One week later, Richard moved into Gracie’s boardinghouse and I introduced him to everyone. I had never seen him so happy. I realized how much we had missed each other.
Three months after Richard and I left Chicago, Natalie and Otto got a divorce. I had mixed feelings about it, but I decided it was the best thing for everyone.
Early one morning, I received a phone call.
“Sidney?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, pal, this is Bob Russell.”
Not only was I not his pal, but I had never heard of Bob Russell. Probably a salesman. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but I haven’t time to—”
“You should have done some songs with Max Rich.”
I was startled for a moment. Who could have known—? But then I realized who it was. “Sidney Rosenthal!”
“Bob Russell,” he corrected. “I’m coming out to Hollywood to see you.”
“Great!”
One week later, Bob Russell arrived and moved into the last available room in Gracie’s boardinghouse. It was wonderful to see him. He was still as enthusiastic as ever.
“Are you still writing songs?” I asked.
“You bet I am. You shouldn’t have given it up,” he chided me.
Richard, who was gregarious, had already made friends at Hollywood High. Sometimes he brought them to Gracie’s boardinghouse and other times he was invited to their homes.
One night, when we were invited to a dinner party, I was taking a shower, and as I reached for the soap, the herniated disc in my back slipped out, and I fell to the floor in agony. I was in bed for the next three days. I decided that, like it or not, it was something I would have to live with for the rest of my life.
Natalie called me one evening. “I have some news for you, darling. I’m getting married.”
I was thrilled for her. I hoped this time she would be treated as she deserved to be treated. “Who is it? Do I know him?”
“His name is Martin Leeb. He’s a toy manufacturer. And he’s a doll.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I said enthusiastically. “When am I going to meet him?”
“We’ll come out there and visit you.”
When I told Richard the news, he was as excited as I was.
The next call, the following week, was from Otto. “Sidney, I just want to tell you I’m getting married.”
“Oh?” I was caught off guard. “Anyone I know?”
“No. Her name is Ann Curtis. She’s a very nice woman.”
“Well, I’m pleased for you, Otto. I hope you’ll be happy.”
“I know I’m going to be.”
I wondered.
With Bob Russell there, it was like old home week.
He had brought with him the latest song he had written. “It’s a torch song,” Bob said. “See what you think of it.”
I played it on the piano and said, “It’s beautiful.” I had an idea. “There’s a singer opening at a club on the east side Saturday. I’ll bet she could use this. Do you mind if I show it to her?”
“Be my guest.”
The following day I went to the club where the singer was rehearsing and showed her the song.
“I like it,” she said. “I’ll give you fifty dollars.”
“I’ll take it.”
When I gave the money to Bob, he grinned. “Thank you. Now I’m a professional.”
Hollywood had its temperamental mini-storms every day, but in Europe, there was a real storm brewing. It had started in 1939, when Germany and the Soviet Union invaded Poland. Britain, France, and Australia had declared war on Germany. In 1940, Italy had joined with Germany, and now a dozen European countries were at war. America had declared its neutrality. But not for long.
On December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor was attacked by the Japanese, and the following day, President Franklin D. Roosevelt declared war on Japan.
An hour after Roosevelt had declared war, Louis B. Mayer, the head of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, who was appointed by the MGM president, Nicholas Schenk, called a meeting of his top producers and directors. When they were assembled, Mayer said solemnly, “You all heard what happened at Pearl Harbor yesterday. Well, we’re not going to stand for it. We’re going to fight back.” He looked around the room. “I know that I can count on every one of you to join me in standing behind our great president—Nicholas M. Schenk.”