At eight o’clock I slunk into the Pig & Whistle. Ted and Alex were seated at a booth, waiting for me. I had brought two copies of the story.
“I can’t wait to read it,” Alex said.
Ted nodded. “Neither can I.”
I sat down and handed them each a copy. They started reading. I couldn’t bear to look at them. They were turning pages. No comment. More pages. Silence.
It’s what we deserve, I thought. How can anyone write a story under that kind of pressure?
They both finished at the same time. Alex looked up at me. “It’s brilliant.”
“Wonderful,” Ted chimed in. “You’re right. This is better than Dangerous Holiday.”
I could not believe what I was hearing.
“We’ll give you five hundred dollars,” Alex said, “and you and Ben will write the screenplay for that.”
I took a deep, deep breath. “It’s a deal.”
Ben and I had performed a miracle. We had sold two stories in a period of twenty-four hours.
That night, Ben and I went to Musso & Frank’s, one of Hollywood’s classic restaurants, to celebrate. It was the first time we had been able to afford it. It was one day past my twenty-fourth birthday.
South of Panama was made by the Producers Releasing Corporation and starred Roger Pryor and Virginia Vale. Paramount made Dangerous Holiday and renamed it Fly-By-Night. It starred Richard Carlson and Nancy Kelly.
Ben and I were on a roll. The first thing I did was quit my reader’s job at Fox. Mr. Zanuck would have to get along without me. Shortly after I left Fox, Ben and I sold another story, called Borrowed Hero, to Monogram, a small studio that made B movies, and Dangerous Lady and Gambling Daughters to PRC. For each story and screenplay we received five hundred dollars, which Ben and I shared. It would be hyperbole to suggest that these were memorable movies, but at least we were now recognized screenwriters.
Leonard Fields, a producer at Republic Studios—the top of the B studio list—bought a story of ours called Mr. District Attorney in the Carter Case. For the story and the screenplay, Ben and I received the munificent sum of six hundred dollars.
The picture proved to be successful and Leonard Fields called me in. “We’d like to put you and Ben under contract.”
“Great!”
“Five hundred a week.”
“For each of us?”
“For the team.”
Ben and I worked on screenplays at Republic for a year, until our contract was up. At Christmas, Leonard Fields sent for us.
“You boys are doing a terrific job. We’re going to re-sign you.”
“That’s great news, Leonard. The only thing is that Ben and I would like six hundred dollars a week.”
Leonard Fields nodded. “I’ll call you.”
We never heard from Leonard Fields again.
I talked to Ray Crossett, and I asked him why he could not get us a job at a major studio.
“I’m afraid your credits are not very impressive. I’d have a better chance if you’d never written any of those pictures.”
So Ben and I continued to write and sell B pictures. It was a living.
I went home to Chicago for Thanksgiving, and it was wonderful to see Richard and my parents. Otto insisted on having the neighbors in, so that they could meet his son, who controlled Hollywood.
CHAPTER 11
It was wonderful to be home. Richard had grown up. He had graduated grammar school and was ready for high school. The only thing that marred my trip home was that Natalie and Otto were still fighting. And this time it was Richard who was caught in the middle.
I spoke to Natalie and Otto about it, but the bitterness ran too deep for them to stop fighting. They were simply wrong for each other.
I decided it was time for Richard to come to Hollywood. Ben and I were selling enough stories for me to support myself and my brother.
I said to Richard, “How would you like to go to Hollywood High?”
He was staring at me. “Do you mean it?”
“You bet I do.”
There was a silence and then a yell that I thought was going to break my eardrums.