Jimmy Stewart is a beloved actor of pre-and-post World War II in America. He was a great American, but with the normal weaknesses to which all flesh is prone. Here’s the skinny.
Good Guy Ask anyone to describe Jimmy Stewart and they’re likely to recall a quiet, congenial man with an “aw-shucks” manner. This is the public persona he cultivated, and like good actors, he rarely broke character. Besides, it was not “character”—that was just him. His wholesome attitude, his winning personality, and his earnestness in such movies as Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Destry Rides Again and It’s a Wonderful Life have fixed him in the mind of the American public as a good guy.
It’s a Wonderful Life was made after Mr. Stewart returned from the devastating work of the 445th Bomb Group in World War II. Americans needed to believe it was a “Wonderful life.” He was feeling his way along as he resumed his career in make-believe. This movie called for emotions Stewart had never portrayed before (a drunk suicide). The scene in Nick’s bar so drained him that he begged the director not to make him do it again.
The movie was made in Encino, California. It was a hot, hot night when our tall man stood, waiting for the director to call for action, and refusing to put a scarf around his neck until the last moment. “Snow” (see picture below) had been trucked in—700 tons of gypsum to literally plaster a town white.
Post-war America was wounded, so calling a movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life” had some appeal. So many came home shattered by the war; families did not recognize the men who returned to them. Families complained their men were cold, distant, mad and had nightmares!” Nightmares like: There’s no oxygen at 20,000 feet with 190s zipping past, spraying lead and firing rockets, flak bursting about the cockpit. B-24s hit, burning, spinning out of formation. Bail out! Bail out! Do you see any chutes? How many chutes? Whose ship was that? Oh no, not him! Bodies and pieces of bodies smacking off the windshield. A hole blown in the underbelly of the plane and air that was thirty degrees below zero gushing into the plane, biting every exposed square inch of airman skin.
Because powerful, throbbing engines—each generating 1500 horsepower— drumming their ears for hours, airmen no longer heard well. And they shook. Stewart awoke many nights in drenching sweat, shaking.
When Stewart returned, like thousands of others, he wondered if he was a has-been, as was rumored. Thousands upon 1000s had no idea where their next paycheck was coming from. Stewart was among the nervous, even though he had a recognizable face and many friends. Hollywood is a fickle town—you are only as good as your last movie. Stewart had been gone five years.
Could he provide a convincing performance in a movie titled It’s a Wonderful Life?
A decent hard-working man, Stewart put himself into each movie, becoming the person the script called for. He was well-liked by his colleagues. Like any great artist, he made it look easy so the audience was comfortable with him, not realizing the cost.
When he returned home, he refused to capitalize on the true-life heroism of his war experiences. He also refused to talk about the war.
Childhood Born May 20, 1908, in a quiet, hilly Pennsylvania town of Indiana, population 7,000. King coal ruled the area. Religion was a big part of his family life. Presbyterian. His mother played the organ and his father sang in the choir. Mr. Stewart, Sr., said grace at meals. Jimmy’s father was the town character—a loud, extroverted, opinionated man who required a fair amount of attention and pampering. He remembered everyone’s name, and always had a story to tell; a semi-heavy drinker, his hardware store provided the needed platform.
Alex Stewart, Jim’s dad, was his role model and walking in his footsteps meant that Jim become something of a performer. It was expected. But Jim did not have the high volume of his father, nor the extroversion. He grew up quiet like his mother but with a nervous stomach that made it difficult to eat a full meal. Through his whole life he rarely spoke what he was thinking. He was a nervous kid on the inside, high-strung and unsure of himself. Quiet. And interested in girls.
When a customer offered an accordion as payment in lieu of cash at the hardware store, Jim picked it up and started playing it, taking lessons from the Italian barber up the street.
In 1917, Jimmy went to New York to see his father inducted into the Great War (World War I). With his family he climbed the steps to the Statue of Liberty and climbed out on her nose, despite his fear of the great height because he wanted to prove to his father how brave he was. Alex set high standards. Jim felt motivated to take extreme measures to prove himself.
The United States military was in the DNA of his ancestors. Ancestors served in the Revolutionary War (1776) and the Civil War (1864). The Stewart families were raised with the belief that each generation of Stewart men had a mission—serve the country. A heavy military air hung over Stewart families, influencing Jimmy’s youth.
In 1921 his grandfather retired from his hardware store giving ownership of his store to his son, Alex (Jimmy’s father). Jim’s grandfather remained a daily visitor to the enterprise and was there for Jim as a comforting companion and fount of wisdom. Questions the self-critical Jim couldn’t ask Dad could be directed to granddad, about life in general and girls in particular.
Successful in business, grandfathers James and his son, Alex, had a swashbuckling way about them. When a wife died, there was always another Mrs. Stewart in the wings.
Theater During his first year at Mercersburg Academy (central Pennsylvania), Jim worked hard. His second year was marred by an attack of scarlet fever and then a kidney infection that kept him bedridden for months.
When Jim got a job at the Ritz Theater in Indiana, Pennsylvania, he got the idea that acting might be an interesting vocation.
To be continued . . .
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