CHAPTER FIVE

Inventing a Hollywood Star

THE WHOLE PROCESS STARTED SO IMPROBABLY THAT IT WOULD ALMOST seem to have been the plot of a Hollywood movie. Sterling Hayden was unemployed, back at Boston’s T Wharf with his friends and drinking buddies Larry O’Toole and Tom Horgan. It was almost Christmas 1940, and the three had just finished dinner. It was Horgan who brought up the subject once again, pointing out to his young friend that he really didn’t have any other options left. To his surprise and delight, Hayden finally agreed. He would try and break into Hollywood. It was O’Toole who burst out with: “Now you’re talkin’ some sense.”¹

Horgan had several connections in the entertainment industry. A key contact was his friend Virginia Hawks. A year earlier, she had married influential Hollywood agent William Hawks. Among Hawks’s prestigious clients was novelist William Faulkner. Grabbing another drink, Horgan dictated a letter to Virginia Hawks while O’Toole wrote down his message. Addressing it to Virginia care of the William Hawks Agency, he began to rattle off his message. “Dear Virginia: This is important. There’s a young fellow here named Hayden who, if the Boston newspapers are any judge, is made to order for Hollywood. He is twenty-four years old, six feet four inches tall, weighs 220. I’ll enclose some pictures and clippings to show you what he looks like. Also he is the youngest Master Mariner in this part of the world … Now tell that agent husband of yours to come back and take a look at this Viking and sign him up, before somebody else does.” He closed by adding: “Also, he is broke.”² Finishing his dictation, Horgan raised his glass and the three friends toasted to the future. The booze kept flowing.

It started just as improbably as that.

Throughout January 1940, they waited for an answer from Hawks. O’Toole planned to give the agent three weeks and then they would travel to New York City. The three weeks passed without a reply from the agent. There was another slight issue complicating their plans—both Hayden and O’Toole were broke. Hayden was forced to take a job making a run on the schooner Ethel B. Penney to raise money for their New York trip. After a wild, alcohol-filled farewell party, the duo jumped on a steamer to New York and upon arrival, checked into the Edison Hotel on Times Square. Immediately requesting that the bellhop bring up a bottle of rum, O’Toole got to work. His Irish rascal charm was in full force as he picked up the phone and called across the street to Harry Goufrain, a theatrical agent with whom he was acquainted. Within a minute, he secured an appointment for them with Goufrain.

As the pair approached the agent’s office, O’Toole offered Hayden advice that was likely never endorsed by Stanislavski. “Keep your hands outa your pockets, stand up straight, look this guy square in the eye and keep thinkin’ over and over: ‘Go fuck yourself, Harry, go fuck yourself Harry’—like that—over an’ over, got it?”³ Before entering the office, O’Toole assured Hayden that he and Goufrain were good buddies and if the agent liked him, “then you’re as good as a star right now.”⁴

The buoyant O’Toole made the introductions and Hayden shook the agent’s hand so firmly that the man grimaced in pain. Goufrain proceeded to question the handsome young man in front of him, trying to ascertain his theatrical background, which Hayden assured him was nonexistent. Finally, the agent asked Hayden what made him think he could act. Before he could even answer, O’Toole emphatically interjected: “Harry, the kid’s modest, that’s what. Of course he can act. I can act, you can act, anybody can act if he feels like actin’, what’s so tough about actin’?”⁵ Convinced of the young man’s potential, the agent signed him to a standard New York agency contract. He also insisted that O’Toole sign it, to keep his investment straight.

As they departed, Hayden’s partner and mentor advised him to go and see several movies a day, studying the actors intently. In short order, O’Toole departed, heading back to Boston and T Wharf. Hayden checked into a cheap, seedy room on West Fifty-Second Street and awaited calls from his agent. A month went by without any calls from Harry Goufrain. It seemed like Hayden was once again back to square one, but his luck, and his life, were about to change drastically. Once again, it was Tom Horgan who would prove to be the catalyst.

• • •

Edward H. Griffith was a fifty-one year-old Hollywood stalwart who had started his professional life as a newspaper reporter and magazine writer. He had migrated over to the film industry, and by the late 1930s, he had achieved success as a screenwriter, producer, and director. Several of his recent successful films had starred the reigning Hollywood leading lady, the elegant Madeleine Carroll. His newest film project had the working title of The Southerner, and its stars would be Carroll and Fred MacMurray. The plot revolved around a southern belle, played by Carroll, who returns home to her Virginia roots after the Civil War with the intention of selling her family property. She has a change of heart and is romantically pursued by a good-hearted local Virginian played by MacMurray. Her love life would be complicated by the arrival from up north of another handsome suitor, a role that hadn’t been cast. It was at this point in late winter that Harry Goufrain met with Griffith and showed him the letter written by Tom Horgan. Griffith decided to meet with the handsome sailor.

Sterling Hayden was getting ready to leave New York since he couldn’t pay his rent. Suddenly he received a message, resplendent with spelling errors, from his landlord. “Mr. Hagen,” it read, “Call Mr. Griffis at Paramount Pictures or Hampshire House.”⁶ The director from Paramount wanted to interview him. Nervously, Hayden took five walks in front of the building on Central Park South as the time of his appointment with Griffith approached. Entering the Hampshire House at the appointed time, Hayden was treated like expected royalty and was escorted up to the Paramount Suite. He was politely introducing himself to one of Griffith’s assistants, whom he had mistaken for Griffith, when the director came bounding into the room. He immediately started peppering Hayden with questions about his background. He then ordered him to walk to the window and stare down at Central Park. Doing as he was instructed, the director asked, “Mr. Hayden, do you always stand with your hands in your pockets that way?”

“No, sir, only when I’m scared,” he replied, rapidly pulling his hands out.

“You are nervous now?”

“You’re doggone right I am,” he blurted out, surprised that he hadn’t used profanity.⁷

Next, Griffith had him go through an acting scene and observed him as he read from the supplied script. He noted that the young man had a broken tooth and a scar on his left cheek. Hayden started to explain how he had acquired these during his many voyages when the director raised his hand and cut him off. “Very well now. I think, Mr. Hayden, that we will make a screen test.” His assistant concurred with his plan. The incredulous Hayden could only ask: “Are you serious?” The director assured him that he was and scheduled the screen test for the following Wednesday.

The screen test took place on March 15 in one of Paramount’s New York studios. Hayden was ushered in and immediately sent to makeup. As the makeup artist was working on him, Larry O’Toole came bounding into the room. After Hayden wired him about the screen test, O’Toole immediately hopped on a bus to New York, arriving at that precise moment to provide support to his friend.

They headed for wardrobe and on the way O’Toole slipped him a flask, encouraging him to take a swig of bourbon to steady his nerves. After the wardrobe session, it was time for the screen test. They entered the studio and the director greeted him and the crew staged him by a table. This was the silent part of his test, during which Griffith wanted to shoot several poses of the prospective actor. Then the director barked out several scenarios for Hayden to react to: he was on a high floor of a hotel and looking down, observing a woman being hit by a car; he was a skipper of a boat trying to navigate his boat through a deadly storm; he was in Grand Central Station all alone when he finally spots the love of his life and runs to her.

After an hour, the director called for a break. Hayden and O’Toole immediately departed to get a drink. When the duo returned, the spoken part of the screen test was ready to take place. A short time later, Edward Griffith was joined by Russell Holman, head of Paramount East Productions, to watch the recently shot screen test. Hayden frequently blew his lines, but they were fed to him by one of the film assistants. He felt that it had been a dismal failure and before the end, he convinced O’Toole to leave with him. He was already planning on returning to sea.

O’Toole felt just the opposite. He thought the screen test had gone extremely well, based on what they observed. “You’re in, I tell ya—You’re in!” he insisted. Call Griffith, he demanded, and you’ll see. Complying with his buddy’s directive, he called up to Griffith, who sounded jubilant as he informed Hayden that the test was a success and instructed him to return immediately. He and Holman had a contract for him to sign.⁸

And so began Sterling Hayden’s movie career.

• • •

In May 1940, not long after signing his forty-two-page contract with Paramount Pictures, Hayden moved to a Spanish-style house in Laurel Canyon, near Paramount’s Hollywood studios. The dutiful son brought his mother Frances to the West Coast to share the house with him. To his amazement, he was now being paid $600 a month—three times as much as he had ever earned at sea.⁹ Every morning, he would go to the studio where he had his own dressing room as well as a personal trainer named Jim.

For six days a week, his daily routine remained the same. In the mornings he would have weight training and exercises supervised by Jim. Next came acting lessons, supervised by acting coach Bill Russell, and visits to the publicity department. Hayden quickly learned that the name of the game was to get individually noticed and singled out from the myriad of other aspiring actors vying for their big break. He differed from these others in that he was indifferent; he really didn’t care. It was hard for him to take the whole thing too seriously. Many of his fellow aspiring actors had been plugging away for years waiting for their moment in the sun. In Hayden’s case, however, the moment came after he had been in Hollywood for only three weeks,

One morning while pumping iron, Jim entered the room with an important message—Edward Griffith’s secretary had called and wanted Hayden to come to the office immediately. The young star-in-training quickly appeared in front of Griffith’s desk and the director asked him how things were going. Hayden candidly told him he was thinking of giving up the acting effort and going back to sea. Griffith interrupted him, saying “You’re about to receive the greatest surprise of your life.”¹⁰

“Sterling,” he continued, “I am going to do something that has never been done before in Hollywood. The front office thinks I’m insane. I’m going to star you in my next picture, Virginia. You will play the second male lead, next to Fred MacMurray. You will be playing opposite Madeleine Carroll.” Hayden claimed to feign surprise as Griffith continued, explaining that he would need to learn how to ride and jump a horse in preparation for his role as a country gentleman from the North. Jubilantly Griffith predicted that when the publicity department learned of this plan, they would go wild.¹¹

As Griffith expounded on his plans for the young star, he mentioned one potential problem. “There is one possible hitch … Miss Carroll is the star. Miss Carroll has cast approval. It is not an easy thing for a girl in her position to play opposite someone as—as inexperienced as you. She might object.”

Leaving Griffith’s office after being informed he would be co-starring in a major Hollywood production, despite having no acting experience, Hayden would claim in his 1963 autobiography: “The strange thing is, I knew all along this would happen.”¹²

That summer, the cast and crew of Virginia traveled by railroad to Charlottesville, Virginia, where the film was being shot. Upon arrival, the stars, including Hayden, were taken to their lodging at the Farmington Hunt Club. That night, Griffith prepped Hayden for his dinner date with Madeleine Carroll. They arrived at her suite with a gaggle of Paramount crew in attendance. Finally, she arrived and welcomed him. He was immediately struck by her natural beauty. Although she was not wearing makeup and her hair was tied back, Hayden noted: “I knew she was lovely, but nothing like this.”¹³

At thirty-four years of age, Madeleine Carroll was one of filmdom’s top box-office draws. Her myriad of hits included Lloyds of London, The General Died at Dawn, The Prisoner of Zenda, and Alfred Hitchcock’s The 39 Steps. A sophisticated Englishwoman, she received a bachelor’s degree from the University of Birmingham, and it was during her senior year there that she had landed her first leading role in a school play. Abandoning her plans to obtain a master’s degree, she focused on an acting career that soon took off. She and Capt. Phillip Astley of the Kings Guards were married in 1931 before divorcing in 1939. And now, the following year, she was having dinner with her new potential co-star, an actor who had never acted. He was, as she noted, extremely handsome. She invited him to dine with her that evening at the resort’s main restaurant.

The unlikely couple hit it off at dinner, very much enjoying each other’s company. Hayden was delighted to learn that, like him, she considered acting a means to an end, and her real interest in the profession was in earning enough money to help war orphans in France. In 1938, she had purchased Chateau de Saudreville, just south of Paris, and earlier in 1940, had converted it over to an orphanage. At the orphanage, she supported a number of war orphans, an effort she would continue throughout the war.¹⁴ In response, Hayden shared his dream of buying a schooner in which to travel the world.

By the end of the evening and after several bottles of wine, they parted. There was an instant attraction between the handsome couple. Madeleine Carroll that night let Edward Griffith know that she wholeheartedly approved of his choice for the second male for Virginia.

The filming of Virginia took place over a six-week period in and around Charlottesville. Hayden was listed in the credits as “Stirling Hayden,” and he played the second male lead, a character named Norman Williams. During the shoot, Hayden often felt foolish and amateurish. In later years, he would fondly recollect how inexperienced he was in the ways of acting; when the director called for him to turn upstage, he had no idea what that meant and turned the wrong way. The one thing he felt strongly about was his physical attraction to the beautiful star of the film. The feeling was mutual and she and Hayden began an affair during the filming.

When the location filming was finished, work on the film continued at the studios in Hollywood. The lovers returned to the West Coast, resuming their affair. One day, they drove up the coast to a secluded house where he had arranged for two friends to be present so they could meet his paramour. They entered and were greeted by Larry O’Toole and Capt. Malcom MacDonald, a Boston Harbor pilot and among the group of his T Wharf drinking buddies. The two had driven out from Massachusetts to meet their young protégé and his glamourous new girlfriend. As was the case when most men met her, they were in awe of her beauty. As usual, O’Toole was his usual charming self.

When alone together that night, Hayden surprised O’Toole by telling him he was not enjoying his acting experience at all. “It’s not a life for a man,” he explained. “Not for me, it isn’t. I’ll tell you something, Larry. As soon as this picture is finished, I’m clearing out, fast.”¹⁵ As O’Toole pointed out the obvious, that he didn’t have enough money to buy his beloved schooner as planned, Hayden shifted his thoughts and for the first time mentioned the war in Europe. “What I want to do is get into the war somehow … What I think I’ll do is buy me a typewriter and a good camera and be a war correspondent.” O’Toole accused him of reading too much Hemingway.

O’Toole pointed out the obvious to his young friend—that he was under contract to Paramount and couldn’t just walk out. “They can’t force a guy to work when he doesn’t want to work,” replied Hayden. True, his friend noted, but they could sue him for breach of contract. The bottom line, countered Hayden, was: “They respect you if you don’t give a shit about money, if you tell them to take their dough and get lost.” Exasperated, O’Toole could only advise him to wait at least a year and raise the money he’d need to buy a schooner before abandoning the film industry.¹⁶

When the production wrapped on October 2 and the film went into post-production, it was time to build publicity for the film’s release, which was expected to take place late that coming winter. Madeleine Carroll had headed back east, while Fred MacMurray refused to go on a publicity tour. The job was left to Paramount’s newest discovery, a new actor that they described as “The Most Beautiful Man in the Movies,” and “The Beautiful Blond Viking God.” He was soon riding in the Christmas Day parade on Hollywood Boulevard along with Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. After New Year’s Day 1941, Griffith decided to send Hayden on a publicity tour to accompany the opening of the film on the East Coast. The highlight of the tour was an invitation to the White House where he accompanied fellow stars including Danny Kaye, Lana Turner, and Gene Kelly. As he filed past the president, he said: “Sir, Captain Ben Pine asked me to give you his regards and—” A delighted Roosevelt shot back: “Well, give my best to him. Tell him Thebaud should have won those last two races.”¹⁷

The publicity tour lasted five weeks, with the Paramount entourage visiting Richmond, Charlottesville, Norfolk, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Washington, New York, and Boston. The film was scheduled for general release in late February.

Virginia had its New York premiere on January 22, 1941, and New York Times film critic Bosley Crowther gave the film a tepid review, reserving most of his criticism for Edward Griffith’s direction and screenwriter Virginia Van Upp. Crowther addressed the actors thusly: “Fred MacMurray, as the noble Virginian, is somewhat smug, and Stirling Hayden, a newcomer to the screen, is just handsome and self-conscious as ‘the modern carpetbagger (as he facetiously calls himself).’”¹⁸ Griffith was satisfied enough with the onscreen chemistry between Carroll and Hayden that he was prepared to have the two of them in his next film, this time with Hayden as the male lead.

Griffith’s new film project was titled Bahama Passage and was filmed in various locations in the Bahamas. Production began on May 19, 1941. Playing island business owner Adrian Ainsworth, Hayden was again billed as “Stirling Hayden.” His love interest, Carol Delbridge, was played by Carroll. Sterling Hayden, in just his second Hollywood film, was the lead male star, playing opposite an established, beautiful Hollywood star. He had it made.

Or so it seemed.