in as he made a quick assessment of me. Then he asked me to fill up the tank. We got to chatting about the weather and how he liked his new car. He struck me as being a bit worn out and crabby so I asked him whether he’d had a rough day or had just been working late. He admitted that he was exhausted. He had just come off the set of a picture that he was shooting on a soundstage over at Universal. He said that he was the director.
I can’t remember the exact details of our conversation but he told me his name was George Cukor. I also know that he was directing A Double Life at the time. The film starred Ronald Colman, Edmond O’Brien, and Shelley Winters. Cukor was a legend in the motion picture industry. He had directed Camille, starring Greta Garbo, a movie I loved when I saw it as a teenager in Chicago. He also made Romeo and Juliet and one of my all-time favorites, The Philadelphia Story. Another of his more recent films at that time was Gaslight, featuring Ingrid Bergman and Charles Boyer in the starring roles.
I quickly warmed to the guy. He definitely seemed a bit odd, and nervous, but there was something fascinating about him. There was a lot about him to like. The feeling was obviously mutual because, even though I cannot remember exactly how or why it happened, he invited me over to his home in West Hollywood the following Sunday. He gave me his address and drove off, saying, “See you on Sunday, about noon.”
My normal working routine included Sundays from ten in the morning until midnight. I would have to ask Mac McGee, the mechanic, to stand in for me. Mac was a sweetheart of a guy. He usually worked in the service and repair bay on weekdays only, but I expected that he’d fill in for me at the pumps on Sunday. In retrospect I don’t know how much Mac ever really knew about what was going on in my life or at the gas station itself after dark. He was a square no-nonsense kind of a guy who pretty much stuck to himself and to his nine-to-five weekday work schedule.
As I went back into the office that night I began to think about Cukor. I had to stifle a chuckle. He had a very strange manner of speaking. Every word he had said he articulated unusually clearly. He had bared his teeth, hissing as he precisely pronounced each syllable. It was as though he were trying to enunciate the exact way to say something in a complex foreign language, his face becoming very expressive and animated as he spoke. It was hilarious, but in looking back on it now I figure that it was his way of imparting his innermost feelings, thoughts, directions, instructions, and ideas to people who worked under him. Perhaps that was how he managed to get such superb performances out of all his stars.
On Sunday I drove over to Cukor’s place on Cordell Drive in West Hollywood. The property consisted of a beautiful orange grove in the middle of which stood an ambling white house, surrounded by a high wall and gates. There was a large yet secluded pool at the side of the house. The main house was a single-story structure but because the grounds sloped downward to accommodate the pool area, the guest suite beneath the main house was on the same level as the pool. It was all very well-planned and beautifully executed, in keeping with George’s tastes and personality. When I arrived just before noon, lunch had already been laid out around the pool and Cukor was entertaining a small group of people . I didn’t recognize anyone and felt a little out of place as I walked up to the crowd. As soon as he saw me Cukor broke away from his guests and welcomed me with a very friendly, “Hello, there, dear boy. So glad you could come.”
He insisted that I call him George, asked me to remind him what my name was, and then he paraded me around, introducing me to everyone. I cannot remember who they all were, just that they were all famous and influential people. I do recall that they did their best to politely welcome me into their fold. I almost
I can’t remember the exact details of our conversation but he told me his name was George Cukor. I also know that he was directing A Double Life at the time. The film starred Ronald Colman, Edmond O’Brien, and Shelley Winters. Cukor was a legend in the motion picture industry. He had directed Camille, starring Greta Garbo, a movie I loved when I saw it as a teenager in Chicago. He also made Romeo and Juliet and one of my all-time favorites, The Philadelphia Story. Another of his more recent films at that time was Gaslight, featuring Ingrid Bergman and Charles Boyer in the starring roles.
I quickly warmed to the guy. He definitely seemed a bit odd, and nervous, but there was something fascinating about him. There was a lot about him to like. The feeling was obviously mutual because, even though I cannot remember exactly how or why it happened, he invited me over to his home in West Hollywood the following Sunday. He gave me his address and drove off, saying, “See you on Sunday, about noon.”
My normal working routine included Sundays from ten in the morning until midnight. I would have to ask Mac McGee, the mechanic, to stand in for me. Mac was a sweetheart of a guy. He usually worked in the service and repair bay on weekdays only, but I expected that he’d fill in for me at the pumps on Sunday. In retrospect I don’t know how much Mac ever really knew about what was going on in my life or at the gas station itself after dark. He was a square no-nonsense kind of a guy who pretty much stuck to himself and to his nine-to-five weekday work schedule.
As I went back into the office that night I began to think about Cukor. I had to stifle a chuckle. He had a very strange manner of speaking. Every word he had said he articulated unusually clearly. He had bared his teeth, hissing as he precisely pronounced each syllable. It was as though he were trying to enunciate the exact way to say something in a complex foreign language, his face becoming very expressive and animated as he spoke. It was hilarious, but in looking back on it now I figure that it was his way of imparting his innermost feelings, thoughts, directions, instructions, and ideas to people who worked under him. Perhaps that was how he managed to get such superb performances out of all his stars.
On Sunday I drove over to Cukor’s place on Cordell Drive in West Hollywood. The property consisted of a beautiful orange grove in the middle of which stood an ambling white house, surrounded by a high wall and gates. There was a large yet secluded pool at the side of the house. The main house was a single-story structure but because the grounds sloped downward to accommodate the pool area, the guest suite beneath the main house was on the same level as the pool. It was all very well-planned and beautifully executed, in keeping with George’s tastes and personality. When I arrived just before noon, lunch had already been laid out around the pool and Cukor was entertaining a small group of people . I didn’t recognize anyone and felt a little out of place as I walked up to the crowd. As soon as he saw me Cukor broke away from his guests and welcomed me with a very friendly, “Hello, there, dear boy. So glad you could come.”
He insisted that I call him George, asked me to remind him what my name was, and then he paraded me around, introducing me to everyone. I cannot remember who they all were, just that they were all famous and influential people. I do recall that they did their best to politely welcome me into their fold. I almost
Similar Books
