Джек Уорнер
I was called to California for the start of shooting (of Harper). And before we began on that opening day, Jack Warner himself visited the set.
He was the last of the titans, of the legendary studio heads who ran things in the so-called golden age of film; the Mayers and the Thalbergs had long since gone. I had heard stories about them all, not many flattering. They were brutal men, gut fighters, etc., etc.
Mr. Warner, when he appeared that day, was immaculately dressed. He had an aide with him, and the purpose of his visit was simply to wish everybody luck. He shook hands with Newman and with Jack Smight, the director, both of whom he knew. Then said hello to a bunch of the rest of us, his aide preceding him, telling him who we were and what our names were. It was all over quickly, a final wave and he and his aide were gone.
Shooting started.
Hours later, alone, I was wandering around the lot. I'd never been on a Hollywood film studio before and when I came to the Western street, lined on both sides with false fronts of saloons and general stores and all the rest, I was in hog heaven. I love Westerns, and Warners' had made a bunch of them, and I looked around and around, lost in memory, trying to remember which store front I might have seen in which movie. I have no idea how long I stood there by myself, but eventually I realized I wasn't by myself anymore.
Mr.Warner, also alone, was standing down the street, staring at me. I didn't know if I should be there or not, I didn't know if I'd committed some gaffe that would irritate the man, I didn't know anything except I felt like a ten-year-old getting caught in the wrong place by the school principal.
He looked at me for a long moment before he kind of shook his head and smiled and said, "Goldman, what the hell are you doing here?"
I was relieved he wasn't angry and we talked for a few minutes, maybe about the street, maybe about the old days, maybe about a million things. The truth is, I don't remember a single word of what was said.
I was simply stunned that he'd remembered my name....
He was the last of the titans, of the legendary studio heads who ran things in the so-called golden age of film; the Mayers and the Thalbergs had long since gone. I had heard stories about them all, not many flattering. They were brutal men, gut fighters, etc., etc.
Mr. Warner, when he appeared that day, was immaculately dressed. He had an aide with him, and the purpose of his visit was simply to wish everybody luck. He shook hands with Newman and with Jack Smight, the director, both of whom he knew. Then said hello to a bunch of the rest of us, his aide preceding him, telling him who we were and what our names were. It was all over quickly, a final wave and he and his aide were gone.
Shooting started.
Hours later, alone, I was wandering around the lot. I'd never been on a Hollywood film studio before and when I came to the Western street, lined on both sides with false fronts of saloons and general stores and all the rest, I was in hog heaven. I love Westerns, and Warners' had made a bunch of them, and I looked around and around, lost in memory, trying to remember which store front I might have seen in which movie. I have no idea how long I stood there by myself, but eventually I realized I wasn't by myself anymore.
Mr.Warner, also alone, was standing down the street, staring at me. I didn't know if I should be there or not, I didn't know if I'd committed some gaffe that would irritate the man, I didn't know anything except I felt like a ten-year-old getting caught in the wrong place by the school principal.
He looked at me for a long moment before he kind of shook his head and smiled and said, "Goldman, what the hell are you doing here?"
I was relieved he wasn't angry and we talked for a few minutes, maybe about the street, maybe about the old days, maybe about a million things. The truth is, I don't remember a single word of what was said.
I was simply stunned that he'd remembered my name....