The Truth About My Feuds—Louella Parsons

My friend “Chuck” Saxon, Ye Ed of MODERN SCREEN, has asked me to let my short hair down and give with the truth about my feuds—real and otherwise—with certain Hollywood characters.

It’s an assignment I suppose I should coyly sidestep and say, “Feuds, suh? Really, I don’t know what you mean.”

But if I am anything, I’m a truthful woman, let the chips fall where they may—so here goes:

In my 25 years plus in this town, I have had some hair curling battles that were dillys.

I’ve yelled and shouted over telephones telling off stars, producers, directors and press agents alike. But, in most cases, after the smoke has died down a few days later, I have forgotten the row. It just ain’t true that my memory is more relentless than that of an elephant and that I never forget! I not only forget—but forgive, except in a few isolated cases.

In other words, there are what I consider my minor “skirmishes” as against four or five really major battles which have flourished for years.

Conspicuous headliners in the latter group are—Orson Welles and Rex Harrison! Let’s take on sexy Rexy first:

When Lilli Palmer and Harrison first came to Hollywood, I, along with many of the film colony, went all out to welcome the talented British actor. Rex can be so charming with the ladies and I confess I found myself as gullible as the rest.

I was in Europe when Carole Landis committed suicide. That Rex had been her good friend we all knew. I had talked with Carole shortly before I left for Europe, and she had told me of her great friendship for Harrison. I had known Carole a long time and was very fond of her.

I cabled my syndicate stories about Carole, but was always very careful not to mention Rex in any unpleasant way. He was also helped through this difficult time by Darryl Zanuck’s entire 20th Century-Fox publicity department.

So what does Mr. Harrison do? First, he goes to Canada and makes a speech in which he excoriates me and all other Hollywood columnists. The very people who had protected him, he called “the most evil influence” in Hollywood.

And this did not end Mr. Harrison’s tirade. Oh, no—he wasn’t content to let it die. Several years later, he wrote a series of articles for a London magazine in which he harpooned Hollywood with silly assertions like “butlers there arrive for work in Cadillacs.” He also stated that he could never get five minutes alone with head man Darryl Zanuck, and was forced to make pictures he didn’t like. These may not be his exact words—but it’s the gist of it—this and unflattering things about Hollywood and its people.

But the most untruthful story he recounted was his distorted version of an incident long since forgotten between Gene Tierney and myself. As Harrison told it, we were all guests at a dinner party and our host, kindly Gary Cooper, asked Gene to leave his home because she had annoyed me!

Rex said it made him sick to his stomach, all the bowing and scraping and “fear” of me at the Coopers. No, he didn’t actually mention names, but he didn’t need to.

What actually happened was this: I was in truth annoyed with Gene for good reason. I thought she had done a very unethical thing (unethical in newspaper circles) and Im a girl who speaks her mind about such matters. As we met face to face, I promptly told her off!

My quarrel with glamorous Gene was based on a “news” story. I had had the inside tip that although she and Oleg Cassini had separated, and she had obtained her interlocutory divorce decree, they had secretly reconciled and were expecting a baby. That’s a good dramatic story with a lot of reader appeal, and as I knew it was all true, I could have broadcast and printed the news without calling Gene. But, as always, I checked my facts to make doubly sure.

I called Gene and told her what I knew. She very simply said, “It’s all true.” I thanked her, and asked her to keep it exclusive for me. It’s an unwritten law in the newspaper game that “the story” belongs to the fellow who gets it.

That night, at Rocky and Gary Cooper’s dinner dance, I walked over to the table where Gene was sitting and told her how glad I was that she and Oleg had refound their happiness; and I also thanked her for being so honest with me.

Gene looked at me with those great big beautiful eyes and said, “Oh, as soon as you telephoned and I knew you had the story, I gave it to another reporter on a rival syndicate. I can’t afford to antagonize anyone, you know.”

Oh, no! Well, she had antagonized me—and how! I swear. for a-moment, I saw red. I was so mad I couldn’t see straight, and la Tierney knew exactly how blazing mad I was. When I’m mad (particularly when I feel I’m justified) I do not simmer or boil. I explode!

I might add that Gene has a temper almost as good as mine. If I had started the fracas, Miss Tierney most certainly finished it when we met in the hallway as we were departing. She told me off, doing as thorough a job as I had done earlier. But, as far as Gary’s asking her to leave—that’s applesauce!

It was a beautiful battle which Gene and I have both forgotten long since. Fortunately for Gene (and me) the reporter she had tipped to my story was too inexperienced to telephone the news to her paper immediately, and after a short dash to my telephone, the “scoop” was all mine after all.

All was well that ended well, and as far as Miss T. and Miss P. were concerned the “incident was closed. But not to Rex Harrison who insinuated that I had demanded that Gene be ordered to leave the party; a request (he said) the host was “too spineless” to ignore. After that, Harrison piously concluded, he did not want ever to attend any parties where columnists were present. So with that, he took on the entire Hollywood press!

And that’s that for Rex Harrison and Gene Tierney.

The amusing thing about my “feud” with James Mason is that we never exchanged a harsh word when we formerly met at Hollywood parties.

We don’t meet any more. Mr. Mason fixed that. When one of my closest friends. Joan Bennett, gave a farewell dinner party for Meson and his wife just before they eft for England last fall, he requested that my name be omitted from the guest list.

Joan, thoroughly surprised, asked, ‘Why?”

Mason said it was because of uncomplimentary things I had printed about him.

I have also printed some very nice things about him—but I suppose that doesn’t count. I had taken him and Pamela to a party in New York, and had supper with them at the Stork. In fact, I had! always admired him as an actor in English pictures, and would probably have continued to do so until Mason (who had never been to Hollywood) chose to write an article about Hollywood, blasting my home town in a national magazine.

I thought it was utterly ridiculous for a man who had never set foot inside the Los Angeles city limits to make such an attack—and I said so. I still think so, even though Mr. Mason and his wife Pamela, and their assorted cats have since settled here and are crazy about the life.

My point is, why didn’t he find out about us before he made harmful attacks on the world capital of the movies?

But that’s yesterday’s squabble. So let’s forget it.

I have saved Orson Welles for the last of my “major” dislikes because he is the one with whom I never expect to smoke the pipe of peace. On one horrible occasion since the beginning of my vendetta, I was forced to sit next to Welles at a dinner party given by Evelyn Walsh McLean when she was living in Beverly Hills.

Orson was then married to Rita Hayworth; and Rita’s agonized look when she saw what the hostess had done in the seating arrangements would have moved a heart of stone!

I adore Rita and I couldn’t bear that stricken look on her face. So Welles and I sat side by side, munching our food and exchanging the necessary amenities during that entire embarrassing meal. Oh, well—if it wasn’t so peppy socially, I suppose it aided digestion.

My anger at Welles stems from a deliberate lie he told me. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s for a person to be dishonest with me.

Many years back, I had heard that Welles was making a picture about someone I love very much. I telephoned to ask him if this were true. He said (and I shall remember his words always), “It couldn’t be farther from the truth. It has nothing to do with that person, and it’s about an entirely different character.”

Then he called three other well known film critics and showed them the: picture, which was so shocking to one of them, a friend of mine, that he called and said, “Do you know what this picture is?”

I demanded to see the film. Flanked by two lawyers, I went to the studio to find out if my worst suspicions were true.

What I had to say to Orson Welles after I saw that picture was plenty—a barrage directed straight from my heart. I could not have been more shocked or unhappy. Welles tried to brazen it out by sending flowers and writing me notes—which were promptly sent back.

And from that day to this I have never forgiven him. I can take darts directed at me. I have felt the sting of many of them. But I cannot bear to see anyone I love hurt.

And so—there are the “major” feuds in my life. As for the lesser ones—well, many of them have been exaggerated out of all proportion, and some of them are completely untrue.

For instance, one of the most thoroughly publicized feuds never happened! I was supposed to be carrying an undying “mad” on Joan Crawford (who is one of my closest friends) because at the time the story of her divorce from Douglas Fairbanks Jr. broke, Joan had given it to a close friend for a magazine article, instead of to me for my newspaper syndicate.

What really happened was: Joan had promised the story of the break up of her marriage to Doug to Katherine Albert, her close friend, for a magazine article. (Katherine is the mother of Joan Evans who was named for Crawford.) I did not know this. But I had heard that the young Fairbanks were having trouble. I didn’t believe it—but still I did not want to ignore the scoop.

So I called Joan and told her I was going to do a sympathetic story telling how the rumors about her and Doug were not true and that they were still very happy.

“Please don’t do that,” pleaded Joan. “Please don’t print anything about how happy we are.”

That was enough for Parsons. I got on my horse and went directly to Joan’s house.

She admitted to me the truth—that she and Douglas were parting. Then, in a panic, she called the MGM studio to tell them what she had done. Where was Parsons? In another room, my friends, calling the “beat” in to my newspaper. We beat the world by two editions, and Katherine Albert’s magazine yarn by several weeks.

How the story ever got around that I would never “forgive” Joan I shall never know. If ever there was a “feud” which did not exist, it is my “supposed” fracas with Miss Crawford, whom I happen to like very much.

Equally silly is the old one about Ginger Rogers and me. Oh, brother, were Ginger and I supposed to hate each other! We were said to be bitter enemies. There was so much printed about us, I almost began to believe there was some truth to it. But I could never get anyone to explain what Ginger and I were supposed to be hassling about. This nonsensical state of affairs went on for several very tedious years.

Finally, Ginger and I sat down and decided we were going to end this business once and for all. The funny part is—we had absolutely nothing to get off our chests!

So we had a good laugh about it, ending with my inviting Ginger to appear on my radio show. And later I did an interview with her in the paper, officially burying our non-existent hatchet.

There was more body to the misunderstanding that lasted a year or so between Corinne Calvet, the little French actress; and her “worst enemy”—as she looked on me. When Corinne was brought to this country by Paramount, she was given a big chance for which many girls would have slaved.

But instead of trying to learn English and improve herself, the pretty mademoiselle neglected her studies and dramatic lessons and was the belle of the nightclub circuit.

When Paramount let her go (highly impatient with her) I thought she was the most foolish girl in the world, and said so in my column. What a waste for a girl to throw away such a golden opportunity.

But being ignored by the studios and falling really in love were two developments which completely changed Corinne. John Bromfield, himself a fine actor, did much to bring about this change, for Corinne is madly in love with her handsome husband.

After she married him and got another movie chance with Hal Wallis, she became “Miss Diligence” herself. She also sent word that she would like to meet me.

I couldn’t help being touched—she seemed so childlike when she said, “I am glad you scolded me. I deserved it. But now I am different and I wish we could be friends.”

“Then it isn’t true,” I laughed, “that you once said you’d like to put poison in my soup?”

“Ohhhhhhh,” she squealed, embarrassed. “Oh, no, that is not true anymore!”

Corinne was a darling when she appeared on my radio show and she made many friends—including me!

In closing, I want to say one thing about these Hollywood feuds—mine, or any others. In this town, as has often been pointed out, every little action is magnified. A simple little misunderstanding or a few words spoken in good old-fashioned temper are made to sound like a battle royal.

As I grow older, I realize you only hurt yourself by holding grudges and enmity against others.

Hollywood has so many vicious attacks from the outside, I think all of us in the industry should stick together as much as possible, and try to understand the other fellow’s “side” of any problem.

This I shall try to do—until somebody does me “dirt” again!

THE END

—BY LOUELLA PARSONS

 

It is a quote. MODERN SCREEN MAGAZINE MAY 1951