Part 1 reports on the making of the Christmas movie “It’s a Wonderful Life,” Mr. Stewart’s post World War II return to Hollywood, his childhood, and his budding interest in theater.
Too weak to take on a more vigorous summer job, Jimmy teamed up with a friend’s magic show, playing audiences in and out with his accordion. He grew comfortable being in a spotlight, while remaining aloof with an aura of mystery which was attractive to the girls.
Princeton Always a strong influence in his life, Mr. Stewart’s father wanted him to go to Princeton University. So he did. Various plays and stage work occupied him through his Princeton years. The university players took their performances on the road. So did a Cape Cod stock company the summer Jim graduated. In that group he met a key personality for his future—red-headed Harvard grad John Swope, son of the president of General Electric.
After a summer of doing everything and anything that needed to be done on the road, “Slats” or “Slim” (Jim’s nicknames) knew he wanted to be an actor. During those days he met a man who was destined to be a good friend for decades—Henry Fonda. They remained friends until Henry died in August of 1982.
Fly Jim had to fly. Airplanes were his last thought at night and first thought in the morning. He had to fly. When he was a boy, he saved all his money for a ride with a barnstorming pilot who came through town. His parents said it was not safe and refused. But young Jim persevered. There was a field near his home where the Curtiss Jenny set down. Townspeople—friends of Jim’s parent’s—raved about the experience, so he got his ride. He was hooked. When Charles Lindbergh soloed across the Atlantic in May 1927, he became Jim’s hero.
Theater Times were tough for aspiring young actors. Jimmy occasionally delivered packages for mobsters in New York City. Fonda also struggled. Jim had two spoken lines in 200 performances of Goodbye Again. Times were thin. But with every bit part he got, he hung around. When veterans of the stage dropped acting knowledge or professional expertise, Jimmy was underneath to catch it.
As 1933 turned into 1934, the Depression deepened and work of all types dried up. But Jim continued to eke out an existence in the New York theater world. Talking movies were coming in, which brought a new wave of hungry talent. More mouths to feed. Theater was now in his blood.
Fonda went west to Hollywood when MGM (Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer) offered him a contract, and Jim followed some months later. In 1935, MGM released one block-buster movie after another: Mutiny on the Bounty (with heart-throb Clark Gable), A Tale of Two Cities, Anna Karenina (showcasing Greta Garbo amidst the passion of nineteenth century Russia), and A Night at the Opera (unleashing the Marx Brothers). Our young Mr. Stewart was overwhelmed with the pace and pursuit.
Though signed by the MGM factory, they did not know what to do with this six-foot-four skinny guy—hair down in his eyes, a big Adam’s apple, thick lips and not much to say. The big boys had scooped him up with all the others in their raid on Broadway, and now the publicity department had to decide what to do with him.
A hard worker, a quick study and a lot of determination and this kid was on his way by learning the jobs of the director, producer, grips, gaffers, script girls, lighting techs, props, wardrobe, make-up and every other job. They were all speaking a secret language he did not understand, but he was catching on fast. Jimmy showed up on time, with his lines memorized, and he was pleasant to work with.
“About this time Margaret Sullavan sashayed into Jim Stewart’s life, turned it upside down, shook it with effortless ease, and changed his molecular structure.” (page 17). He was not the first she had done this to, and she had not set out to do it, “. . . but some women fire the imagination, captivate, seduce and ensnare just by walking into a room.”
Henry Fonda married Margaret. Fonda had seen a Black man lynched and it changed him, making him hard and sad at the same time. That experience lingered in his mind, ever present. The marriage lasted a trifling four months, ending when she became promiscuous with a Hollywood producer. Enter Jimmy Stewart, stage right wrong. Jim took up with her. “You could easily believe he was shy with girls and innocent,” said a friend, Josh Logan. “That was his style in getting women.”
Jimmy Stewart is pictured at right with Clark Gable, who flew
three or four missions as a waist gunner, but then quickly, in Rhett Butler style (a la Gone with the Wind), moved back to Hollywood to aid the war effort through the media of movies.
Jim’s 135-pounds was a problem and had to be worked on right away. Stewart was sentenced to milk shakes, banana splits, and anything else that would put on weight. It seemed his metabolism consumed calories faster than he could ingest them. Seeing himself on screen for the first time, Stewart was not happy. But it was in a film with complicated star Spencer Tracy and the front office liked him.
With more natural charm than should be legal, Jim had a way of ingratiating himself to women. His quiet personality made women want to mother him. Robert Matzen, author of Mission: Jimmy Stewart and the Fight for Europe claims he oozed vulnerability.
Women Stewart had always liked girls. Their company, the way they looked, and sounded and thought and moved—and here he was in the most concentrated acreage of beautiful women in the world. His Dad would never stand for his behavior, but he was 2500 miles away. Young Jimmy had never believed there was anything wrong with sex.
Actors worked hard. Eight to six. Six days a week and an occasional night shoot. When the director called “Cut, print it!” on the last take of the day, off they went to satisfy instincts that came from struggle, money, and egos constantly in need of stroking. These Hollywood types had lived hard before they arrived in Tinseltown. And they played hard with each other after they made their fortune.
“It’s [sex] not a crime to be human,’ his grandfather said to young Jim. “Make allowances for yourself.” Told that sex was a sin when engaged in between unmarried persons, Jimmy supposedly responded, “I could never quite believe that.” This lifelong disbelief started with necking and petting with girls at school dances. “I had fun,” he said. “I was a young man, a regular Joe, and a regular Joe likes to smooch with a girl.” And that led to heavier stuff.
Ginger Rogers was Jim’s next companion (see Part 1). But in a short time, Jim’s withdrawn, loner nature starved the fun out of their romance. It was at the surface level that Jim Stewart charmed women, so his bed was busy. Norma Shearer, Loretta Young, Marlene Dietrich, Dinah Shore, Lana Turner, Judy Garland. Others. Charm a girl, prove whatever he needed to prove to himself, then grow bored with any sort of routine, withdraw and move on.
At one time Margaret Sullavan (correct spelling) was either married to either of his two best friends, on the re-bound from one of them, or headed into the arms of the other.
Stewart appeared in eight MGM movies in 1936. He was a star. In one week, he was in three different roles in three movies.
Jim and Olivia de Havilland had a lot in common. Underneath, they were a couple of closed books, fierce introverts who were perfectly fine with their own company. Each had grown up with a dictatorial father (stepfather for Olivia). Each thought a lot, but said little. Each had an internal nervous streak. Both placed career ahead of all and refused to rush impetuously into marriage as their peers did.
Moving Toward Military Service As early as 1938, Jim was aware of the tensions in the world. Hitler’s invasion of Poland in September, 1939, obligated England to declare war on Germany. Jim saw that the war would be the first war dominated by airpower. Wealth allowed Jim to buy an airplane—a Stinson 105 Voyager, a seventy-five horsepower monoplane—he was a natural flier.
As the world’s horizons grew overcast, Jim knew deep down his passion for flight would combine with his family mission, his obligation to his father, who had drummed into his head that Stewart men served their country in time of war.
Jim had become bored with movies. He was ready to escape Hollywood. He wanted to fly, but was told that pilots would be 20 or 22 years old, and he was 32.
To be continued . . .
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