Dick Powell, Some Enchanted Evenings

What I love most about Classic films is that the Hays Code, while certainly restrictive, resulted in some fantastically subtle dialogue and storytelling. The limitations on conduct forced the writers/crew to be creative in a way they never would nowadays. The constricted nature of what they could say and show, made it so if the writers wanted to discuss something or have it portrayed on screen, it had to be in a clever way, within a subtext. Thats what has me baffled about the dialogue in alot of these films, it feels so ahead of its time, even nowadays, its shocking. How could Golddiggers of 1933, His Girl Friday, or The Philadelphia Story, among many others have such brilliant dialogue back then that it sort of puts alot of modern day movies to shame. There is something especially mentally delicious about how innuendo is employed in Classic Films. There's more attention required of the audience to grasp the subtext, and isn't it nice to have a subtext? The black and white silvery cinematography could be indescribably beautiful, the larger than life beautiful actresses. 

The dialogue and writing in these films was often vibrant, especially considering some of these films are nearly 100 years old. In fact, the writing and banter on Bringing Up Baby, or The Philadelphia Story, or His Girl Friday, doesnt feel dated at all and is superior than 90 percent of screenwriting today. I love the feeling and vibe these movies create. The fashions, elegant men wearing hats and suits, those epic orchestral soundtracks. Sometimes they make one wish to live inside these films. Obviously there were chaotic and scary situations too, WWII and the Great Depression being the obvious examples, but times seemed simpler, easier in some aspects. I love not seeing cell phones or the internet on screen, for example. Also, the concept of "movie as an event" is exciting. Even with today's huge Marvel movies, or Netflix exclusives, there is something about these classic films; they were huge major events. When I am watching a classic film, I am really focused whilst it unfolds its plot, I find myself captivated by the sheer magic that these old Hollywood gems possessed. It was as if they had a unique ability to whisk you away from the ordinary and immerse you in something truly extraordinary. I couldn't help but be reminded of a bygone era when movie actors exuded elegance and sophistication, leaving an indelible mark on the art of filmmaking.

There was an inherent class and authenticity in those films that seems to have become increasingly rare in today's Hollywood industry. They made pure cinema, crafted for the sheer joy of storytelling and the sheer love of the characters. It was a time when movies were created for art's sake, mostly without any ulterior motives or hidden agendas. I think a lot of the "magic" with 30s, 40s and 50s Hollywood has to do with the fact that a lot of the actors of that era were on stage before they went to film. They knew how to emote loudly with their entire body language. Camera shots were often wider and there was more of a focus on close-ups. Through one of the miraculous accidents of history, the musical film was born exactly when it was most needed. The United States’ financial boom of the 1920’s created an explosion of technological innovation within the film industry and an orgy of reckless stock speculation on Wall Street. By the end of the decade, both trends reached their logical endpoint. Synchronized sound film was perfected and became an industry standard, while the country’s financial system crashed violently, leaving millions of americans in dire straits. One could reasonably have suspected that with fiscal calamity ravaging the country, non-essential expenses like movie tickets would be the first items cut from family budgets - but Hollywood’s business boomed during the Great Depression years. 

America needed its spirits lifted, and movies were the most effective way to escape the daily doldrums. No type of film gave the viewer more bang-for-the-buck than the musical genere. For the price of a single ticket you’d get comedy, drama, lavish production numbers, and catchy tunes that you’d be humming as you left the theater. It was a sure-fire cure for the blues. I'm reminded of the good lesson taught to us by Preston Sturges at the end of Sullivan's Travels, where he shows us laughter and glitz is the best medicine to combat depression and sadness. In The Pirate, Judy Garland’s Manuela, who craves romance and adventure, insists, “Underneath this prim exterior, there are depths of emotion, romantic longings.” It’s a statement that could be made by virtually any character in any musical. These are hardly frivolous matters. The musical is for anyone who has ever longed for something or someone—that is to say, everyone. What is life without fantasy? To be firmly grounded, one must occasionally walk on air. 

Gold Diggers of 1933 is conspicuously aware of the time in which it was being made. It opens with a jaunty, dazzling production of “We’re In The Money” which lands on a harsh note of irony. As the girls finish singing this hymn to carefree success, the police march into the theater to repossess the troupe’s stage equipment on behalf of creditors. The dazzling illusions of showbiz wither under the unforgiving circumstances, and our three protagonists - Carol (Joan Blondell), Trixie (Aline MacMahon) and Polly (Ruby Keeler) - suddenly find themselves unemployed. “It’s the depression, dearie,” Ginger Rogers’ Fay caustically reminds us. What Gold Diggers of 1933 serves up afterward was just what audience’s ordered, a reversal of their fortunes - we get to follow these three tough, wise-crackin’ gals as they stick it to snobby rich guys and eventually reach points of contentment somewhere on the broad spectrum between love and financial security. Mervyn LeRoy directs the dialogue scenes with the same caustic brio that he brought to his gangster films (Little Caesar, Five Star Final), giving the film’s comedy a sardonic (and often risqué) edge that might come as a shock to modern audiences more accustomed to the relatively wholesome attitudes that characterized the Hollywood musical after the enforcement of the Hays Code.

But what really sets Gold Diggers of 1933 apart are the dazzling, audacious production numbers of Bubsy Berkeley. Unlike most musical directors, Berkeley was uninterested in traditional dance and choreography, instead using his cast performers to create elaborate geometric designs. Critic Dave Kehr who counts Berkeley “among America's first and greatest abstract filmmakers,” writes: "By the time of Gold Diggers of 1933, Mr. Berkeley had dissolved the spatial confines of the stage and was mounting his extravaganzas within the big, black box of a gigantic Warner Brothers soundstage, where Euclidean notions of space dissolved in a fantasy world without visible borders and only occasional concessions to Renaissance perspective." 

There are moments in every Berkeley number where the director seems to have taken off completely for deep space: images so abstract that it is difficult to identify the human figures that compose them at their base. Indeed, Berkeley is America’s answer to Eisenstein - the master of montage for the masses. But his ideology is pure Hollywood: glamour, spectacle, scale, romance and fun. And though Berkeley’s films didn’t share the self-conscious Socialist desire to uplift an impoverished proletariat, that’s exactly what they wound up doing. Gold Diggers of 1933 was made near the end of the Pre-Code era, when censorship was beginning to hold sway. Warner prepared for censorship boards by preparing two versions of the film - the normal one and one that was considerably “toned down” for more conservative states. Polly (the good girl) and Dick Powell (the shy composer/crooner) come alive in the fabulous  number "Pettin' in the Park". This number is maybe the peak of the whole movie. It makes us enjoy the titillating yet innocent nature of Polly and Brad's relationship—how the montage seems to tout the winking to its audience. And of course, it all ends with the somber "Remember my Forgotten Man" number, which is in no doubt referencing Franklin Roosevelt's 1932 radio speech. In 2003, Gold Diggers of 1933  was selected for the National Film Registry. —MGM’s Stairway to Paradise (2019) by Michael Koresky

"His death at fifty-eight was a tremendous loss to the industry, both as a creator and as a backbone," former director Busby Berkeley lamented when Dick Powell passed away. The loss shook June Allyson deeply, and she descended into a period of self destruction. Four Star Productions was weakened without Powell's business sense. It is tantalizing to wonder what Powell would have done with more time, but his boundless energy and generosity left us with a unique legacy to remember him by. It was typical for movie stars in the 1930s to be sent on promotional tours around the country after a film was finished. After 42nd Street, Dick Powell and others of the main cast from the film were sent to theaters showing the film. They would perform little skits and introduce the film, and then take their bows afterward. 

For 42nd Street, there was an entire 7-car train that went to 100 cities. Dick Powell was part of the many celebrities on the train. He was eager to please and he put a lot of energy into his performances at each stop, but such constant travel was draining. He jumped quickly into another film, to his detriment. Powell landed in the hospital with severe pneumonia and spent most of the money he had made touring on hospital bills. The pneumonia forced him to recover longer than the studio wanted. They recast his role in Footlight Parade with Stanley Smith, a young actor who has appeared in a few films, including the starring role in Love Among the Millionaires with Clara Bow. But the studio believed that the fans would prefer to see Dick Powell with Ruby Keeler, so when he became well, they replaced Stanley with Dick. 

Dick Powell plays “Billy Lawler” in 42nd Street, who describes himself as “one of Broadway’s better juveniles”. The cherubic Powell is immensely likable as “Billy” and his cheerful enthusiasm is infectious, even when crooning a ditty. As mentioned before, his chemistry with Keeler sparkles with a genuine affection, giving him (and her) a kind of dreamy quality. His solid performance made him a star of lighthearted musical comedies. Many people burst out into laughter at the end of the number when Powell and Keeler pull down a curtain marked ‘Asbestos’. Asbestos nowadays is pretty much solely associated with killing people, but back in the day it was used in, yes, stage curtains in case a fire got out of control. And, as another source noted, it also indicates that whatever is going on behind the curtain between the two stars must be pretty hot. “I Only Have Eyes For You” has a handful of my favorite shots in all of cinema. The many reveals of Ruby Keeler are breathtaking, and the way the film repeats and rearranges is nothing less than visual poetry. Keeler, who must have been a little weirded out seeing the final product, is nonetheless absolutely glowing throughout. Her character loves the adoration, and it sells the love affair along with all of the romantic lyrics tossed to her by Powell. 

In Footlight Parade, Dick Powell says to his new darling (Ruby Keeler) on their upcoming tour, “We’ll make love in 40 cities!" Footlight Parade is one of the greats of the Pre-Code era, and an essential work for anyone who loves cinema. Though it was 42nd Street the film that really cemented Dick Powell's fame. Not only was it a highly successful movie, it featured Ruby Keeler again and sparked the beginning of a long film partnership with her. We first see Dick Powell in his underwear, but he is immediately shown to be non-threatening and very sweet. Throughout the film, he goes out of his way to help the girl he loves, but he is no pushover. There is no way he will let Edward Nugent get a shot at Ruby. Powell is a very confident and adept actor, even at this early stage in his career. In spite of this, it is his singing that is most impressive. He appears in "Young and Healthy" with the beautiful Toby Wing, attempting to woo her. Here we see his trademark outstretched arms and winning smile, a combination that would make him irresistible in musicals. According to Kevin Killian: "If they remade this film today they might dress Dick Powell up differently in the scene in which Peggy stumbles into Billy's dressing room, catching him in his underwear; but they couldn't cast a cuter guy or get a fresher, more vibrant sexual vibe. He's fantastic in the film, and he gives Ruby Keeler sex, just as she gives him back her adoration, a mirror of ours." Source: pre-code.com

Marion Davies was a famous mistress to a wealthy newspaper tycoon named William Randolph Hearst. Although her devotion to Hearst was strong, she was not above liaisons with actors, particularly co-stars. When Powell and Davies appeared in Page Miss Glory together, they hit it off, and soon Dick was making frequent late night phone calls to Marion's private number. At the same time, he was often seen having lunch with Joan Blondell in the studio commissary. Dick Powell was a logical man, and although he cared deeply for Marion, the relationship with Joan seemed more realistic. Joan was in the process of divorcing her first husband, whereas Marion had no intention of breaking off her relationship with Hearst. Powell made smart investments throughout his career, dabbling in real estate, and he spent some of his profits on his first boat. He liked to take his family out on the sea. However, large purchases were rare, and with his musical career waning, he knew how important it was that he provide for his family, so he accepted a few films that he otherwise wouldn't have. When Joan Blondell began seeing impresario Mike Todd, Powell knew that it wouldn't be long until they signed divorce papers. In the meantime, he began a relationship with upcoming actress June Allyson. 

June had been smitten with Dick's on-screen image for years, and he loved acting as her protector. He gave her advice on her career and took her out for dancing. Powell began making a string of tough-guy pictures for RKO while balancing his real estate hobby, his relationship with his children, and keeping a watchful eye on June's blooming career. June was told she could never have children due to a childhood accident, so the couple decided to adopt a baby. Pamela Powell was brought home in 1948. Two years later, the Powells planned to adopt a boy companion for Pamela, but then June was shocked to learn that she was pregnant. Richard Jr. was born on Christmas Day 1950. June remembered how ecstatically happy her husband was, "I can't believe it. I'm forty years old and my wife has given me a son." "Richard seldom used a real name," June said. "Pammy answered to My Special Girl or Special Girl; Ricky was plain Speedy." 

Mary Martin’s ninth and last picture for Paramount, True to Life (1943), begins with an omniscient narrator intoning, “Someone once said, ‘The movies should be more like life.’ And a wise man answered, ‘Life should be more like the movies.’” True to Life was the first Martin film to include any reference to the anxious reality that America was at war, albeit in a humorous, throwaway subplot. True to Life (1943) is a delightful George Marshall screwball comedy with Dick Powell and Franchot Tone as radio soap opera writers who have hit a dry spell and are facing an angry sponsor who want to cancel the continued adventures of Kitty Farmer. Powell goes out in the rain looking for inspiration and meets Mary Martin in a diner where she mistakes him for a pitiful guy out of work because he left his wallet at home. While not a musical, Martin sings “Mister Pollyanna,” and Powell does likewise for the memorable Johnny Mercer tune “The Old Music Master,” and “There She Was,” a more typical Powell tune. 

There’s never doubting of Powell's attraction to Martin, that's the forte of the film. Powell was one of the few actors who could be smug and vulnerable at the same time. Mary Martin did far too few films, but had real presence on screen (not always true of stage stars). Here she is mindful of Jean Arthur—which is no small compliment—especially in a screwball comedy. Martin had previous co-starred with Bing Crosby in Rhythm on the River (1940), based on a story by Billy Wilder, In the end, Cherry sings their song, “Only Forever,” in a nightclub, and Courtney is compelled to divulge that it was written by his “collaborators.” That lilting melody is offset by Crosby’s “real hep cat” version of the title song and by Martin’s saucy “Ain’t It a Shame about Mame.” The original score was by Johnny Burke (Crosby’s principal Paramount composer), whose “Only Forever” earned an Academy Award nomination. Though Mary Martin received the same-size billing as her costar Bing Crosby, Martin was paid a paltry $20,416. 

Helpfully, her contract stipulated that she could leave the studio every Thursday to attend rehearsals and broadcasts of Dick Powell’s Good News radio program, for which she was earning $1,000 per show. Happy Go Lucky (1943), Martin’s eighth picture, is a Technicolor movie musical in which she plays Marjory Stewart, a Texan “cigarette girl” who poses as a millionaire and heads south in search of a rich man to marry. After the opening calypso number, as Marjory’s boat docks at an unnamed tropical island, she admits to Pete (Dick Powell), a local hustler, that she’s “a phony” who “came down here to find a rich husband.” Pete helps her plot to land his onetime friend, Alfred Monroe (Rudy Vallee). But even as all of their schemes are thwarted, the viewer knows from the outset that Marjory’s going to nab “Alfie,” only to reject him for Pete (Powell) in the end. Martin's chauffeur Ernest Adams, who had previously worked for journalist Adela Rogers St. Johns, recalled Jean Arthur paying a visit backstage after a matinee in San Francisco. "I was standing on the stage, and I see this little woman in very sensible shoes and a little plaid suit. And I see Miss Martin come out of her dressing room, and they ran to each other. They embraced in such a way that even I, still a virgin, knew this was not just two friends saying ‘hello.’ But then, of course, there was a lot of gossip swirling around the company about the two of them." 

Adams also hinted that Martin’s intense film chemistry with Dick Powell was based on real chemistry. Let's not forget that Powell was immersed in a painful process of separation from Joan Blondell in 1943, and Martin was always very friendly towards Powell, who was a very private man in real life. So the odds of an affair between Powell and Martin are a rather likely scenario. Theater critic Albert Goldberg went on to write one of the most definitive descriptions of Mary Martin’s artistry as a performer: “It is hard to define Miss Martin’s magic. Some of it may be because you are not only in love with her but because she is also in love with you—the audience. She takes you to her heart as you take her to yours.” 

In the New York Post, Clive Barnes claimed that “her special charm was an innocence that was never sugary, a voice that never cloyed and a personality that happily combined the indomitable with the vulnerable on a spectrum that made it possible for us all to identify with.” Theater critic Mel Gussow in his front-page obituary of Mary Martin for the New York Times, which appeared on November 5, 1990, wrote: “Her voice was never the strongest instrument. She was not beautiful (though she could be radiant). While Ethel Merman was an entire brass section and Carol Channing was a parade, Miss Martin remained natural and exactingly true to life—and her performance as Peter Pan was poetry." Elia Kazan, who had directed Martin in her first Broadway starring role, in One Touch of Venus (1943), said that she was “full of the love of being loved.” —Some Enchanted Evenings: The Glittering Life and Times of Mary Martin (2016) by David Kaufman

June Allyson and Lucille Ball (Similar Patterns)

The two women stood apart from the intermission crowd at the New York theater. Lucy was doing most of the talking. June, her hands nervously rolling and unrolling the program, listened carefully. From time to time, she’d nod, as if in agreement. She interrupted only twice, to ask a question. From the looks on both women’s faces, it’s certain they weren’t talking about the play. Later, at a restaurant, June still seemed edgy. Lucy whispered something to her and smiled, as if to reassure her. After a while, June seemed to relax a little. Those who saw the two women together were puzzled because they didn't know June Allyson and Lucille Ball were long time friends. 

When, suddenly, June picked herself up and flew to New York, the last person anyone expected her to look up was Lucy. And yet now it seemed that this was the very reason June had come three thousand miles—to see Lucy. Why? What was going on? In a matter of weeks, the answer was obvious. Right after her meeting with Lucy, June suddenly stopped squashing the rumors that all was not well with her marriage to Dick Powell. And early in January, when a sick and openly weeping June told reporters outright that she and Dick had separated and would seek a divorce, the mystery seemed to be solved. 

June Allyson was faced with the breakup of her marriage. There was only one other woman in the world who had ever been faced with just her unique and difficult position-and that was Lucille Ball. Lucy seemed to be the only person June could turn to for the understanding and advice she needed. Neither woman was willing to comment on what they talked about. But there were no denials either. After their meeting, people were quick to point out that Lucy, having been through the division of Desilu Studios, might well give June some financial advice. After all, June and Dick also shared an entertainment empire, Four Star Productions. At first look, June and Lucy seemed two such different types. June was shy. cuddly, with an appealing little-girl quality. Lucy was open and hearty, the typical redhead. And yet their lives have been oddly alike. June Allyson and Lucille Ball were born, a few years apart, in New York. As children they dreamed of show business careers. Each girl underwent a tragic experience that almost crippled her for life. For June it was an accident. She was on the wrong street at the wrong time; a tree, struck by lightning shortly before, dropped a huge branch on her. Her spine had been injured. Her legs hung useless, immobile. She could scarcely move her arms. And her face, bloodied and torn, was destined to a network of red scars.

For Lucille, it was an illness; she contracted pneumonia. Whether through improper treatment, or simply because of the violence of the attack, it left her paralyzed. For eight months she lay in bed, struggling to move a toe, an ankle, a knee. She had planned to begin her show business career as a chorus girl. Now she was told she might never walk again. Yet neither girl would consider giving up. Shy, delicate-boned, tiny June Allyson, and raucous, wide-mouthed, tall Lucille Ball—they shared an incredible determination. By effort, by sheer will power, they set about restoring themselves to health. For June there were long hours in a swimming pool, to help move her stiff and aching legs. And then there were the movies to help forget. She loved Fred Astaire’s “The Gay Divorcee,” which she watched eighteen times. She knew every step of the dance routines. Stubbornly, before a mirror, she made her agonized legs repeat the steps over and over. Stubbornly, she kept her eyes away from the scars that seamed her face. 

For Lucille, there were exercises that were much the same—and scars that were very different. For three long years she struggled to regain control of her legs. She spent hours listening to the radio, studying the great comedians, their tricks, their timing. The one thing she wanted was to make people laugh. At one point, some relative brought a drama coach to see her, to encourage her gallant fight. At the end of the session the man rose, bit his lip, and told her that she did not have a chance. Sick or well, the man said with pity she simply had no talent. As stubbornly as June Allyson kept her eyes from her face in the mirror, so Lucille Ball kept her thoughts from that man, his condescension and his judgment. Despite him, despite her unwilling legs, she would be a dancer and a famous comedienne. Both women went to the West, to Hollywood, where they would meet each other for the first time during the production of Best Foot Forward. 

Best Foot Forward was a 1943 American musical film adapted from the 1941 Broadway musical comedy of the same title, based on an unpublished play by John Cecil Holm. The film was released by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, directed by Edward Buzzell, and starred Lucille Ball, William Gaxton, Virginia Weidler, June Allyson, Gloria DeHaven, and Nancy Walker. Produced by George Abbott, after an out-of-town tryout, the production opened on Broadway on October 1, 1941 at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre, where it ran for 326 performances. It was directed by Abbott, with choreography by Gene Kelly, and starred Rosemary Lane. The show was Nancy Walker's Broadway debut and also launched June Allyson to fame. Brooks Atkinson of The New York Times liked the "good humored" show, especially praising the score and choreography, singling out June Allyson and Nancy Walker. 

With no previous professional experience, Maureen Cannon debuted on Broadway portraying Helen Schlessinger in Best Foot Forward (1941). An Associated Press article about Cannon noted that she sang two hit songs in the musical and she was "overshadowed only by Rosemary Lane in the importance of her role". Theater critic Burns Mantle wrote that Cannon "sings 'Shady Lady Bird' to many encores". Following the Broadway production, Cannon performed on the road in Best Foot Forward including a run in Chicago. According to the Lucille Ball & Desi Arnaz: They Weren’t Lucy & Ricky memoir, Cannon was friendly with Rosemary Lane and June Allyson, and she witnessed in the summer of 1942 the introduction of June Allyson to Dick Powell by mutual friend Rosemary Lane. This clearly would contradict Joan Blondell's madcap account of the meeting in her memoir Center Door Fancy, where she writes about an unlikely hysterical approach by June to her husband Dick Powell. And her fantastic tale doesn't sound like an innocuous memory lapse by Blondell, just more like a convenient and deliberate distortion of June's real personality and actions. 

While shooting Meet the People (1944), co-starring Dick Powell, Lucille Ball also observed Joan Blondell's erratic conduct and her tendency to spread false rumors about June's reputation. Blondell's official divorce from Powell would happen a year later, in July 1945. In August, 19, 1945, Dick Powell would marry her third and last wife, June Allyson. 

From Los Angeles Times article "Film Actor Dick Powell Marries June Allyson" (20 August, 1945): "Actor/singer Dick Powell and his bride actress June Allyson cut their wedding cake. The small ceremony was held at the house of Mr. Johnny Green and Mrs. Bonnie Green in Cheviot Hills, Los Angeles. It was conducted by Superior Judge Edward Brand and Louis B. Mayer gave the bride away." After getting nervous in her first wedding night with Powell, Allyson felt more on ease the next day, explaining: "The next morning he took me to the Santana, and there we had our second wedding night in broad daylight. What had I been afraid of? This was truly the gold at the end of the rainbow. I didn't want to get off the boat, ever." This would also contradict or at least reflect a change in Powell's bedroom customs that Joan Blondell mentioned in Center Door Fancy, complaining of a prudish Powell wanting to make love only in the darkness. 

Joan Blondell seemed eager to convince herself that Dick Powell was cheating on her with June Allyson, but all the evidence points to the contrary, it was Blondell who first started a clandestine sexual relationship with Mike Todd in early 1943. Blondell also alleges, in the most libelous passage of Center Door Fancy, that Allyson's reputation was in the public domain and she had been a call-girl in NYC, according to Mike Todd. Blondell mustn't have figured that future biographers of Allyson would confirm or debunk these awful allegations. And multiples sources deny these off-base accusations. First, Mike Todd was a shady, sexist, and manipulative fabulist who only could know about Allyson through third-party sources. 

As a youngster, June Allyson lived on 3rd Avenue Elevated, also known as Bronx El, on a clanking street of tenements, bars, and hock shops. To help her family, at 16 she was working as a nightclub singer and dancer. It was typical of the era tongue wagging about a young woman in such an environment. Whilst, Lucille Ball studied dance under Martha Graham Dance Company  before Graham asked her to drop the class. “You’re hopeless as a dancer,” Graham told her. “You’re like a quarterback taking up ballet. Perhaps you could find work as a soda jerk.” Reportedly, at 14, Ball wound up in a relationship with 23-year-old Johnny DaVita, who, some authors speculated, ran illegal booze from Canada. Ball's step-grandparents were a puritanical Swedish couple who banished all mirrors from the house except one over the bathroom sink. When Lucy was caught admiring herself in it, she was severely chastised for being vain. She later said that this period of time affected her so deeply, it lasted eight years to overcome. In 1928, Lucy began working for Hattie Carnegie as an in-house model. Later Lucy Ball was hired by theatre impresario Earl Carroll for his Vanities Broadway revue, and by Florenz Ziegfeld Jr. for the Rio Rita stage musical. After a stint in Roman Scandals (1933), Lucille Ball moved permanently to Hollywood as a contract player for RKO. 

On March 3, 1960, (one day after filming the final episode of The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour), Lucille Ball filed papers in Santa Monica Superior Court, claiming married life with Desi Arnaz was "a nightmare" and nothing at all as it appeared on I Love Lucy. On May 4, 1960, they were officially divorced. Both the show and the couple’s marriage ended in 1960. However, until his death in 1986, Arnaz and Ball remained friends and often spoke fondly of each other. Lucille’s marriage had taken place in 1940. June’s in 1945. Lucille chose a temperamental Cuban bandleader, Desi Arnaz, five years younger than herself. June had married a respected, long-established movie star, Dick Powell—thirteen years her senior. But the truth is both women had unerringly chosen a man who would, as the years went on, almost dominate them completely. Lucy, big-boned, tall, strong-willed, longed for a man who would restore her to gentle femininity; June, tiny, delicate, shy, was accustomed to being guided and tutored by others. 

At the beginning, there was the strain of being apart. For June and Dick, enforced separations were not really long or frequent. They were apart only when location shooting was required for either of them, and this seldom meant more than a few weeks. But for Lucy and Desi Arnaz, enforced separations were far more severe. Lucy once estimated that in the early years of their marriage they spent far less than half their time together. In each marriage, the result was one of increased tension. For as the wives’ careers soared, those of the husbands slipped or changed drastically. Their marriages staggered on—and faltered. Lucy and Desi’s broke down first in 1944. For June and Dick the first serious split came in 1957, when Dick moved out of their Mandeville Canyon home. In both cases the decision was made by the woman. And in both cases the women changed their minds and decided to reconcile. Money rolled in. Both men had a shrewd business sense. Before long they were working not for others but for themselves. Four Star Productions and Desilu became names to be reckoned within the world of TV. But just as strains had emerged from the success of the two women, new tensions appeared born of their husbands’ triumphs.

Both men were soon working eighteen hours a day. Desi rarely left the RKO studios he had purchased for Desilu. At home, keyed up beyond exhaustion by his accomplishments, he would pace the house restlessly. Dick, less bound to a single location, flew back and forth to New York, to Europe, from chore to chore, gave interviews, bought scripts, cast, directed and produced. Older than Desi, Dick showed the wear and tear more conventionally—at home he simply collapsed. Lucy was no businesswoman; she was willing to be, on paper, a vice-president of Desilu, but violently opposed to letting it dominate her life. June, working less now than Dick, was restless. Still young, poised, beautiful in a more mature way, she wanted a little of the glamor and excitement she had been too awkward to enjoy years before. 

For June and Dick there were new notions—a house closer to fashionable Hollywood than their Mandeville Canyon estate, trips to New York and stunning new wardrobes for June. In late winter of 1960, June Allyson, after her long talk with Lucille Ball, announced that she had split with Dick Powell, and her lawyer confirmed that either a legal separation or a divorce would shortly take place. Dick Powell stepped off an airplane in Los Angeles and walked into the outstretched arms of his wife, June, on January 18, 1961. Dick Powell’s statement was: “I still love June and I believe she still loves me. If people will only leave us alone, maybe we can work out our situation.” Lucille Ball would marry her last husband Gary Morton, a Borscht Belt comic 13 years her junior, on November 19, 1961. According to Ball, Morton claimed he had never seen an episode of I Love Lucy due to his hectic work schedule. On January 3, 1962, Allyson’s interlocutory divorce decree was declared void since the Powells had reconciled. —Sources: "June Allyson: Her Life and Career" (2023) by Peter Shelley and "If Lucy Ball saw June Allyson, what would she tell her now?" article by Charlotte Dinter for Photoplay magazine (April 1961). 

David Lynch, The Wizard of Oz, Busby Berkeley

David Lynch, best known for Blue Velvet, Mulholland Dr, Eraserhead, and Twin Peaks, is the subject of the documentary Lynch/Oz (2023) by Alexandre O. Philippe — a deliberately oddball juxtaposition that honors the artist’s deeply felt kinship to the 1939 film The Wizard of Oz. Structured more as a film essay, with narration over a dizzying array of film clips, Lynch/Oz is divided into chapters with different “hosts,” including film critic Amy Nicholson and some of Lynch’s peers: Rodney Ascher (Room 237), Karyn Kusama (Jennifer’s Body), Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead (The Endless), David Lowery (Peter Pan & Wendy), and John Waters (Hairspray). This isn’t just a random idea Philippe is chasing; any fan can tell you that 1990's Wild at Heart is full of overt Wizard of Oz references. But even beyond that film, we know Lynch has the Emerald City lodged in his brain. 

As Kusama remembers first-hand—Lynch remarked that he thinks about Oz every day. Though it does point out how fond Lynch characters are of red shoes, and the way his sets tend to use theatrical curtains, Lynch/Oz is more intrigued by the ways Victor Fleming’s 1939 classic has infiltrated the themes, character details, mise-en-scène, and moods of both dread and hope that swirl throughout his filmography. When these commentators go far afield of Lynch’s bizarre storylines to give their own interpretations, Lynch/Oz unloads lots of cultural unsophistication. Rodney Ascher’s interpretation of Lynch’s Twin Peaks: The Return stumbles over politics: “It was right after the election, and a lot of us were uncertain about what was going to happen in the world.” This fundamentally denies how Lynch faces the reality of evil, following the moral of fairy tales and art. Lynch’s protagonists as detectives of “metaphysical mysteries, cosmic mysteries, the American unconscious.” Source: nationalreview.com

A witty description of a Busby Berkeley number comes from the poet and writer John Betjeman, who wrote, “The decors by Berkeley display great ingenuity, but resemble, more often than not, a sort of drunkard’s dream.” In his most creative period, Berkeley’s tableau featured expansive art deco formations and repetitive set decorations with the occasional use of gigantism for fantasy props. In Golddigers of 1933, a white-tuxedoed Dick Powell takes the stage, which is minimally dressed with a bench and theatrical picture window, and sings to a platinum-coiffed Ruby Keeler. All the dancers move gracefully along a winding bridge that resembles a gigantic curved ribbon; an imitation palm tree and moon in the background are the stage’s sole dressing. Audaciously, Berkeley cuts all the studio lights, the illumination provided by neon tubing attached to the contours of each violin. The effect is magical. As the theme saws away, Berkeley’s top shots are even more impressive as a neon-lit violin spins in the center of a circle of other violins. An impressive change in perspective occurs as the girls appear to be dancing sideways from the top of the screen to the bottom on the right half of the frame while their image is reflected on the left. 

The dancers were filmed dancing off the winding staircase while their movements were reflected in the pristine black floor. When projected they defied gravity. A low-mounted parade-of-faces shot brings us back to Dick and Ruby. “I Only Have Eyes for You” is the most surreal of all Berkeley productions. Ruby Keeler patiently waits for boyfriend Dick Powell, a ticket seller, to end his shift. He sings to her of the singularity of his obsession: "Are the stars out tonight? I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright. ‘Cause I only have eyes for you." Berkeley, in a special-effects fadeout, removes all pedestrians from view (save Ruby), then reinstates them as they recite the song lyrics. The 1933 audience was thrilled to the point of applause when they saw the unusual patterns that could be generated from a vantage point fifty feet in the air.

Brad Roberts (Dick Powell) and Polly Parker (Ruby Keeler) have met previously in front of a movie theatre, then take a long subway ride during which they fall asleep. Another Berkeley sleight of hand has Ruby posed on the backside of a handheld mirror. As the mirror turns toward the camera, the frame of reference shifts back to the “reality” of the subway car, where Ruby and Dick awaken from their nap realizing they’ve come to the final stop in the line. They leave the train and exit the train yard in a perfectly composed shot in which the couple walks diagonally from the top right to the bottom left of the frame.  —The Life and Art of Busby Berkeley (2011) by Jeffrey Spivak

Good looking men in courtship, Happiness Ahead

The results of a recent explorative empirical study by McNelis & Segrin on human mating conclude that: handsome men, more than high-status men, succeed in courtship. The answers given by male and female subjects regarding sociosexual behaviour and mating preferences are predominantly congruent. Sex differences among preferences for good looking and high-status partners were small or even insignificant. Lower educated subjects had considerably higher status preferences than higher educated individuals. In both sexes, Physical Attraction was much more preferred in a potential partner than status. For both sexes, physical appearance was decisive for the subject's dating attractiveness. Male and female attractiveness correlates with a charismatic appearance. Furthermore, there was a positive linear relationship between men's physical attraction and their number of sexual partners within the last year. Men with more than four sexual partners were all above-average in physical attraction, while the most attractive women had a medium number of 3 or more sexual partners. Overall, women are rated higher for physical attractiveness, but there is less agreement of what constitutes an attractive man. In this respect, the results show that sex differences in mating are more complex than hitherto assumed. Source: pubmed.ncbi.nih.gov

New York socialite Joan Bradford (Josephine Hutchinson in her debut film) is unhappy with life in high society. Her mother has picked out a wealthy husband for her to marry, and Joan does not love him.  On New Year’s Eve, Joan ditches her parents’ party and goes downtown. Joan meets a window washing company manager, Bob Lane (Dick Powell) and starts posing as a working class girl so he won’t feel overwhelmed. She rents an apartment on the other side of town to keep up the guise. "Mervyn LeRoy seems to have made a lot out of a little,” Andre Sennwald reviewed in a 1934 New York Times film review. Sennwald hits the nail on the head. “Happiness Ahead” has a very simple plot–an unhappy socialite finds love with a common man. However, this is a very charming film, like most Dick Powell musicals, due to Powell’s melted-butter-like-voice that sounds so enchanting.

Notable Songs:

-Happiness Ahead sung by Dick Powell

-Pop! Goes Your Heart sung by Dick Powell

-All Account of an Ice Cream Sundae sung by Dick Powell and Dorothy Dare

-Massaging Window Panes sung by Dick Powell and Frank McHugh

Source: mikegrost.com/leroy.htm

Gold Diggers of 1933 is a pre-Code Warner Bros. musical film directed by Mervyn LeRoy with songs by Harry Warren and Al Dubin, staged and choreographed by Busby Berkeley. It stars Warren William, Joan Blondell, Aline MacMahon, Dick Powell and Ruby Keeler, and features Ginger Rogers. The "gold diggers" are four aspiring actresses: Polly (Ruby Keeler), an ingenue; Carol (Joan Blondell), a torch singer; Trixie (Aline MacMahon), a comedian; and Fay (Ginger Rogers), a glamour puss. At the unglamorous apartment shared by three of the four actresses (Polly, Carol, and Trixie), the producer, Barney Hopkins (Ned Sparks), is in despair because he has everything he needs to put on a show, except money. He hears Brad Roberts (Dick Powell), the girls' neighbor and Polly's boyfriend, playing the piano. Brad is a brilliant songwriter and singer who not only has written the music for a show, but also offers Hopkins $15,000 in cash to back the production. 

Of course, they all think he is kidding, but he insists that he is serious – he offers to back the show, but refuses to perform in it, despite his talent and voice. Brad comes through with the money and the show goes into production, but the girls are suspicious that he must be a criminal since he is cagey about his past and will not appear in the show, even though he is clearly more talented than the aging juvenile lead (Clarence Nordstrom) they have hired. It turns out, however, that Brad is in fact a millionaire's son whose family does not want him associating with the theatre. On opening night, in order to save the show when the juvenile cannot perform, Brad is forced to play the lead role. When Lawrence finds out that Brad and the real Polly have wed, he threatens to have the marriage annulled, but relents when Carol refuses to marry him if he does. Trixie marries Faneuil. All the "gold diggers" (except Fay) end up with wealthy men. Source: imdb.com

Dick Powell: Crooner, Noir Icon and Family Man

"Dick Powell: Crooner, Noir Icon and Family Man video" (featuring Ruby Keeler, Joan Blondell, June Allyson, and his co-stars).

Dick Powell and June Allyson: An imperfect "perfect" marriage (Photoplay interview)

It all started on a Saturday afternoon in the early 1940s when my friend Betty and I went to a Baltimore theater to see The Singing Marine, starring Dick Powell. His good looks and romantic songs were more than I could resist! Before the end of the movie, I was head over heels in love. I even saw the movie again at the theatre. Soon I found myself buying movie magazines and cutting out photos of Dick Powell, filling page after page in my scrapbook. In the midst of this craze, Betty and I were invited to the home of a friend, Doris, for a picnic and swim. Her Uncle Leo from California was there for a visit, and I was surprised to learn that he was the producer of the Hopalong Cassidy serials. “Do you know Dick Powell?” I blurted out. “Sure,” Leo said. “Can you get me an autographed photo?” “Of course,” Leo assured. “And if you’re ever in Hollywood, Jane, give me a call and I’ll arrange a lunch date with Dick.” I nearly swooned at the thought. A couple of years later, while attending the University of Maryland, I was lucky enough to be chosen as our sorority’s delegate to a convention in Pasadena. Taking advantage of the situation, I decided to stay the summer. I got a job at a department store at Hollywood and Vine and eventually moved in with the mother of one of my friends, a wonderful woman named Harriet. I told Harriet about Leo, and she encouraged me to call him. When I did, Leo asked if I still wanted that lunch date with Dick Powell! “Wow!” I exclaimed. “Terrific!” Harriet was thrilled, but I was scared to death! And of all places, we were going to the Brown Derby, where the movie stars hung out. On the big day, Leo drove up in a snazzy Cadillac. As he opened the rear door for me, I could see the other man in the front seat, Dick Powell. It was a wonderful evening!

I had two wedding anniversaries to my credit when I met June Allyson Powell, and she was still a starry-eyed bride. But we clicked from the moment of that first meeting, for we had one extremely important thing in common. June wanted a baby more than anything in the world, and so did I. Now, of course, we have even a stronger bond in common—our daughters. There is nothing more beautiful to see in our town these days than the glow which surrounds Junie and Dick whenever they are in the presence of their little Pamela. Years ago, when I read that June and Dick were married, I couldn’t wait to meet her. George and I had known Dick for some time, and we were very fond of him. And I had seen June in “Best Foot Forward” and thought that she was charming. Dick was a guest on a radio show one night, a few weeks after their marriage. I was delighted when he asked George and me to have dinner afterward, to meet his new wife. June drove down to the broadcast studio to join us, and she was standing in the wings when Dick and I came offstage. There was an awkward moment when June and I came face to face. We were both done up to the teeth for our big dinner date, each of us in her best dress. There was just one little hitch. It was the same dress! I stared at June and June stared at me while Dick gently proceeded to introduce us. I guess men just don’t notice things like that. June started to giggle and I did, too. Dick looked at us as though he thought we were tetched. And then he caught on. “We’d better get out of here fast,” he said. And we tore for the parking lot, laughing like crazy. The whole evening was like that. Later, June and I marched into the Players Restaurant with our two handsome husbands, but we couldn’t stop laughing.

We drove up the steepest of the Hollywood Hills, we said to look at the view, but really to show what our fine new car could do, and midway, it stalled dead. Dick and George were out in the street, muttering over the motor, sweating and swearing while June and I sat in the back seat trying to look sympathetic. It was a wonderful beginning for what was to become one of my fondest friendships. We’d all had such fun that we invited the Powells to our house the next Sunday night for supper. Both of us were certain, absolutely certain, that we would make absolutely faultless mothers. We had it all worked out. George telephoned Dick Powell to confirm W.W.’s scoop. June came out the next day with a present for the baby. I couldn’t talk about anything else but my big news. Until I saw that June’s crinkly blue eyes were filled with tears. Then I tried to change the subject. I think June started begging Dick that very day to agree to adopting a baby. I think Dick may have demurred at first. June was still young. But June was not to be put off. 

Very soon, the Dick Powells were on the waiting list of a famous adoption agency in the South. Junie came to all of my showers, in wonderful spirits. She was going to have a baby, too. Richard had promised. And then our Missy was born and I didn’t see June or Richard for awhile. The first time was at a party at their house, when Missy was a few weeks old. June was a perfect hostess, as usual, but I felt there was a certain sadness under her gaiety that night. She sat for a while curled up in a big tufted armchair, Patrick, her poodle, in her lap. And she seemed far away, lost in her secret thoughts. She explained it to me afterwards, when we were alone for a moment. The gossip columnists had been wagging their tongues about her marriage; she and Richard had been quarrelling, they had said. It wasn’t true. “We have our spats, of course,” Junie told me. “All married people do. But we never quarrel, why Richard is the sweetest, the most thoughtful man.” But that wasn’t what was worrying her. She and Dick were secure in their marriage; they needn’t care what the gossips said. Except, and this was what really hurt, June was afraid the rumors would hurt her chances of getting a baby. I know the helpless feeling you have when anyone writes something about you which may jeopardize a relationship or a situation. If only they really understood what damage just a few idle words can do. All I could say to June was that I was sure the agency wouldn’t pay any attention to malicious gossip. Her chances, I said, were as good as ever. Five more long months went by, though, before June’s wish came true. 

The agency called. They had the perfect baby for the Powells. A little girl, just a month old, she had reddish-blonde hair, and crinkly blue eyes, like June’s. She would arrive by plane, with a nurse, in eight days. June was in the middle of the production of “Little Women.” But she and Dick worked frantically nights and on her Sunday off to get the nursery and equipment ready for their new daughter. June was working when the baby’s plane arrived, and it broke her heart that Dick drove out to the airport alone. “We’re so lucky, she’s so perfect, so darling, so utterly dear.” She was too excited to notice that it was Dick who phoned out for extra bottles and supplies, that it was Dick who helped make up the formula and instructed the new nurse. June was almost afraid to touch her little girl, afraid she might break her. After Pamela’s arrival, June’s and I's friendship turned into an endless competition. Missy had three teeth. Pamela’ first one, you could feel it, sharp as any thing, under her gums, was coming through. Pamela had a six months birthday and June pasted a bow in her soft fuzz of hair with Scotch tape. Pamela said Ma-ma and Da-da when she was only ten months old. At eleven months Pamela started to walk! June started planning Pam’s christening party while her daughter was still in her bassinette. She had never had anything half so grand for herself. Her own childhood, I know, was hard, there wasn’t much money in her family, and for two long years she was set in an uncomfortable brace as the result of a back injury. The big moments in her own life had been impressive only in the sense of her own inner happiness. Her marriage ceremony, for instance, was simple and unostentatious. 

June and Richard invited their closest friends to the church christening and to a reception afterward at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Dick, as a surprise, had engaged Don Loper to make Junie’s dress for the christening, an enchanting full-skirted brown taffeta with a yoke and round collar of white lace. A few of us went out to dinner afterward. I watched Dick’s face as he looked at his wife. He was so proud. Everything is perfect, now that there is Pamela. Regis Toomey was godfather and Claudette Colbert godmother. Colbert bought a lace christening gown from Paris but Pammy vomited all over it on the way to the christening. Allyson wanted to go home so the gown could be washed. Powell said that Colbert would understand, but the actress insisted that Colbert never know so they went home. The gown was washed and they hurried to the church, where Pammy pulled Colbert’s string of pearls, which broke all over the place. June told me that buying Dick clothes was difficult. At first he beamed at what she bought him but Allyson never saw him wear any of the fanciful ties or unusual shirts. One day she discovered that he gave them away as gifts and rewards to prop men and butchers and bakers and even the lawn man. 

I asked June: When did you first start going out with Dick? "It was a chance meeting in New York after Dick was separated from his wife," replied June. "I came into Toots Shor's restaurant and Dick was having lunch alone. He invited me to sit down and we had our first long talk. It ended with him saying that he would telephone me when I returned home. Our first official date was at Romanoff's. He seemed so sensible and intelligent after some of the men I had gone around with." MGM was confident that Two Girls and a Sailor would be a hit and sent Allyson and Nancy Walker to New York on a personal appearance tour. Dick Powell said he had seen the film and that June was going to be a star. After the premiere night of Two girls and a Sailor, Allyson said that Powell had phoned her hotel room at midnight asking to meet him in the hotel lobby, suggesting they go out to dinner. When Powell asked her going out with him, she said she refused because she thought he was still married. Powell fetched a newspaper from the hotel’s newsstand and showed her the headline “Joan Blondell and Dick Powell Separate.” Then, Powell took her to Sardi’s to dance.

On the morning of Friday, February 22, 1956, June said they had argued at night and June had threatened Dick with a separation. June had packed her luggage for a trip to Palm Springs, with her secretary and daughter Pamela. Dick stood in her dressing room watching her, and arguing the point of separation. “You can’t go without me,” Dick said. “You can’t live without me and you know it.” June folded a pair of slacks neatly into a suitcase. “I’m tired of being told what I can and cannot do,” she said coolly. “You don’t even know how to get to Palm Springs,” Dick added. She flared up at him. “I’ve been there a million times with you! I’m not an idiot! I don’t want you telling me how to get there—I can find it myself!” He told her regardless, and when June reached South Pasadena, a point not vaguely en route to Palm Springs, she also reached her Waterloo. She stopped the car, went to a public phone and dialed her home telephone number. “All right!” she said. “Where is Palm Springs?” To Dick’s credit, he didn’t say 'I told you so.' He is not that kind of a man. Instead he laughed, and so did June. It is this humor they have in common, the happy faculty for laughing at themselves, that makes their marriage more than worth saving. In the midst of the most serious argument one will say something that strikes the other funny, and the ice is broken as well as the argument itself. When June eventually reached Palm Springs, admittedly via Dick’s explicit directions, she flew to a telephone to advise Dick she had arrived safely. She called him a second time, to say goodnight. 

Of such stuff is marriage made. The next day, Saturday, despite the company of Pamela and her secretary Barbara Salisbury, June was lonely (the unspoken assumption is that she missed Dick), and at noon the threesome left for Los Angeles. In the interim, the Edgar Bergens had unknowingly put themselves in the middle. Edgar had flown to Palm Springs to make certain June was all right, and after he flew back to Los Angeles on Saturday he had phoned Dick and asked him to come for dinner that night. Unaware of this, Frances Bergen, also worrying about June, had telephoned her in Palm Springs and invited her for dinner on Saturday. The upshot was that the ‘separated’ Powells had dinner together that evening with the Bergens. “She ate,” said Dick. “I wasn’t hungry.” “You know the first thing he said?” June asked me. “He walked in and said, ‘Darling, you don't look so good. You look as though you’ve lost five pounds.’ I said ‘I look fine, thank you.’ And then I looked in the mirror and he was right. I looked absolutely awful.” During their two weeks of separation the Bergens as well as other friends spoke to them frankly, pointing out the difficulties each already knew existed. Without exception their friends hoped for a reconciliation, not only for the sake of the children, but for June and Dick themselves. Says June, “But you can’t learn anything from your friends. We must work it out for ourselves.” Almost every night of that following week, Dick had dinner with June, mostly at home. Separately, they made dinner engagements with other people, then broke them at the last minute, irresistibly drawn together. “I suppose we spent some time talking about a new school for Rick. And of course I kept telling June that our separation was ridiculous, that it was serving no purpose,” said Dick. Neither does June recall clearly the conversations of that week. “All I remember is that suddenly we found ourselves behaving as we should have before we separated.” 

If there was occasional laughter, there were also many tears. It was a bad week, so bad that June reacted as she always does to unhappiness, and she became ill. That night she went to her mother’s house for dinner. On Saturday she felt worse, and lonely to boot, because Dick had gone to Palm Springs for the weekend, unaware of her illness. On Sunday she wakened with a fever of 104° and telephoned her personal physician. Dr. Corday put his stethoscope to June’s chest, and shook his head. “You have pneumonia,” he said. “Have someone take you to the hospital right away.” When Dick returned to Hollywood that night he went straight to the house, heard the news from the servants, and dashed off to the hospital. “I had dinner with her at the hospital every night from then on,” lamented Dick. As Dick says, “When you separate from somebody after eleven and a half years, that’s really frightful.” Unexpectedly, they grin at each other. June was in the hospital six days, and the following Saturday Dick drove her home.

"He helped in other ways. “One night,” June remembers, “I came wailing down the stairs and threw myself on the divan to cry my heart out. I was waving a newspaper column that had given me an especially bad dose of publicity. ‘Why me?’ I sobbed.” “Why not you?” asked Richard quietly. “That stopped me cold,” June admits. “He was so right. I had reached the point in my career where an occasional nasty bit of publicity was considered par for the course by most stars. But me—I wanted to be different, to have everyone like me. Now I know that’s impossible.” “No, it isn’t. It’s perfectly natural,” countered her relaxed husband. “When I go through the Powells’ lower gate in the morning,” Barbara Salisbury says, “it’s like driving into another world. Suddenly I’m in the peace and quiet of the country, surrounded by beautiful trees and the greenness that no city care can contrive. Inside, it’s warm, friendly and full of the feeling of family. There was a time when Richard and George Hall, the decorator, got together to decide on any possible changes. Last month, however, it was June who conferred with George on the divans, curtains, drapes—and she very definitely wanted a brass headboard in the master bedroom. After long discussions she took four possible choices to Richard, then they decided together on colors, textures and whatnot. I should add that her sense of humor hasn’t changed a bit. “She is still an out-and-out sentimentalist,” Barbara continues, “and I don’t think that will ever change. 

Sensitive and highly emotional, June is always touched by little things, and often a warm note affects her more than an expensive gift. Tears aren’t necessarily indicative of sadness in June—they can mean anything. Take the day I was working at the desk in her bedroom. June was sitting cross-legged on the floor of her dressing room, listening to a little radio and happily deciding which sweaters to keep. Five minutes later, when I walked in, she was still sitting on the floor—but with great big tears rolling down her face. “Why? Because an old Dick Powell record was being played on the radio. The fact that her husband, the father of her children, had recorded that song before she ever met him filled her with a flood of emotion that was only released by tears. She wiped her eyes, and she said brusquely, ‘Isn’t that silly? Bawling over a crazy record!’ Nevertheless, she immediately went to the phone and called Richard at the studio, just to say hello.” 

And Richard is a kind-hearted man, I really haven't known men with his special degree of discretion in showbusiness. June talks of his husband's skills as director: “Being his wife, I couldn’t help being proud of the way people felt about Richard. He’s wonderful to work with, and the crew idolized him. I don’t think I ever met a nicer, happier group of people. Richard has a mad habit which relieves tension and puts everyone in stitches. We were doing a scene one day when it started to rain. Everyone was ready to bite nails. Suddenly over the director’s mike came the dulcet voice of Richard Powell, singing ‘When Irish Eyes Are Smiling’—with the flattest high notes I ever heard. It broke us all up. If the director could joke, so could we. Richard has a wonderful way with people, and the picture we made together was more fun than any I’ve done. And I honestly don’t think I’m prejudiced. Anyone who works with him will tell you the same thing.” Sources: Dee Phillips for Photoplay magazine (November 1956) and Confessions of an ex-fan magazine writer (1981) by Jane Wilkie

Good News (1947) was the best musical from the Roaring Twenties from the premier songwriting team of DeSylva, Brown & Henderson. It ran on Broadway for 557 performances in the 1927-29 season and gave the team a number of song hits identified with them like the title song, Just Imagine, Lucky In Love, and The Best Things In Life Are Free. All of those songs made it as well as one of the great dance numbers of the Roaring Twenties, The Varsity Drag. The musicals of that era had the lightweight nonsensical plots which also were taken from the Broadway shows. Big man on campus, Peter Lawford, has to get a passing grade in French to stay eligible for the football squad. He gets mousy student librarian June Allyson assigned as a tutor and the inevitable happens. After that Lawford has to choose romantically between mercenary coed Patricia Marshall and June Allyson. It's a struggle, but you guess who he winds up with. Good News presents an idealized version of the Roaring Twenties and is the quintessential college musical which flooded Hollywood mostly in the years before World War II. It holds up well as entertainment and the songs are still fabulous. Source: greatentertainerarchives.blogspot.com

June Allyson's name is included in The Rat Pack's list of conquests (Rat Pack Confidental by Shawn Levy), presumably by Peter Lawford, who had a huge crush on Allyson. Aside from affording his mother May a society in which she could act the grande dame, Hollywood gave Peter the opportunity to chase every famous skirt in the world: Lana Turner, Rita Hayworth, Anne Baxter, Judy Garland, June Allyson, Ava Gardner. Most insidiously, May Lawford responded to her son’s growing apart from her by walking into Louis B. Mayer’s office and telling the prudish studio chief that Peter was a homosexual, a charge that Peter was forced to refute by soliciting the explicit testimony of Lana Turner; the canard drove a permanent wedge between him and his mother. Frank Sinatra was carrying a grudge against Peter, too. In late ’53, after she and Frank had split, Ava Gardner had a drink with Peter at an L.A. nightspot.

When Louella Parsons reported the little tête-à-tête, Frank went bonkers, calling Peter at two in the morning and shouting at him, “Do you want your legs broken, you fucking asshole? Well, you’re going to get them broken if I ever hear you’re out with Ava again. I’ll kill you.” Sammy Davis Jr.: “There was switching partners and group sex. When living got too depressing, hanging out with a group like that got your mind off it, for that moment at least it fogged your brain and you didn’t feel so bad. Sex wasn’t the point, though. You didn’t want to be alone. Two or three people would get into bed with you and you’d fall asleep. You had physical companionship, that’s what you needed, a quiet, friendly body lying next to you, and you’d sleep.” Milton Ebbins: “Sammy had found this beautiful little model, a white girl. He fell in love with her, and they were living together while they were filming Salt and Pepper. Peter stole her away. Sammy came to me and said, ‘That fucker, I’ll never talk to him again.’ I asked Peter, ‘What did you do?’ And Peter replied nonchalantly, ‘I stole his girl.’” Joe Naar recalls one night that Peter drank heavily and boasted of having hooked up with June Allyson. Maybe Sinatra was jealous? Lawford wondered, which a skeptical Sinatra denied. Dean Martin had received some cordial telegram from Allyson and he also had hinted at a fling with her, surmising that Dick Powell was boring. Sinatra just said to Martin to shut up. It's very likely Sinatra admired Powell's singing prowess as a crooner, and was fed up with Lawford's snobbery and Martin's brashness. —Rat Pack Confidential (1998) by Shawn Levy