Barbara Stanwyck ~ Taylor and Stanwyck–The Long Goodbye...

Taylor and Stanwyck–The Long Goodbye

Posted on July 15, 2012by giraffe44

The marriage of Robert Taylor and Barbara Stanwyck was an odd one from the start.  They met in 1936 on a blind date just before working together in “His Brother’s Wife.”  There seemed to be a mutual attraction from the start but at this point MGM did not want Mr. Taylor to marry.  They had already scuttled his engagement to Irene Hervey.  Nevertheless the two became close and lived on adjoining ranches.  They were considered a couple.  In January of 1939 Photoplay magazine published a lengthy article about “Hollywood’s unmarried couples,” naming Taylor and Stanwyck, Gable and Lombard and others.

This changed MGM’s mind and the couples were encouraged to marry.  In fact, the Taylor-Stanwyck union was essentially an arranged marriage. The arrangements for their May 1939 wedding were made by the studio and the only say Mr. Taylor had in it all was “I do.”  Whether they would have married on their own is doubtful, although possible. From all reports, Stanwyck’s emotional commitment was far greater than Taylor’s.

Nonetheless, the marriage lasted for nearly twelve years.  It wasn’t a marriage of equals–Stanwyck considered herself Taylor’s teacher and called him Junior.  He called her the Queen.  Given his tremendous dislike of confrontation, she was able to have things her way.

Within two years of the marriage, he had begun to stray with a fling of some sort with Lana Turner.  Stanwyck was devastated and some reports say she cut her wrists to hold onto him.  Robert Taylor continued to see other women during his marriage, included having affairs with Ava Gardner and Eleanor Parker  The fact that the Taylors were separated so much–including his three year stint in the Navy–probably prolonged the marriage.

In 1950 Mr. Taylor spent most of the year in Rome making “Quo Vadis.”  He indulged in an active social life, including a very public dalliance with Italian starlet Lia de Leo.  Stanwyck flew to Rome to confront him and ask for a divorce.  This is widely thought to have been a ruse to hold on to him rather than an actual desire to separate.  In any case, to her horror, he accepted.  Stanwyck stayed in Italy for six weeks, during which they apparently negotiated their future.  The pictures below are from those six weeks, taken in Rome and Venice. Note the Italian couple marching by them as they pose in one shot.

On February 21, 1951 Barbara Stanwyck divorced Robert Taylor.  The divorce became final a year later.  As part of the settlement, she was granted 15% of his gross earnings until she remarried or died.  No one expected him to die first.  The two remained friends despite everything and Stanwyck never remarried.  She did collect her money religiously and by some reports, tried to get more from Mr. Taylor’s estate.  Despite this, she always claimed that he was her one true love.

(This material comes from too many sources to name, but I’ve tried to be accurate.).

source: https://roberttayloractor.wordpress.com/2012/07/15/taylor-and-stanwyck-the-long-goodbye/ 

Barbara Stanwyck: A femme fatale destroyed by love

BARBARA Stanwyck was one of the most enduring stars of the Golden Age of Hollywood, with roles in such classics as Double Indemnity, Stella Dallas and The Lady Eve. GRAHAM BALL looks at the ruthlessness behind the legend as revealed in a new book.

PUBLISHED: 00:00, Sun, Jun 14, 2009 

She was born Ruby Stevens and grew up in a poor Irish immigrant family in a tough part of Brooklyn.

Her mother died when she was  two and her father took to the bottle. At 14 she left school, lied about her age and set out to be  a dancer.

Within two years her provocative routines made her  the pick of the chorus line.

It was the Roaring Twenties and Ruby and her friend Joan Crawford found work in the New York speakeasies, with bootleg booze, gangsters, short skirts and low necklines, not to mention sugar daddies, but this was only the start.

Ruby wanted to hit the big time as an actress so she changed her name to Barbara Stanwyck and headed for Hollywood.

Barbara had no concept of what motherhood entailed.

In a remarkable 50-year career she fought her way to the top of the movie business standing among the most glamorous and successful performers of her generation; Rita Hayworth, Katharine Hepburn, Greta Garbo, Marlene Dietrich, Bette Davis and Ava Gardner.

She made more than 80 movies and despite never having had an acting lesson was nominated for four Oscars. She possessed an inborn talent and her life revolved around her acting ability rather than her glamour.

Her Brooklyn background meant she was tough but she used her power with an unyielding composure. She was one of the few movie legends not moulded by a Hollywood studio.

Her independence as an actress matched her independence as a woman. In her new book, The Life And Loves of Barbara Stanwyck, author Jane Ellen Wayne looks at her turbulent emotional life off-camera.

“Most likely Barbara Stanwyck was bisexual but she had affairs with director Frank Capra and actor Robert Wagner, and flings with other men including Humphrey Bogart, Gary Cooper and William Holden,” she says.

“The overwhelming love of her life was the star Robert Taylor, who became her second husband. She could never stop caring for him even after they divorced.”

At 19, Barbara was attractive. There was a wistful, innocent softness about her, despite the fast life she had led as a showgirl, but at 21, she was more polished on stage than off, and it took time to transform Ruby Stevens into Barbara Stanwyck.

Pianist and actor Oscar Levant arranged for her to watch comedian Frank Fay and introduced them after the show.

Divorced twice, Frank liked to brag about his conquests but had rarely met a woman who could keep up with him. He swore like a trooper but Barbara turned the air blue. Fay had met his match .

He proposed to her, offering the love that she had been seeking all her life.

They were married on August 26, 1928. Barbara would give herself completely to the man who, she was sure, would be her husband for ever.

Yet if she was going to remain in show-business, it would be on his terms, and she was not to accept any offers without his approval.

Fay used his influence at Warner Brothers to get her a screen test. After a false start, Barbara got a part in a movie and did well. Frank’s career, however, had started to drift.

He drank heavily and sometimes beat her. After a few years it was clear that Fay was losing his battle with the bottle.

Barbara could think of only one other solution to their marital problems but she could not have children due to at least one botched abortion when she was a chorus girl.

Frank wanted a child of his own but since that wasn’t possible they adopted a 10-month-old baby in December 1932 and christened him Dion Anthony.

After a few weeks they hired a series of nannies. Barbara had no conception of what motherhood entailed. It was all an act .

In later years Dion said the only attention he got from his mother was when she scolded him, or if photographers were allowed in the house to take pictures.

On December 31, 1935, Barbara and Frank signed a pre-divorce agreement, giving her custody of Dion.

The story of one of Barbara’s biggest movies, Stella Dallas, is the study of a mother’s love and sacrifice.

It is ironic that in 1937 she would play this sensitive role while preparing to send her six-year-old adopted son away to school .

Years later, Dion tried to get in touch with her but when Barbara refused to talk to him, he sold his story to a tabloid.

She considered him “an unfortunate situation” when really he was an innocent victim of two people trying to save a bad marriage. As far as Barbara was concerned, he no longer existed.

In 1984, he begged her to see him  True to form, Barbara had no comment and Dion’s reunion with his mother never took place.

Joan Crawford recalled: “She was not meant to be a mother. When he joined the army she shook the kid’s hand and that was it. I don’t think she ever saw him again.”

Incapable of parenting, Barbara was still capable of romance. In the autumn of 1936, every girl’s wish walked into her arms – and his name was Robert Taylor, an actor signed to MGM in 1934 for a $35 a week, seven-year contract.

His face was perfect but he had not lost his Midwest innocence. Barbara felt like a teenager and Taylor, who was unpretentious and refreshing, enchanted her.

If it’s true that opposites attract, Taylor and Stanwyck are the classic example. He was a box-office attraction; she was a jobbing actress.

He was well-educated; she was not. He was gentle; she was tough. He treated a woman like a lady; Barbara lit her own cigarettes and opened doors for herself. Bob was discreet; she was brutally frank.

On May 14, 1939, in a secret ceremony organised by MGM, Barbara Stanwyck married Robert Taylor.

He was 27, she was 31. The union was a publicity sensation and although initially the couple were happy, differences began to emerge.

Taylor became obsessed with flying and joined the US Navy Air Force during the war. When he returned, Taylor found himself unable to perform with Barbara in bed. Barbara became suspicious.

She came to her own conclusion. If he wasn’t sleeping with her or another woman he had to be a homosexual.

Taylor ignored Barbara’s insinuations but went to see a psychologist, who said the only way to prove that he was not a homosexual was to see other women and not to worry about his marriage until he regained confidence in himself.

A few months later Bob told the doctor he was seeing his leading lady in The Bribe, 26-year-old Ava Gardner . He seldom saw Barbara at this time, as she was busy with her career, although she managed to find time for William Holden, who was separated from his wife.

When Barbara learnt of Taylor’s affairs with Lana Turner and Ava Gardner she was terribly hurt and threatened divorce. Bob exploded, “At least I can perform with them!”’

She spat: “I’ll bleed you for the rest of your life!”

On February 21, 1951 , Barbara told the court in a three-minute hearing – one of the shortest divorces on record – that Taylor was tired of being married and wanted to be a bachelor again.

Although they were no longer man and wife, her love remained and she never remarried.

Eighteen years later she played out the final scene of her true love drama. In May 1969, Taylor’s wife Ursula invited Barbara to visit Bob.

He was suffering from terminal lung cancer. Seeing the man she had loved for 33 years wasting away on his deathbed was heart-wrenching.

Barbara was pathetically late for the funeral on June 11, 1969.

When it was over, Barbara stood up in a faint and had to be half carried out of the chapel. She had to prove for the last time that she had been a vital part of Bob’s life. He was the only man who broke her heart.

To order The Life And Loves Of Barbara Stanwyck by Jane Ellen Wayne (JR Books, £17.99) with free UK delivery, call the Express Bookshop on 0871 521 1301 (calls cost 10p a minute from a BT landline), send a cheque/PO to The Express Bookshop, PO Box 200, Falmouth, TR11 4WJ, or visit www.expressbookshop.co.uk

Stanwyck & Taylor – a Lavender Marriage?

Posted on July 6, 2015 by Alan Royle in Did You Know? // 25 Comments

When it came to questions about her sexuality, Barbara Stanwyck was the old studio days’ equivalent of today’s Tom Cruise. Any mention of her sexual preferences would immediately bring forth veiled threats of litigation should the subject be pursued. Cruise does the same thing today. Mention his name in connection with homosexuality or bisexuality and he will threaten to sue. I recently read a book in which he was continually referred to as ‘the heterosexual Tom Cruise’ throughout, perhaps a hundred times. The sarcasm was obvious but, apparently, the writers felt it necessary just to keep on the safe side.

Stanwyck & Webb in Titanic (1953)

There is enough evidence about Miss Stanwyck to be able to state with some certainty that she was either a lesbian or bisexual. Of course, that does not make her in any way unique in Hollywood. Far from it. Actor Clifton Webb described her as, ‘My favourite Hollywood lesbian’. Her husband, Robert Taylor, told Shelley Winters over dinner that Barbara was a lesbian and that they had separate beds. Theirs was just one of dozens of ‘lavender’ marriages in the movie community. Barbara’s own biographer, Axel Madsen, wrote that ‘people would swear that she was Hollywood’s biggest closeted lesbian’.

Looking back, it is perfectly understandable why these ‘marriages of convenience’ were necessary. Homosexuality, bisexuality and lesbianism were illegal in every state of the union. Anyone publicly identified as gay would not only lose their career, but run the real risk of spending time in the ‘slammer, making little rocks out of big ones. It was a most serious issue. Like many lesbians, Stanwyck was not averse to experimenting with the opposite sex from time to time, especially in a community inhabited by so many ‘beautiful people’ of both sexes. She and Taylor probably consummated their relationship on occasion, but neither had much interest in the opposite sex. Having said that, after their divorce in 1952 she embarked on a four year affair with the much younger Robert Wagner, beginning when they appeared together in Titanic.

Wagner & Stanwyck in Titanic

Stanwyck was born Ruby Stevens in Brooklyn, New York City, in 1907. Her mother died when she was four, and her father took off to help build the Panama Canal and was never seen again. He may have simply ‘shot through’, or he may have become one of the thousands of Yellow Fever casualties on the project. Of the 26,000 workers on the canal 21,000 were hospitalized for either Yellow Fever or Malaria. We will never know. Ruby and her brothers and sisters were fostered out several times. She left school at 14, gained work as a dance instructor at Texas Guinan’s lesbian speak-easy, where she met Joan Crawford and Tallulah Bankhead who were regulars. Bankhead said she slept with Stanwyck in the 20’s. Crawford, Garbo and Dietrich were also lovers shared by Bankhead and Stanwyck.

In 1928 Barbara married vaudevillian Frank Fay. They left for Hollywood to try their luck. Whenever he beat her up, which was often, she found solace in the arms of Crawford. When Eddie Mannix referred to Barbara as Fay’s ‘dyke wife’ one night at the Brown Derby, a fistfight ensued and Mannix punched Fay out.

Frank & Barbara Fay

They adopted a son in 1932, Barbara lost interest in him almost at once, and they remained estranged throughout their lives. ‘Some kids are born with bad blood’, she said by way of explanation. ‘Just like horses. When a parent has done everything possible, the only solution is to save yourself.’ In truth, her career was all she cared about. When a drunken Fay threw the toddler in their pool during an argument, Barbara decided it was time to jettison her family. She divorced him in 1935.

Barbara & Joan Crawford

Robert Taylor was an only child, born Spangler Arlington Brugh, in 1911 in Nebraska. He was a coddled, spineless mama’s boy. When his music teacher, Hubert Gray, left for Hollywood he was inconsolable, telling friends ‘his world fell apart’. He soon followed, moving in with Gray. Before long, Taylor’s mother moved in with both of them.

Robert Taylor circa 1932

Joining the Pasadena Playhouse Repertory Company, he soon became a ‘favourite of notoriously gay director Gilmor Brown. Every year Brown chose a ‘protégé’. That year it was Taylor. A year later it would be Tyrone Power. Everybody in the company knew that ‘protege’ meant private ‘rehearsals’ in overnight stays at the director’s home.

Gilmor Brown

Throughout his long career at MGM, Taylor trusted LB Mayer implicitly. Consequently, Mayer took advantage of that trust, and Bob remained the lowest paid of all the studio’s major stars. He always felt fortunate to be on their books, however. Hence, he remained with MGM until the demise of the studio system in the late fifties, a record 24 years in all. He had only good things to say about his boss.

Stanwyck signed non-exclusive contracts with both Columbia and Warner Bros, and freelanced with MGM. When rumours about Barbara’s and Robert Taylor’s sexuality became rife, MGM heads virtually ordered them to marry before their careers were permanently torpedoed. Taylor reluctantly agreed because he was afraid of losing his career. Stanwyck agreed because she knew not to cross LB Mayer. He could be extremely vindictive.

Just married

They married on May 13, 1939 in San Diego. Taylor declined to kiss his bride for the photographers. He went home to his mother’s that night. She had to be sedated when she learned he was no longer single. Barbara went back to her ranch. They were rarely together. Taylor spent his weekends with his gay pilot chum flying planes. When they were together Barbara called the shots. Taylor was just too timid. She bullied him in front of his family and friends. One evening he was drinking with John Wayne and others, when she came down the stairs and said: ‘Send your friends home. It’s time for bed.’ He meekly complied. Even so, she had feelings for him, which explains why they remained together for 13 years.

Turner & Taylor in Johnny Eager

In 1941, he made Johnny Eager opposite man-eater Lana Turner, who was at the peak of her beauty. She went after him with a vengeance. Most historians (and Barbara) believed she got him into the sack. Surprisingly, Barbara slashed her wrists over the affair. MGM told the press she was attempting to open a stuck window and it shattered, cutting her arms. The couple were rarely (if ever) intimate, but they did grow closer together over the years.

Joan & Barbara

Barbara’s publicist, Helen Ferguson, lived with her for 27 years, being paid just $400 a month. The amount never varied in all that time. They both swore like troopers, told similar risqué, foul jokes, but nobody knows for certain if they were intimate. Barbara, a chain-smoker, died in 1990 from emphysema. No funeral, no grave, as per her instructions. Taylor was also a chain-smoker. Lung cancer claimed him at 57 in 1969.

http://www.youmustrememberthispodcast.com/ 

TAYLOR & STANWYCK: A LEGENDARY MEETING

Author’s Notes:
Much has been written about how legendary actors Robert Taylor and Barbara Stanwyck met. It is known that they were legally married for just shy of twelve years, considered one of Hollywood’s most stable relationships of the time. They first came together in 1936 at the Trocadero night club on Sunset Strip. Bob was in the presence of his agent and Barbara was in the company of her best friend, her agent, Zeppo Marx, of the Marx Brothers, and his wife, Marion. Bob was on his way up in the Hollywood publicity structure; Barbara was already well-known but she was sad after her divorce and was having a hard time, personally.

My research has shown the real Barbara Stanwyck to have been a particularly vulnerable woman in her private life. In Bob Taylor’s early career, he was used by the studio as “eye candy” for starlets and the wives of visiting dignitaries, so it wasn’t unusual for him to have to go to a club just to be seen. Sometimes meetings were arranged for him. This was one of those evenings. Barbara knew she was expected to meet someone; Bob did not.

Personalities as drawn here are likely comparisons to what was known to be Bob’s, and Barbara’s, personality, as well as even that of Marion Marx, whose words gave me much of this background, and clear-cut indicators of Barbara’s emotional frailty, especially during this period.

Yet the exact “how” of it all has been lost to history, so here is a fictionalized account, using the specifics that are known. Enjoy the possibilities.

Bob Taylor made a face in the mirror, sucking in his right cheek and squinting only his right eye. What the heck, he thought; maybe I should make this face tonight as the light bulbs flash! What has Don gotten me into yet again?

He shook his head. Bob didn’t want to go out. It was only another prearranged publicity affair, designed for him to be seen, to allow photographers to take his picture from every angle, and plaster his face all over newspapers, fan magazines, and wire services. He was already tiring of the process.

But it was the process. It was what he’d signed up to do when he put his signature on the dotted line of the MGM contract; and with that, he was required to go along for the ride. No less than Louis B. Mayer had made sure he understood this part of the job. He was, after all, a star, wasn’t he?

Yep, he was a star. Or so he was told, so all those screaming, fawning, sometimes-fainting women seemed to indicate. How in the world did he bring about such attention?

His reflection smirked back at him. Don’t believe it, Arly, it told him. There were still times he could think of himself as only Arlington. That was his name, Spangler Arlington Brugh. Don’t believe a word of it, Arly. You’re still a doctor’s son from Nebraska. And you’re better off always remembering that you’re a doctor’s son from Nebraska, not the “Man with the Perfect Profile.”

Bob picked up his tortoise-shell comb from the toilette in front of him, so carefully-laid-out by one of the many folks now working for him. As he swept his expensively-cut hair away from each side of his widow’s peak, seeing the sheen in his dark strands, he knew the truth. He was now a created man. He was no longer his own person, and he had readily accepted the role in exchange for all it had to offer him. It was now his job, day by day, to uphold this extravagant, unreal image.

The image, as it looked back at him, finally seemed all in one just-right piece for the evening, so he and it shrugged, and he stepped away from the mirror. His hat and overcoat had been laid out on the bed by his butler, and Bob grabbed both before leaving the bedroom.

“How long have I been waiting, Bob?” his agent asked as he came down the stairs. “I’ve already had two drinks, and I’m feeling, well, I’m feeling just about right.”

“Then I did you a service, didn’t I?” Bob replied. “I’ll have to catch up, mind you, but we’ll both be ready for the evening, and in just the right spirits.” He shrugged into his coat, put his hat atop his head, and waved away the house staff’s efforts to be part of his departure. “Let’s get this show going. Who will I wine and dine tonight?”

**********************

“Marion, I don’t know,” Barbara squirmed in her over-stuffed armchair. It certainly wasn’t the seat making her uncomfortable.
“Honey, why not? You have to get out for a change. It’ll be good for you!” Marion Marx wouldn’t give up. Her best friend was having second, even third, thoughts. Marion watched her twirl a lock of silky hair around her left forefinger, her legs tucked under her and her elbow propped on the arm of the chair.

The stubborn but somehow sad set of her lips showed lines that didn’t usually appear on her soft face. Barbara’s lack of confidence was obvious. “I don’t know,” she repeated.

Leaning out the bathroom door to chat with her friend, Marion had just soaked a pair of hose in the sink. She disappeared again for a brief moment to hang the hose on the shower. When she returned to her bedroom, she dropped hard on her bed and leveled a stare at Barbara.

“Zeppo’s made the arrangements and we, namely you, have plans to meet a fairly new actor on the scene. We already have reservations. You’re going with us. End of discussion.” Marion fell against her pillows, propping up on one arm. She watched Barbara’s reaction, knowing this was the only way to handle her when she got into this mood.

“Before you say anything more,” Marion continued, “I know how uncomfortable this makes you. I also know how miserable you are, honey, ever since you left Frank.”

Barbara turned her head away. The tears were coming.

“It’s been hard on you. We’re here to help you, and you know that.”

“I do, Marion, I do. I don’t know what I’d have done without you both.”

Marion leaned over to the nightstand and picked up a box of tissues. “Here, sweetie,” she handed one to Barbara. “You don’t have to worry about being without us. That won’t happen. But understand, part of us helping you get back on your feet involves making sure your career stays on keel. Get out, see people, and be seen. You can’t let Frank Fay or anything about him take you down.”

“That sonofa…”

Marion’s laughter rang out. “That’s my girl!” Her giggles slowly subsided. She had intentionally drawn out Barbara’s fighting side. “So, we won’t let Mr. Fay get in the way, will we? Zeppo’s put together a great night at the club, an evening for you to be seen with the right people.” She winked. “Are you ready?”

Barbara dabbed at her eyes. “No, but I’ll do it.” Hopping out of the chair and going to the dresser mirror, she looked at Marion’s reflection over her left shoulder. “Who am I scheduled to meet? Is someone supposed to sweep me off my feet for the cameras?”

“Oh,” Marion’s eyes twinkled, “only the most glorious specimen of masculinity in Hollywood, and the world.”

“C’mon.”

“Think I’m kidding. Just wait. I’ve heard he’s amazing. His name is R. T.”

Frowning, Barbara headed for the door. “I better get ready then. I’ve got a lot of work to do if I’m to be seen with the most glorious specimen of masculinity in the world.” Her hand on the doorframe, she turned to Marion one last time. “Artique?” she mumbled, almost to herself. “Mmmm, why have I not heard of him? Hope he’s not disappointed with me.”

**********************

Zeppo preferred to drive himself when he had the chance. Tonight, since it was just him, Marion, and Barbara, he helped the ladies into the car, Marion in the middle and Barbara next to her and he comfortably slid behind the driver’s seat. It wasn’t too far to the Trocadero, down Sunset Strip, and as they enjoyed the evening’s warm breeze, he knew Barbara was nervous. Marion and he had discussed the chat the ladies had that afternoon, and he knew this arranged meeting must be a real winner to even slightly encourage his depressed houseguest.

Marion, as usual, chattered about everything and anything.

“Oooh, that new dress I brought home.” she purred, turning to Barbara. “Did you get a good look at it? My goodness, I’ve never seen anything so pretty!”

Before Barbara could answer, Zeppo quipped, “Yeah, but that’s what you say every time you bring home a new dress, oh every few days.”

Marion ignored him, and both she and Zeppo were happy to hear Barbara laugh at their good natured ribbing of each other.
She elbowed him, despite their close quarters. “It is quite possible, my dear husband, that a more beautiful dress is around every corner!”

“Your outfit tonight, Barbara, is stunning,” Zeppo wanted to turn the conversation toward their friend. “I’m sure you’ll swivel the head of every man in the place.”

They pulled up to the front of the club. Before Barbara could answer, her door was opened by the valet and he helped her out of the car. “Ms. Stanwyck,” he greeted her, “So nice to see you!”

The young man’s genuine delight raised Barbara’s spirits and while she smiled and thanked him, he reached in for Marion’s hand. Zeppo came around to the front of the car and gave him the keys. “Please park in the usual spot, Andrew.” With the keys, he had included a wad of bills, which the young valet took with a salute.

“Thank YOU, Mr. Marx!”

Arm-in-arm with his two ladies, Zeppo walked through the front door of the Trocadero. Smoky, dark, loud, the room assaulted them, as it did each time. They were regulars, and everyone who worked there knew them and almost always saw the three of them together, especially lately, since Barbara’s well-publicized divorce from Frank Fay. It had, however, been awhile since Barbara had been along and because of that, they created a bit of stir.

“Mr. Marx, Mrs. Marx, Miss Stanwyck.” The club’s manager was immediately at their side. “Your table awaits you.” He walked a few steps ahead, and with a hand protectively on each elbow, Zeppo escorted the ladies to a familiar spot, just to the edge of the fray but close enough to see everything around them. They turned to the left as they walked, then to the right, as camera bulbs flashed. It was part of the usual process, and they didn’t even break stride.

The table was in a shadow, along with two others beside it. As the manager made sure they were settled and comfortable, and drinks immediately brought to them, Zeppo looked to his right, nodded, and cocked his head slightly in Barbara’s direction.

Marion noticed her husband’s distraction, though Barbara did not. She was politely engaged in light conversation with a matronly lady at the table to her left. She was turned toward the other woman, a smile pasted on her lips, a few words of commiseration placed in just the right spots.

As soon as Marion was certain Barbara wouldn’t hear, she leaned over and whispered to Zeppo, “Who did you nod to?”
“R. T.’s agent of course.”

**********************

“You see who’s coming in the door, Bob?”

Having just completed his second drink, Bob lit another cigarette. He glanced at the front. “Yeah, Zeppo Marx and his wife.”
Don leaned forward. “Yes, the Marxes. But do you see who’s with them?”

Bob had been around Hollywood long enough to know about Barbara Stanwyck. He was aware she was the consummate professional. There was no missing that elusive, mysterious allure that followed in her wake, wherever she went.
Damn, she was sexy.

“It’s Stanwyck.”

Don grinned. “That’s right.” He let it sink in. “So? What do you think?”

“What do I think about what.”

At that moment, Zeppo and Marion were getting settled. Barbara chatted with a woman on the other side of them. Bob watched as Don and Zeppo exchanged meaningful glances, and both nodded at each other as if sharing an important secret.

“Don? Is this why you brought me here tonight?”

His agent was on his fourth drink. “So, what do you think?” His cigarette was down to a nub, and he opened his gold monogrammed case for another. Reaching over to Bob’s hand, he pulled the other burning cigarette tip to meet his own. A deep inhale was followed by a puff of smoke swirling between them.

“Stanwyck?” Bob repeated, the name coming out as an amazed question. “With all the starlets in town, why her?”

“C’mon, Bob. You’re relatively new. Your career is on the rise and the boost will do you good. Barbara, now she’s solid in the business, yet she’s had a string of bad luck, and it’ll look great for her to be seen with you.” Don put thumbs up. “It’s a big win for both of you. Zeppo and I talk y’know.”

Bob took a gulp of a new drink. “I’m sure you do.” His grin was lopsided. “So, Miss Stanwyck and I are pawns, are we?”
“Bob, Bob, Bob.” Don tried to sound hurt but couldn’t quite hide the humor. “You know I’m here for you. I’m doing what’s best for you.”

Bob’s attention was caught by the glint from the diamonds on Barbara’s arm. His mesmerized glance followed her wrist as she picked up a cigarette and leaned toward Zeppo, who lit it for her. So entranced was he in the action that he didn’t hear Don.

“Bob, Bob!”

“Hmmm, yes?”

“Ready?”

He was still looking into the light, toward Barbara Stanwyck’s profile. She hadn’t yet noticed him, so he had a few minutes to collect himself. She wasn’t beautiful but she was such a class act, and there was something, something vulnerable beneath that glamour. Bob cleared his throat, and rested his cigarette in the ashtray. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” He ran his left hand through his hair.

Don stood, Bob followed him, and they took the few steps into the visibility of all at the Marx table.

Marion gasped. Zeppo smiled. “Dear?” he asked. “You okay?”

Marion didn’t realize she’d made a noise. She’d heard of Robert Taylor, seen him in the newspapers, and even glanced at him across a room at a recent press function. Yet she had not, until this moment, seen him up close. No man had a right to be so beautiful!

“Sorry, that was rude of me.” She had the grace to blush. Zeppo laughed heartily, and Don grinned. He was used to seeing women react this way. Robert Taylor was his goldmine.

All eyes turned to Barbara. She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t uttered a sound. But she stared. She certainly stared, and Bob stared back. Their companions gave them a few moments of silence to adjust.

“Barbara?” Zeppo finally turned to her. “Barbara, we want to introduce you.”

She never stopped looking at Bob. “Oh, okay. Well, I think I’m here to meet someone else but, while we wait, please do introduce me.”

Zeppo and Marion exchanged curious glances. “Who else are you here to meet?” Marion asked.

Barbara finally focused on her friend. “You told me this afternoon I would meet Artique, didn’t you?” Everyone burst out laughing, including Bob, and Barbara was left with a stunned, almost frightened expression. “What’s so funny?”

Bob sobered first. “Miss Stanwyck, please let me explain. You are here to meet me, as I’ve just been informed. I’m R.T., Robert Taylor . . . not Artique.”

He leaned down, extended his hand, and as their fingers met, everyone else seemed to disappear. Bob and Barbara walked to the dance floor. They fit together perfectly, as if it had always been planned that way. Little did anyone know at that time?

Scandals of Classic Hollywood: The Many Faces of Barbara Stanwyck

BY THE HAIRPIN MARCH 13, 2013 

by Anne Helen Petersen

Maybe you’ve never heard of Barbara Stanwyck. She certainly isn’t the first star that comes to mind when you think of classic Hollywood. Ask for a screwballer and I’ll say Katharine Hepburn; ask for a drama queen and I’ll give you Bette Davis. Other stars had more active love lives, more stunning faces, more Oscars, more drama. But then ask me for my favorite films, and Stanwyck’s all over the place, lilting into scenes, making me fall off my chair laughing and/or crying, riding “all the way down the line” in, let’s just be honest here, the best film noir that isn’t Sunset Boulevard. She averaged five films a year, playing the tomboy, the burlesque dancer, and the good girl with equal skill. She was everywhere and everything in the very best of ways.

Stanwyck wasn’t as stunning as Lana Turner or as piquant as Hepburn, but she was the so-called best actress never to win an Academy Award, despite being nominated a billion times. In her best films, she eats the role for breakfast. She’s delicious to watch, and, much like Hepburn or Rosalind Russell, made me realize that there was a time when being smart and sexy onscreen weren’t mutually exclusive. More than any star I’ve written about, her magic was in her films, not her fan magazine spreads or the way people talked about her. Which isn’t to say she didn’t take a damn good glamour shot — I mean look at this awkward diving board pose! — but that the source of her charisma was so heavily textual, rather than extratextual. I believe we call that acting.

Stanwyck was born Ruby Catherine Stevens and spent her early years in Brooklyn. But at age four, a drunk pushed her mother off a streetcar, killing her, and two weeks her dad fled to work on the Panama Canal, leaving Stanwyck and her siblings as orphans. Her older sister — but only slightly older — took care of them at first before they headed to a series of foster homes, from which Stanwyck regularly ran away. At some point, she was released back into the custody of her older sister, by then a showgirl, and Ruby toured with her, learning the routines and becoming enamored with the lifestyle. She dropped out of school at age 14, took an assortment of shopgirl jobs, and, in 1923, at the age of 16, landed a semi-permanent gig as a showgirl with Ziegfeld Follies.

Just so deliciously gorgeous. She worked the midnight to 7 a.m. shift; she apparently taught dance lessons at a gay and lesbian speakeasy? She was, in other words, awesome. Next she found her way to Broadway and was cast in Burlesque (1926) for her “rough poignancy.” It was a huge hit, which led to her first bit role as a dancer in Broadway Nights (1927) for First National. But she couldn’t be Ruby Stevens — the producers thought it sounded, well, too burlesque. And so she became Barbara Stanwyck: smooth off the tongue, with a bite at the end.

Stanwyck had an awesome, deep voice, and her new husband, Frank Fay, whom she’d met while making Burlesque, moved with her to Hollywood and helped make her some sweet deals, working between Warner Bros. and Columbia without ever having to sign a long-term deal with either. She made some shimmery Capra films and worked steadily — even if none of her films were particularly memorable, she did get to look like this in Forbidden:

She was, as they say, a “hard-boiled girl of easy virtue,” which is another way of saying that she was smart and had a good time, and that I would want to be her friend. She also bore the brunt of The Hays Office’s decision to finally tamp down on “Pre-Code” films, a.k.a. films that flaunted the existing censorship guidelines. In the original script for Baby Face (1933), she plays a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, stuck in a steel town, exploited by her bootlegger father. She takes up some Nietzschean philosophy and decides to use the big city and big money guys to get what she wants — just like Nietzsche would say she should. So she gets a job at a bank and uses her “feminine wiles,” if you’re picking up what I’m putting down, to make her way up the food chain, seducing one executive after another, before making her way to one who was very engaged … to a big exec’s daughter. And then Daddy Big Exec falls for her, puts her up in a love palace, and gets her a MAID, before original fianced executive finds her there and SHOOTS BIG EXEC AND HIMSELF. Amazing. Just amazing. The new head of the company banishes her to Paris, but she works her magic there as well — and when the new head comes to visit, HE FALLS FOR HER TOO. Barbara!

The bank fails, the new husband is blamed, Barbara refuses to return all her fancy-pants stuff to save the bank and flees to Europe, triumphant. Husband shoots himself, the end. Man-eater in-fucking-deed.

And so the film would have ended, but The Hays Office had other plans. Baby Facewas one in a series of “kept-women” films, including Possessed (Joan Crawford) and Red-Headed Woman (Jean Harlow) that a) featured women using sex to get what they wanted, and b) had proven enormously popular. Red-Headed Womanwas such a sensation that Joseph Breen, the “enforcer” at the Hays Office, feared that all the other studios would try to top it by making their female stars even more manipulative and destructive, and end up in even more luxury and bliss.

Baby Face did just that — and while most of these kept-women films had taken place at the department store, this one took place at the bank. The year was 1932. Stanwyck caused the fall of the bank. In other words, women like Stanwyck were responsible for THE ENTIRE DEPRESSION.

The Hays Office thus suggested a major revision: When Stanwyck leaves the new husband and makes her way to Europe, she has to realize that she actually loves him — is, herself, a victim of love — and would give back all of her goods in order to be with the man she loves. The revision should, according to official correspondence…

“…indicate that in losing Trenholm [final boyfriend] she not only loses the one person whom she now loves, but that her money also will be lost. That is, if Lily [Stanwyck] is shown at the end to be no better off than she was when she left the steel town, you may lessen the chances of drastic censorship action, by thus strengthening the moral value of the story.”

Fox continued with production, and may or may not have taken all of the advice to heart. But in the intervening months, a confluence of events changed the way that censorship would function in Hollywood. [If you’ve heard the Hays Code/Censorship Lecture before, either in one of my previous columns or in RTF 314 Fall/Spring 2009/2010, feel free to skip ahead.]

To be reductive, up to that point, there had been rules about what films could show and imply onscreen — 11 Don’ts and 25 Be Carefuls — but Hollywood had effectively ignored them. They became increasingly flagrant in their flouting, as evidenced by the success of Red-Headed Woman, a slew of gangster films, Tod Browning’s infamous Freaks, and Mae West’s beautifully subversive She Done Him Wrong.

At the same time, Hollywood was in financial peril. Roosevelt had just been elected. The individual censorship boards at the state and local level were threatening to collaborate with the national government to put the industry in what they believed to be its place — with the support of the Catholic League of Decency and some of the leading (and most prudish) fan magazine editors. The studios, in other words, were over a barrel. So they agreed to allow the Hays Board to “enforce” the Production Code, and from that point forward — until the Code itself began to disintegrate, for various economic and cultural reasons, in the 1950s — it would have the final say on what would and would not be given the “Seal of Approval.” And without a Seal of Approval, a film simply did not get distribution. To be clear, the studios were not censored by the government. Rather, they censored themselves, lest they lose their audience. And indeed, that’s how the most insidious censorship actually works — with the willing cooperation of the cultural producers themselves.

Back at the end of Baby Face: Stanwyck now comes back from Europe all sorts of repentent, finds that her husband has shot himself, but OH WAIT it’s not fatal, she comes to his bedside, where he awakes to her smiling, supplicating face. She is, we are to believe, a changed woman, and from this point forward will stop causing financial crises. The kept-woman cycle was effectively over.

Which isn’t to say that Stanwyck wasn’t still playing slight variations on the same kind of woman. They just always fell in love at the end instead of causing deaths and financial ruin. She plays an “honest gambler” in Gambling Lady, and a stable hand who makes everyone fall in love with her in The Lady in Red before switching to a loose agreement with RKO that allows her to freelance at will.

Stanwyck was also in the process of separating from her husband, who had initially been all sorts of helpful when they first moved to Hollywood, making deals and opening doors. Yet after Stanwyck’s fortunes rose and his fell, husband began to wallow in despair, throwing her around and getting wasted. In other words, he turned into the male lead in A Star Is Born — a narrative long-rumored to be based on their lives. The two divorced at the end of 1935, with Stanwyck gaining custody of their adopted son.

A series of lackluster films followed — I mean, all right all right, I’d watch her as Annie Oakley all day, but the rest of them are just okay — but lady worked. Between 1934 and 1937 she made 15 films, including the saddest film to end all sad films, the grandmother of all weepies, the movie that will dehydrate you in one sitting…

… STELLA DALLAS.

Stanwyck is Stella, a social climber in a relatively loveless marriage to a formerly wealthy man. As she ages, she makes the classic decision that if she can’t find happiness in the upper classes, then perhaps her daughter could in her stead. Because the daughter is of “high stock,” she’s naturally able to snag all sorts of young rich hotties, but her mom is there to be gauche and embarrassing and get in her way.

Complex plot twist leads to complex plot twist leads to Stella self-sacrificing the shit out of herself for her daughter’s happiness, culminating in this killer shot:

I mean, I realize I made it sound like a Hallmark movie, but just remember that there always has been and always will be a fine line between film melodrama and Hallmark movies, and that fine line is the presence of BARBARA STANWYCK. The plot is ridiculous. The way it valorizes self-sacrifice is ridiculous. But if you’ve ever been embarrassed by your mom, ever wanted to dispose parts of yourself/your past in order to get a guy, ever just wanted to live with the normal people up the street — this movie will speak to you. And then it will make you collapse in a pool of your own tears.

And what I love about Stella Dallas is how it fits within the Stanwyck pantheon: it’s a melodrama-fest, and she’s great and dramatic and winning all the awards, but then you can watch The Lady Eve and Ball of Fire, both from ’41, and realize what an immaculate comedienne she is.

But The Lady Eve! You guys you guys you guys you guys Henry Fonda is an ophiodiologist. A snake expert. Who just happens to also be the heir to an enormous fortune. He finds himself on a cruise ship with Stanwyck, the perfect con-woman, and her partner-in-crime, also known as her father. I always think of Henry Fonda as a self-serious stick in the mud, Tom Joad etc. etc., but then I remember that he’s actually the perfect straight man for others’ humor: just watch him get silently teased in My Darling Clementine, or play the bookish scientist who gets the hiccups and doesn’t realize Stanwyck’s trying to seduce him.

This clip is two kinds of perfect: Stanwyck talking fast watching Fonda thinking slow.

And just when you thought 1941 couldn’t get any better, she stars opposite Gary Cooper TWICE: chewing some Capra-corn in Meet John Doe and sizzling off the screen in Ball of Fire. Gary Cooper! BACHELOR PROFESSORS! “Yum yums,” glitter costumes, sausage-roll bangs, and legs, legs, legs. It’s a classic Howards Hawks screwball; let’s take the day off and watch it all day.

At this point, Stanwyck had become the highest paid woman in America. “Barbara” was the third most popular baby name in America — almost entirely because of Stanwyck (if you’re wondering why so many moms are called Barbara, blame Stanwyck).

Up to this point, Stanwyck had played the seductive girl, the amiable girl, the Western girl, the screwball girl, and the self-sacrificing girl — but never the truly evil girl. When approached for Double Indemnity, she thought it might wreak havoc with her image, as her character was, to quote the script, “rotten to the core.” The plot, based on James Cain’s serialized novel, called for Stanwyck and her co-star to kill off her husband for the insurance money — and then for Stanwyck to pull a double-cross on her co-star. There was pre-mediation, lots of bared leg, insinuations of sex, but, according to Code rules, “comeuppance” for both at the end. Which is all to say it was not very Stanwyck. But Billy Wilder, crafty director that he is, asked the hesitant Stanwyck, “Well, are you a mouse or an actress?” Stanwyck took the part, and the rest is noir history:

Indemnity, like The Lady Eve, is streaming on Netflix, and both are right around 90 minutes, which is basically the perfect amount of time to drink a double Gin & Tonic, so you really have no excuse not to spend the next two nights revelling in the contrast. I rewatched it the other night and spent most of the time thinking about a) how much Fred MacMurray looks like my Granddad from that time and b) how horrible Stanwyck’s wig is but that I maybe sorta want it?

If you don’t know what film noir is, well, you actually do. Film noir is L.A. Confidential, is Memento, is Looper, is Brick. Noir wasn’t noir at the time — it was the French, looking back and being all categorical and periodizing, who gave it that name. At the time, it was just what happened when the gangster film became less popular and the murder mystery rose in its place — oftentimes based on the “hard boiled” fiction (clipped, terse dialogue and plotting) that was percolating at the time. Noir looks at the sullied underbelly: the evil, the darkness beneath the shiny exterior. It plays with shadows and slanting light, smoke and slatted blinds. Double Indemnity — and its startling success — set the tone; Sunset Boulevard, The Postman Always Rings Twice, Gilda, and dozens more made the genre. Chinatownmade it color; Twin Peaks and Veronica Mars made it television. If I had to teach one type of film forevermore, it’d be noir, no question: the psychology, the aesthetics, the powerful, enrapturing women — those femme fatales always died, but I never remember that part, just the slinking seduction.

And MacMurray and Stanwyck grating off each other — it’s a revelation. When I first watched this film, I was firm in my belief that MacMurray was exclusively the dad in My Three Sons, which I watched the shit out of on Nick at Nite. In truth, he was the highest paid actor in Hollywood and fiercely popular — so much less Dad in this movie — with a convincing weakness for the way Stanwyck’s anklet pressed into the flesh of her calf. As for Stanwyck, even the bad wig — selected to highlight her character’s duplicity and trashiness — can’t take away from the slink of her voice. I’d do anything she told me to.

Perhaps, at this point, you’ve realized that I’m basically just talking about how awesome Stanywck is in all her movies, and that she spent all day changing costumes and learning lines. It’s not entirely true. After her divorce was finalized in late 1935, she began filming This is My Affair with Robert Taylor, “The Man With the Perfect Profile,” then a rising star with MGM. Stanwyck was hesitant to get serious so soon after the demise of her last horrible marriage, so they flirted and totally didn’t sleep with each other for three years, until MGM finally pushed them to wed in 1939. Their courtship and marriage, if pictures are to be believed, was characterized by a lot of sport, SoCal ranch living, and natty outfits.

They were a perfect match, and not just because they could rock matching equestrian outfits. Their politics were also the same, which is to say archly conservative. Stanwyck loved her some Ayn Rand — enough to push Warner Bros. to buy the rights to The Fountainhead. She was besties with John Wayne, Gary Cooper, William Holden, Bob Hope, and Fred McMurray — the good ol’ boys club of conservative Hollywood. Taylor helped form the Motion Picture Alliance for the Preservation of American Ideals in 1944 with the explicit purpose of red-mongering and extracting Communist influence from Hollywood; as their official mission statement explained, “in our special field of motion pictures, we resent the growing impression that this industry is made of, and dominated by, Communists, radicals, and crackpots.”

In 1947, Taylor was a “friendly witness” before the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC), which meant he named names of supposed undercover Communists and contributed to the formation of the blacklist. Dude kinda sucked — not because he was conservative, really, but because he was a red-mongerer. The Hollywood Ten weren’t Commies in the Russian-fear-mongering sort of way; they were Commies in the 1930s-Let’s-Make-the-World-Awesome-For-Everyone sort of way.

So Stanwyck was a Republican. An extremely skilled actress with a seemingly boring home life, with an image characterized by dexterity, intelligence, and monogamy. She’s like the conservative Meryl Streep: When I think of both women, I don’t think of their lives, I think of their roles. I realize you could say the same for many actresses, especially if you’re not a Ph.D. in celebrity gossip, but with most stars, their personal lives and what you know of them shapes how you think of their roles. When you say “Jennifer Aniston,” I don’t think of Horrible Bosses; I think of Brad Pitt and never finding love with a subtle waft of Rachel from Friends. Which isn’t to say that Stanwyck wasn’t a star — she was, after all, still obligated to pose for publicity glamour shots like this one…

…much in the same way that Streep sits for an interview and photoshoot with Vanity Fair to promote an upcoming film. What I’m trying to suggest is that unlike Flynn or Gable, unlike Cooper or Bogart, unlike Crawford or Davis, Stanwyck didn’t just have a gloss of morality and propriety. She was seemingly nice to everyone. Film crews adored her. Frank Capra claimed that “in a Hollywood popularity contest she would win first prize hands down.” She was ASB President and Valedictorian and head of the Glee Club and dating the guy with the most perfect profile in Hollywood — and if it weren’t for all those blissful, totally beguiling performances, there’s no way I’d spend 4,000 words on her.

Or, at the very least, on the first two acts of her life. The third act, though, WOWZA, let’s go:

In the years following the end of World War II, the old guard of Hollywood stars were under threat, from television, from diminishing audiences, from sexy new teen idols who appealed to the increasingly important youth audience. The aging male stars could still hang — just like today — but the female stars were gradually banished to roles as washed up stars (All About Eve) or slightly deranged single women (everything with Joan Crawford post-Mildred Pierce; helllllo, Lana Turner).

Stanwyck thus said good-bye, screwball heroines, hello, melodramatic, fiercely independent slightly aging ladies:

Keeping her bangs intact in The Furies (1950)…

Hot middle-aged make-out with Gary Cooper in Blowing Wild (1954)…

As the Maverick Queen (1957).

And love life bonus round: she and Taylor amicably divorced in 1950, and while filming Titanic, she hooked up with a young, newly minted star named Robert Wagner. He was 22, she was 44, and best of all, she was playing the mother of the girl his character courts in the film. But who can resist the Stanwyck?

Here’s what Wagner looked like around this time:

‘Pinner please. You would tap that. Their relationship lasted four years, so D.L. that you can’t find a picture of them together apart from a publicity still from Titantic. Stanwyck eventually ended things, leaving Wagner to go play with childish things like Natalie Wood, with whom he made out for the fan magazines.

What was a newly single woman with a 30-year career do? You read yourself some Ayn Rand. You star in your own television show like a boss. You do a couple of not-horrible films. You offer intimate memories of the huge shoebox of all the handsome men you’ve made out with, in and out of character.

You do charity work. You become Tori Spelling’s godmother. You star, at the age of 76, in the Thorn Birds. You appear in 85 films over your 82 years. You are the embodiment of enduring class: never flashy, always working. Never salacious, always watchable. Tough yet vulnerable, luxurious yet restrained.

Am I just thinking of Stanwyck circa 1944? Maybe? Probably. But that’s what every generation does with its classic stars: we turn them into their best, most evocative selves. It’s the selective editing of history and memory, the quiltwork of stories my granddad told me, of fan magazines that smell like smoke instead of fresh paper, of films streamed, not projected.

Something is lost, of course. But with the benefit of the wide lens of hindsight, we’re able to see the type of womanhood and female stardom Stanwyck embodied: She was less abrasive than Hepburn, less fragile than Turner. She had her shit together, and even if women’s lib didn’t turn her into a feminist, I can still read her characters that way — the same way you can read Cary Grant’s characters, or any other characters, for that matter, as queer. That’s our privilege as audiences: It doesn’t matter what she thought she was, or even what the studio framed her as, so much as what we do with her in our own minds. It’s all about subjectivity and the stories we tell ourselves. Stars become meaningful only when we allow them to.

Film critic David Thomson called Stanwyck “delectable, a stirring mixture of toughness and sentiment, a truly and creatively two-faced woman.” He was speaking, of course, of her ability to play both Stella Dallas and The Lady Eve, both a “ball of fire” and a murderess. But the conceit extends to her private life as well. Stanwyck never had a truly unique star image, a major scandal, or one thing that she meant to all audiences. Was she a man-eater or a homebody? A woman secretly dating a man half her age or an ardent conservative? Or all these things and more? I look at subtle allure of her face below, the tension between innocence and ruin, and realize that she can be whatever I — or you — need her to be.

Previously: In Like Errol Flynn

Anne Helen Petersen is a Doctor of Celebrity Gossip. No, really. You can find evidence (and other writings) here.