroe. “You take a couple of sleeping pills,” she had explained, “and you wake up in twenty minutes and forget you’ve taken them. So you take a couple more, and the next thing you know you’ve taken too many.”
Following the inquest on Wednesday, Judy’s body was flown to New York, where it was driven to the Frank E. Campbell Funeral Home on Manhattan’s East Side. After a brief delay while her makeup was
redone—the London mortuary had made her look like a prim little Englishwoman, with soft curls, pink lipstick and almost no eye shadow—her body was placed on public view. Lining up eight abreast, mourners circled the block all day and through the night, an unbroken procession of young and old, rich and poor, men and women. By the time the coffin was closed late Friday morning, an estimated 22,000 people had paid their respects. Another two thousand, still waiting, had to be turned away.
Funeral services began at one o’clock Friday afternoon, with Mickey, Sid and all three of Judy’s children in attendance. Peter Delaney, who had come from England to officiate, read from Corinthians, one of Judy’s favorite Bible passages: “And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.” James Mason gave the eulogy, and the service ended with “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” the song Judy had sung after the death of John Kennedy—“Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.” Covered by a blanket of yellow roses, her coffin was then carried by car to a crypt in Hartsdale’s Ferncliff Cemetery, a few miles north of New York.
In the days that followed, columnists and editorial writers ruminated over her life and death. Some drew moral lessons, wagging their fingers at Hollywood, drugs, the culture of fame, Judy herself. Her life had been a tragedy, they said. But that was a charge Judy would have rejected—indeed, she had rejected it. If she had a choice, an English reporter had asked in January, would she do it all over again? “Oh, come on,” Judy had laughed. “Don’t for heaven’s sake give me that old sob stuff routine. Of course I’d do it all over again. With all the same mistakes.” Saddened by the silence, many did feel sorrow, however. “Bonne Nuit, Judy Garland,” was the headline in a Montreal paper—“Good night, Judy Garland.”
Posterity does not remember entertainers, James Mason said in his eulogy, adding that in years to come those who had not known her would be puzzled by the passions she had evoked. But Mason’s was not the last word, or the right word, or a prophetic word. Even as he spoke, Judy’s voice issued, unstilled and unstoppable, from the portable phonographs and radios carried by those outside the funeral home.
Carnegie Hall. The Palace. The Palladium. M-G-M and a hundred opening nights. Like old friends at a reunion, those triumphs, and many more, crowded together on that narrow Manhattan sidewalk, on that muggy afternoon in June. From the pavement to the top of the tallest building her voice rose, and rose still higher, as if, like the breath of exaltation, it would serenade heaven itself. Forget your troubles and just get happy, it said. Get ready for the judgment day.
Much of this book is based on hundreds of interviews conducted over several years. Almost all were tape-recorded and transcribed—several thousand pages in all. To avoid confusing the reader with a too-lengthy list of names and titles, I have not always identified my sources in my narrative. I have done so, however, in the notes that follow, naming, with very few exceptions, everyone who gave me anything but commonplace information.
I have, in addition, relied on the written word: newspaper and magazine stories, histories, biographies and autobiographies. I have also, as noted below, made extensive use of the various collections in university libraries, most notably the Freed and Warner Bros. collections at the University of Southern California, which provide a remarkably detailed account of Judy’s movie career.
Far from his home Maude Ayres (Holman) to GC.
He took a job
Superior Evening Telegram
, Jan. 24, 1914.
This time Frank Register of Deeds, Douglas County, Wisconsin.
Standing before a newly ordained
Superior Evening Telegram
, Jan. 23, 1914.
After the bridal dinner The weather data were provided by James Christenson, a meteorologist at the Duluth weather bureau.
Topping the bill
Superior Evening Telegram
, Jan. 23, 1914.
Their romance
Superior Evening Telegram
, Jan. 24, 1914.
Born in Hamilton John Milne’s application for employment, dated Oct. 10, 1888, can be found at the Marquette County (Michigan) Historical Society.
Ethel’s mother The records do not show where Eva Milne was born. She was baptized in the Holy Trinity Church in Cornwall, Ontario, and the likelihood is that she was also born in Ontario. In those days, however, there was no Episcopal church in Massena, New York, and some American Episcopalians regularly attended services in Canada. It is possible that Eva’s parents were among them. (Register of Baptisms, 1845–1923, Holy Trinity Church, Cornwall, Ontario.)
The Milnes lived The movements of the Milnes have been traced through a combination of census records and Marquette County directories.
Sanitation meant
Daily Mining Journal
, Dec. 11, 1906.
On Independence Day
Daily Mining Journal
, June 30, 1905.
Both John and Eva James Milne to GC.
Teaming up to play
Michigamme Area Centennial
.
Their bickering Harry Glyer (his mother was Mary Milne) to GC.
All in all Maude Ayres (Holman) to GC.
Built in the Federal style The residents of the Baugh house are listed in the 1880 census.
Conversation was Howse,
Falling Stars
, pp. 82–83.
With no home Report to the Rutherford County Chancery Court, April 30, 1896, as part of a continuing case of
J.D. & J.L. Baugh, executors, vs. Mary B. Gum & others
.
Darrow personally presented Frank Gumm to Henry M. Gass, 1934. University of the South archives.
“It is so beautiful” Percy,
Lanterns on the Levee
, p. 96.
Small and friendly Ibid., p. 94.
Writing of the Easter services
Sewanee Purple
, April 17, 1900, vol. XV, no. 2.
Will Gumm died Frank Gumm listed his occupation as stenographer in the 1910 census.
In 1909 he left “Tullahoma: Episodes from Its Past,” edited by Betty Anderson Bridgewater,
Coffee County Historical Society Quarterly
, vol. VI, nos. 3 and 4 (1975), p. 84.
Ovoca, he named it Marjorie S. Collier, “Ovoca: The Meeting of the Waters,”
Tullahoma
(Tenn.)
Time-Table
, Historic Preservation Society of Tullahoma, vol. VII, no. 1 (April 1986).
In this new setting Betty Anderson Bridgewater,
St. Barnabas’s Parish: The First Hundred Years
(Tullahoma, Tenn.: Coffee County Historical Society, May 1974).
He sang Letter from Floyd Mitchell to David Dahl and Barry Kehoe, March 3, 1972. In the author’s possession.
In the most unlikely
Cloquet
(Minn.)
Vidette
, May 3, 1967, and Sept. 13, 1967.
“Mr. Gumm”
Cloquet
(Minn.)
Pine Knot
, Sept. 16, 1911.
With no other company Holman to GC.
By his own count
Cloquet
(Minn.)
Pine Knot
, Dec. 18, 1914.
Eventually he landed
Polk’s Portland City Directory
, 1913, p. 103.
This new life
Itasca County
(Minn.)
Independent
, March 5, 1914.
Barlow and Bentz
Grand Rapids
(Minn.)
Herald-Review
, Dec. 14, 1914.
Kindred Avenue Grand Rapids renamed most of its streets in 1932. I am using the names the Gumms knew in an earlier era.
“The public likes”
Grand Rapids
(Minn.)
Herald-Review
, March 17, 1915.
“Just one” Eleanor Downing to GC.
“We had a piano” Mabel MacAdam (Ronzheimer) to GC.
“I always liked” Gerold Frank,
Judy
, p. 7.
As far as Ethel was concerned Ibid., p. 11.
“Marc, I’m” Marcella Rabwin to GC.
“Frank, it can cost” Ibid.
“The beginning” Judy Garland’s tape-recorded reminiscences.
“That’s the only time” Ibid.
A cheerful contraption Burt Geving to GC.
Almost every night Ibid.
Frank and Ethel
Itasca County
(Minn.)
Independent
, Sept. 19, 1925.
“At night” Judy Garland, as told to Joe Hyams, “The Real Me,”
McCall’s
, April 1957.
Ethel was in Duluth John Graham, “Baby, Take a Bow… .,”
Rainbow Review
, no. 37 (Oct. 1979).
“Can I do that” Ibid.
“Added attraction”
Itasca County
(Minn.)
Independent
, Dec. 20, 1924.
There are several versions John Graham, “Baby, Take a Bow… .,”
Rainbow Review
, no. 37 (Oct. 1979).
If she cried Ibid.
“We referred” James Milne to GC.
Frank did not complain Marcella Rabwin to GC.
When two of the New Grand’s ushers Katherine Doran Berkeland to GC.
In no hurry
Itasca County
(Minn.)
Independent
, July 24, 1926.
To get into Finch,
Rainbow
, p. 27.
By the end
Grand Rapids
(Minn.)
Herald-Review
, Oct. 27, 1926.
As luck had it I am indebted to Ronald Carter, the son of the building’s owner, who gave me a copy of the lease.
He signed his lease
Antelope Valley Ledger-Gazette
, May 20, 1927.
“Gumm Family” Ibid., May 27, 1927.
Three years later Like Grand Rapids, Lancaster changed many street names in the 1930s. I have opted to use the older names, current at the time of which I am writing.
Babe always seemed Wilber Lundy to GC.
“We didn’t want” Henry Ivan Dorsett to GC.
Always careful Ina Mary Ming (Miller) to GC. All quotations of Ming come from interviews with GC.
“The girls and I” Dorothy Walsh (Morrison) to GC.
Learning that Finch,
Rainbow
, p. 40.
Months later Frank,
Judy
, pp. 32–33.
“A compact woman” Black,
Child Star
, p. 5.
“One Hundred” Finch,
Rainbow
, p. 41.
“I’ll Get By” Ann Rutherford to GC.
At one tiny theater Frank,
Judy
, pp. 38-39.
“Without Babe” Maurice Kusell to GC.
“Baby Gumm”
Antelope Valley Ledger-Gazette
, April 15, 1932.
“Mary Jane and Jimmie” Dorothy Walsh (Morrison) to GC.
“When I was” Judy Garland, as told to Joe Hyams, “The Real Me,”
McCall’s
, April 1957.
“Boy, did he” Glen Settle to GC.
“She adored” Dorothy Walsh (Morrison) to GC.
“She was somehow” Grace Pickus to GC.
There are many stories Wilber Lundy to GC.
If they included Irma Story, Jr., to GC.
“Everybody wanted” Ibid.
What did she want Ibid.
“She hated going” Ina Mary Ming (Miller) to GC. Miller provided much of my information concerning the trips from Lancaster to Los Angeles.
“I’ve got to keep” Dorothy Walsh (Morrison) to GC.
And her mother This early introduction to drugs has been confirmed by Dorothy Walsh (Morrison) and Ann Miller, whose own mother was a good friend and confidante of Ethel Gumm.
Babe herself thought Garland’s tape-recorded reminiscences.
“Slow down!” Dorothy Walsh (Morrison) to GC.
These arguments The account of her parents’ late-night arguments and their aftermath is taken from Judy’s unfinished, unpublished autobiography, “The Judy Garland Story,” which is located in the Random House Collection in Columbia University’s Butler Library, New York City.
Ethel never physically abused Babe Ibid.
One year she had arranged Ibid.
Inside the house Ina Mary Ming (Miller) to GC.
Nothing in the world Garland’s tape-recorded reminiscences.
On the hottest days Walter Primmer to GC.
“He was a sour” Wilber Lundy to GC.
“He was a peculiar” Sam Ming, quoted in Dahl and Kehoe,
Young Judy
.
“A terrifying man” “The Judy Garland Story.” p. 41 “We thought” Dorothy Walsh (Morrison) to GC.
Searching for Ina Mary Ming (Miller) to GC.
“Boy, those look” Henry Ivan Dorsett to GC.
To fend off Irma Story, Jr., to GC.
In the high school There are several sources for this anecdote.
“I don’t see” Henry Ivan Dorsett to GC.
Though Babe later “The Judy Garland Story.”
She and her daughters
Antelope Valley Ledger-Gazette
, March 1, 1929.
Impressed as much Maurice Kusell to GC.
Ethel brought her
Antelope Valley Ledger-Gazette
, Dec. 30, 1932.
Twenty-four hours
Antelope Valley Ledger-Gazette
, August 3, 1933.
Providing an education Rooney,
Life Is Too Short
, p. 37.
Mary Jane and Jimmie Anne Shirley (Lederer) to GC.
A plain girl Cary,
Hollywood’s Children
, p. 229.
When Mrs. Lawlor Ibid.
Admired and appreciated Rooney,
Life Is Too Short
, p. 97.
“Well, I met” Frank,
Judy
, pp. 44–45.
“Of course the house” Anne Shirley (Lederer) to GC.
“She was sure” Dorothy Walsh (Morrison) to GC.
Though New York Frank,
Judy
, p. 46.
He lost the argument
Antelope Valley Ledger-Gazette
, June 21, 1934.
Their first stop
Antelope Valley Ledger-Gazette
, July 5, 1934.
But the club Finch,
Rainbow
, p. 47.
Another, somewhat older Maxene Andrews interview, SMU Oral History Collection. The episode with the Andrews Sisters is described in this interview.
Rush over
Frank, Judy
, p. 50.
Jessel was unimpressed Wagner,
You Must Remember This
, p. 91.
“These kids”
The Superior Evening Telegram
, November 8, 1937. There are many versions of how George Jessel changed the name Gumm to Garland. I believe that this version, which came from Ethel herself and which was the earliest I could find, is probably the most nearly accurate.
Babe evoked
Antelope Valley Ledger-Gazette
, Aug. 23, 1934.
Finally heading home
Antelope Valley Ledger-Gazette
, Oct. 25, 1934.
When she jumped Judy Garland, “I’m Judy Garland—and This Is My Story.”
New York Journal-American
, Feb. 24, 1964.
Although she did not “A Garland for Judy,”
Photoplay
, Sept. 1940.
Writing about their appearance Frank, Judy, pp. 53–54.
Her singing Quoted in the
Antelope Valley Ledger-Gazette
, Dec. 20, 1934.
“Boy, those were” Letter from Frank Gumm to Mr. and Mrs. John D. Perkins, Oct. 9, 1935. I am indebted to David Dahl and Barry Kehoe, who gave me a copy.
He ate his meals Gumm to Perkins, Oct. 9, 1935.
“Frankie’s lover boy” Robert Settle to GC.
“When the dominoes” Ronald Carter to GC.
“Frank would walk” W. M. Redman to GC.
Though they did not give I am indebted to Ronald Carter, who gave me copies of his father’s correspondence regarding the Valley Theater.
“The New Year”
Antelope Valley Ledger-Gazette
, Jan. 3, 1935.
“I regret”
Antelope Valley Ledger-Gazette
, March 28, 1935.
When his old barber Letter from Gumm to Perkins, Oct. 9, 1935.
“Little Frances Garland” Frank,
Judy
, p. 56.
“What can we do” Fricke,
Judy Garland
, pp. 22–23.
“That’s a rough” Garland’s tape-recorded reminiscences.
Though the biggest Ina Mary Ming went with her on one audition to M-G-M, Dorothy Walsh on another.
In early September Leonard Gershe to GC. Gershe was told this story by both Edens and Garland.
“We have a girl” Beery’s words are taken from a recording of the show.
On Mariposa Dorothy Walsh (Morrison) to GC.
“Awfully pitiful” Letter from Gumm to Perkins, Oct. 9, 1935.
“Judy’s mother was” Mary MacDonald to GC.
Marc Rabwin was called Rabwin consulted his records for David Dahl and Barry Kehoe, who gave me a copy of his statement.
Your eyes made
She made a slight alteration in the lyrics, changing “repeating through again” to “repeating through and through.” p. 58 Indeed, that very night Dorothy Walsh (Morrison) to GC.
It was Judy’s first Ibid.
Judy was later Judy Garland, “I’m Judy Garland—and This Is My Story,”
New York Journal-American
, Feb. 24, 1964.
“Now,” she thought Frank,
Judy
, p. 80.
One resident Cerra,
Culver City: The Heart of Screenland
, pp. 49–50.