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Chapter 9

Clara Thomson had been hearing about Frances since shortly after Fred met her, but she had not let herself believe it was anything serious. Fred had written, very matter-of-factly, about his pride in Frances’s work during the war and Clara knew they had spoken of marriage, but it wasn’t until February 12, 1919, that she realized the truth in the black and white of newsprint.¹

On page one, the Los Angeles Herald ran a large studio publicity picture of Frances with an inset of Fred in uniform. The headline read “Engaged, not Wed to Fred Thomson, says Scenario Star.” Datelined New York, the article was in response to false reports in the trades that Frances and Fred had married in Paris and it was the first full coverage of her return to America. She was praised as the “famous” and “prominent scenario writer,” while the lone mention of Fred labeled him the “noted Los Angeles athlete and chaplain.”²

To add to Clara’s indignity, a friend sent her an article from the San Francisco Examiner a month later announcing Frances’s heroic return to her hometown and recounting her war adventures. After listing all of the demands on Frances’s schedule, the very last line of the front-page story read: “And as soon as she finds a moment to spare, she will marry Fred Thompson [sic], America’s champion athlete, who was commander of athletics with A.E.F.” His family and friends were so used to Fred’s being the focus, the handwritten note on the article asked Clara, “I wonder if this is our Fred or if there is another athletic Fred Thomson in America?”

While the picture was of an attractive, sedate Frances in her army uniform, Clara knew that this “government war correspondent, authoress, playwright, and native Californian” was not the demure virgin fit to be the wife of her son. Clara Thomson was not at all pleased. No mere female would ever be worthy of any of her boys. When Fred’s older brother Henry brought home Janet Smart, an attractive college graduate from a well-off and socially established Santa Ana family, Clara let them know of her displeasure then and throughout their marriage, which was to last until Janet’s death fifty years later.³

If a wealthy, educated, and unmarried woman was not good enough for one of her sons, Frances’s sins were beyond pardon. In addition to her marriages and her work for the movies, she was “bought and paid for by William Randolph Hearst.” No one of any principles or stature read a Hearst paper. “He was a Democrat.”⁴

When Clara and Frances finally met in Los Angeles, she and Fred were already married and he made it clear there was nothing to be discussed. He assured his mother he would find another line of work to share his love of God and would continue to support her financially. Fred would always revere his mother and be deferential in their communications, but she was no longer the number one woman in his life.

Frances spent as little time with her mother-in-law as politely possible. The newlyweds checked into the Hollywood Hotel for a month’s stay and Frances’s mother came from San Francisco for a brief visit. While Fred spent time with his family and friends, Frances finished the titles for Pollyanna and when it premiered at Clune’s Theater on January 19, 1920, Frances’s name was not only listed on the credits, but before and in bigger letters than the director, Paul Powell. While she and Mary thought the film verged on insipid, the public and the critics loved it, praising Pollyanna as “the crowning achievement of her screen career.”⁵

Frances had successfully seen Mary through her first United Artists production and now made preparations to return to New York to finish her commitments to Hearst and Cosmopolitan, clearing her slate for a long honeymoon. She recommended her old San Francisco reporter friend Waldemar Young to write Mary’s next scenario, returning the favor he had done for her when he told Oliver Morosco about her paintings eight years earlier. Yet there was one more personal crisis to see Mary through as well: Douglas was insisting that she divorce Owen and marry him.

There was no question in Doug’s mind of how much he loved Mary, but, “Oh that family.” What would it be like when they married? Charlotte’s life was so entangled with Mary’s, and then there were Jack and Lottie. Doug saw them as an embarrassment and feared he might be taking on four dependents instead of just one.⁶

He liked to consider himself of the class with which he associated and it irritated him when Mary joked about being “shanty Irish.” The family’s drinking habits concerned him as well, although Mary would forsake the regular Pickford bourbon for the more refined “Pink Lady” when she was with him.⁷

Fairbanks himself was a teetotaler as a result of a dramatic family imbroglio. His father had returned to Denver and looked up the twelve-year-old Doug at school. His son urged him to come home and Charles Ulman agreed, but first fortified himself for the meeting with his ex-wife at a local bar to the point that when they finally arrived at the house, Ella took one look at Ulman and ordered him never to return. She immediately took young Doug to the local Temperance Union, where she stood over him as he signed a pledge never to drink. From all accounts, he stayed true to the vow until much later in life.

Doug convinced himself that once Mary was Mrs. Fairbanks, he would be all-important to her. Even his own son would later say, “Dad wanted all of Mary—herself and her talent and her fame and her exclusive devotion. And he longed to be able to display their union to the world like a double trophy.”⁸

So Doug gave Mary an ultimatum: marry him now or he was leaving her. His divorce from Beth and her remarriage had not caused any discernible effects on his career and he was sure it would be the same for her. They had been in love for three years and he was not waiting any longer.

While Mary was sure she loved him and was miserable living a lie in a marriage with Owen, she was petrified of making a mistake of such magnitude that it would wipe out everything she had worked for. Frances knew that Mary had never reached a major decision without her mother’s approval, except for the disastrous one to marry Owen, and while others painted Charlotte as a puppeteer pulling her daughter’s strings, Frances believed she genuinely wanted what was best for her daughter.

“Even when Mary’s mother found out Doug was half Jewish, she preferred him to Owen,” Frances told an interviewer late in life. “Owen was drunk all the time. The main thing was that ‘Mama’ loved Mary to be happy and Mary was never lovelier than when she was with Doug. That was enough for Mama—if only they both weren’t married to somebody else.”⁹

Yet when Mary practically begged her mother for her blessing, Charlotte’s only response was to ask, “Will you ever be happy outside the church?” Even if Mary could manage to get an annulment, Douglas was divorced and that made the Catholic church’s approval impossible. Still, Charlotte was not about to repeat the mistake of forbidding her daughter to marry; this time the decision was Mary’s to make.

Mary turned to Frances and as they tried to gauge how “her public” would react, Frances decided they were too close to the situation. Aware that “even as a child, Mary had never experienced such fear and frustration,” Frances sought outside help. She needed someone who could be trusted as a friend and who, as a reporter, understood both the public’s perceptions and the business of motion pictures. Once again, Frances turned to Adela Rogers St. Johns.¹⁰

As difficult as it was for Mary to let anyone into her private circle, she agreed to invite Adela for tea. Like everyone else who went to the movies, Adela felt she already knew Mary, but the first thing that struck her as Mary introduced herself was that she had never before heard the star’s voice. Adela was enchanted and, for once in her life, more than a bit in awe.

“If I get a divorce and marry Douglas, will anyone ever go see my pictures again?” Mary asked her directly. “Do you think they will forgive me?”

Adela was taken aback, yet not totally surprised, for she had heard the rumors. Her mind raced as she realized Mary was facing a three-ring crisis—familial, religious, and professional—but before she could comment, Mary added something that would always echo in Adela’s mind as exemplifying how seriously she took her position: “Above all, there are my people to consider.”

“My people” meant more than a sense of noblesse oblige for those who depended on her. Along with the business acumen that served her so well, Mary had almost an innate understanding of this new phenomenon called stardom: the public’s sense of ownership of the personalities they took into their hearts.

Adela empathized and, assuming Mary must be very much in love to have called for her, hedged her advice.

“I think your chances are better than even if it’s handled carefully. All the world loves a lover.” Overall she was encouraging, and Mary thanked her for coming and excused herself. As soon as they were alone, Frances explained how difficult it was for Mary “trying to make an unalterable decision that might radically change her whole way of living.” In addition to everything else, her adored brother, Jack, didn’t approve of Douglas; he thought he was a charlatan trying to buy his own importance through his association with Mary. Frances and Adela both found Jack charming, yet also knew that was exactly the way many saw his relationship with his sister.

Adela asked Frances about what she thought: “Do you understand why she’s in love with him?”

Frances had long stopped trying to explain it to herself or anyone else and shrugged. “I don’t understand why I’m in love with Fred Thomson.”¹¹

Mary made her decision. To the plea that she was “America’s sweetheart,” she declared, “I only want to be one man’s sweetheart.” She was willing to risk it all for what she saw as her one chance at happiness and once the decision was made, Charlotte and their attorney Cap O’Brien started making the necessary arrangements to make the divorce a reality.¹²

First, a deal was made with Owen to buy his cooperation. Frances remembered that his price was $100,000, but that seems low considering Mary’s wealth. Whatever the actual settlement, Moore sped up the process by conveniently arriving in Minden, Nevada, with his attorney after Mary and Charlotte had been in the state for only two weeks. He publicly claimed that he was scouting film locations, but his presence allowed him to be served with papers so Mary could go to court the next day. Nevada’s divorce laws were already liberal, but they required a three-month residency. Because she swore she was “seeking a quiet place to live” permanently, the time restriction was waived by the seemingly starstruck judge, who granted Mary an immediate divorce on grounds of desertion.

The newspapers painted a sympathetic picture of Mary weeping as she told sordid tales of her husband’s drinking. The reports emphasized that the couple had long been separated and the only reason the divorce came as a surprise was “because of her religious faith.” Frances and Adela spread the word that Owen had asked for a large financial settlement and Mary was portrayed as a woman who had suffered beyond any normal standards of endurance.

As soon as the hearing was over, the thought of a “permanent residence” was forgotten and Mary and Charlotte returned to Los Angeles. Three weeks later, Mary and Doug were quietly married at his house, surrounded only by her family and a few of his closest friends. Adela had been right about the world’s loving lovers; the news was heralded on the front page of newspapers across the country as the closest thing to a formal coronation of the reigning king and queen of the movies.¹³

When Charlotte and Mary left for Nevada, Frances and Fred had returned to New York, where they subleased a spacious apartment from the composer and pianist Sergei Rachmaninoff, hoping that by the time Frances’s work for Hearst was completed, Doug and Mary could join them for a European honeymoon.¹⁴

Frances immediately went to work on the first scenario that had genuinely excited her since her earliest days with Mary. From the outset, the sentimental tale of a Jewish mother’s love and sacrifice for her son set in New York’s Lower East Side was not the type of story William Randolph Hearst considered appropriate for the movies. Still, he had faith in Frances and when she was so passionate about the subject, he gave her a reluctant go-ahead to adapt Fannie Hurst’s Humoresque.

Frances and Fannie became friends and though the literary types at the Algonquin called her a “sob sister,” Frances respected the writer for her prolific output, her personal determination, and her independent outlook on life. Only a few years older than Frances, Fannie was just moving in with her husband of five years, the pianist Jacques Danielson. Her parents had disapproved of the marriage, but the real reason she had kept it a secret from all but their closest friends was because she was confident that keeping the relationship concealed and maintaining separate residences would help preserve their professional independence. The marriage was a happy and successful one by all accounts and Fannie, a supporter of the Lucy Stone League, kept her own name even after giving up her apartment. She laughingly claimed that she began collecting rejection slips at the age of fourteen and had amassed quite a pile before publishing her first national story when she was twenty-one. Now thirty-five, she was making more money than Somerset Maugham or Edna Ferber with her popular short stories.¹⁵

Fannie took Frances to see the Russian-born Vera Gordon at the Yiddish theater to encourage casting her as the mother in Humoresque. Frances agreed, but in a bow to the need for star appeal, Alma Rubens was cast as the girl the son falls in love with and was billed above Vera Gordon in the publicity.¹⁶

Frances had another new ally in Frank Borzage, who she had known and liked since meeting him with Adela at Inceville. Now thirty years old, the good-looking Borzage had left a promising acting career to establish himself as a talented director at Triangle before being hired by Cosmopolitan. They used hidden cameras to capture the density and grit of the Lower East Side community and that footage opened and was interwoven throughout the film. Joseph Urban designed stylistic interiors for the studio shots and Frances and Borzage grew more excited each day over what they called “our story.” Still, Adolph Zukor questioned Frances’s judgment: “If you and Fannie Hurst are so determined to make the Jews appear sympathetic, why don’t you choose a story about the Rothschilds or men as distinguished as they?”¹⁷

Zukor and Hearst insisted on a happy ending and while Frances did not initially resist their demand, she was very concerned when Fannie Hurst saw the first rough cut of Humoresque and was “indignant.” She wanted her name taken off the credits because she had ended her short story with the young man going off to war, but Frances’s version had him returning to his mother and his sweetheart and recovering from his injuries to play his violin again.

Frances valued Fannie’s friendship and it was important to her that she understand movie audiences’ need for “optimism and hope.” Character development took on a different dimension on the screen. To establish Alma Rubens’s innate kindness, Frances created a few moments for her character as a child gently holding and burying a dead kitten. She would later say she was embarrassed by the blatant pathos of the scene, but it effectively established Alma’s sensitivity and set the tone for her attitude and actions throughout the film.

To her credit, Fannie Hurst took up studying motion pictures and came to not only agree with Frances but to encourage her to adapt other of her works into films, using “the skeleton of those stories in new garb especially designed for the screen.”¹⁸

Even though more and more studios were flourishing year-round in Los Angeles, New York and New Jersey were still major centers of activity. Joe Schenck was making his films with the Talmadge sisters on East 48th Street, Hearst was operating Cosmopolitan out of a refurbished casino on the Harlem River and after becoming a partner in United Artists, D. W. Griffith decided to build his own studio in rural Mamaroneck, New York.

Mary Pickford’s only other close woman friend was Lillian Gish and she and Frances had become friends as well. Lillian had risen to fame as a heartbreakingly frail waif in films like Broken Blossoms, but Frances knew her to be “as fragile as a steel rod.” Lillian was much more personally secure than Mary and Frances admired her discipline and determination.¹⁹

Unlike other stars who worked with Griffith for a year or two and then left for higher salaries, Lillian had stayed with “the master” for almost a decade and moved with his company to Mamaroneck. When the director left for Florida to film exteriors for The Love Flower he put her in charge of the workmen building his studio. Telling her “You know as much about making pictures as I do,” he gave her free rein to direct a film starring her sister Dorothy. Believing in Dorothy’s talent as much as her own, Lillian initially looked forward to the challenge. When she said she wanted to make it “an all-woman picture,” Frances and Anita Loos encouraged her to hire Dorothy Parker to write the titles.²⁰

Dorothy had just been fired as the Vanity Fair drama critic because after writing caustic comments about Billie Burke’s acting talents, her husband, Flo Ziegfeld, threatened to pull his advertising from all Conde Nast publications. Though Dorothy was pleased to be hired so quickly after this debacle, she found title writing too similar to creating captions under photographs to be challenging. She was more right than she knew. Lillian later freely admitted “there was no story”; she and her sister had come up with the plot of Remodeling Her Husband from a magazine cartoon of a man telling his wife that she is so dowdy that no one notices her and their story revolved around her proving him wrong.²¹

Lillian couldn’t find a female cinematographer and her hope of making Remodeling Her Husband a smooth-running “all-woman picture” was exploded by the presence and the tantrums of her cameraman, Frances’s friend George Hill. He had rejoined Griffith after returning from the war and Lillian blamed his behavior on “shell shock.”

“I got my main set, the living room, so big and not high enough at the back so that if he took the whole room in, he shot over the top,” but George became “hysterical” and “threw his hat in the air and stamped on it.” Always the lady, she rarely was negative about anyone, but of working with George, Lillian said, “Oh, it was terrible. And then I had to build the studio.”²²

She supervised the installation of electricity, but the unheated rooms at Mamaroneck were so cold that she was forced to move to another facility in New Rochelle. And while her sister had initially disagreed with her casting James Rennie, much to Lillian’s dismay, Dorothy proceeded to fall in love with him and they ran off to be married shortly after the film was finished.²³

When Griffith returned to a completed studio, Lillian told him she thought he had been very unfair to leave her with such responsibility, especially while she was directing her first film. Griffith just laughed and said, “I needed my studio built quickly and I knew they’d work faster for a girl than they would for me. I’m no fool.”

Lillian had brought the picture in for slightly over her $50,000 budget and it made a nice profit, but Remodeling Her Husband was Lillian’s first and last attempt at directing. Though the experience gave her a new respect for the profession and she now understood why directors viewed each foot of film as their own, it had exhausted her energy and her patience and she happily returned to the other side of the camera.²⁴

As Lillian was coming to that conclusion, Frances was making her directorial debut. Hearst had been encouraging her to direct a Cosmopolitan film with or without Marion Davies and Frances found a Fannie Hurst story in his Cosmopolitan magazine she was comfortable taking on.

Just Around the Corner was a predictable but dependable heart tugger about the poor, widowed Ma Birdsong who tries to keep food on the table and her teenage children on the straight and narrow. As her health fails, Ma’s only wish is to meet the man who is to become her son-in-law, but her daughter’s corrupt and lazy boyfriend refuses to leave the poolroom for even a few minutes. In desperation, Essie tells her story to a good-looking stranger who agrees to pretend to be the boyfriend for the sake of her mother’s contentment; Ma is satisfied and Essie finds happiness with “the real man.”

Frances tried filming on location in Central Park at 59th Street, where the snow was piled high and the winds were blowing, but the actors’ noses turned red from the cold and when Frances viewed the rushes, she saw “sooty young faces blowing gusts of steam from their mouths every time they opened them.” She reluctantly moved the production indoors, used “frosted cornflakes” for snow, and admitted it looked “much prettier and much less distracting.”²⁵

Everyone worked as a team and Frances took pride that no one complained about the long hours. The cast was made up of reliable and known actors, but they were hardly star caliber. Margaret Seddon played Ma, Sigrid Holmquist is Essie, and Edward Phillips was cast as the heavy. Fred often came to work with her and when the actor who was scheduled to play the part of “the real man” failed to show, Fred was talked into “stepping into the part rather than hold up production.”²⁶

Fred’s stunning good looks had already given rise to the obvious suggestion that he become an actor. Mary Pickford may have been the first to spot him in a crowd, but Marion Davies and Hearst both thought he was a natural and the reviews noted that even in his small role, Fred “looked the part” of the hero. While he claimed he had agreed only because Frances needed him and “couldn’t have been less interested” in acting, Frances had come to another conclusion: “If I had any qualms, they were instantly dispelled as soon as I saw the rushes. I knew then I’d married an actor.”

She wondered about the veracity of the French saying “An actress is something more than a woman; an actor something less than a man,” yet she was proud to have such a handsome husband. Flora Zabelle and Raymond Hitchcock gave a dinner party to introduce Fred to their New York friends and Hedda Hopper remembered that “when Fred walked into the room, we all gasped. Here was America’s Greek God, who had youth, virility, and decency. Every girl in the room envied Frances.”²⁷

Just Around the Corner was listed as “one of the year’s best sellers” for Cosmopolitan, and Variety said, “Miss Marion is to be congratulated on both her adaption of the story and the manner in which she directed it,” adding that “for detail, the picture is as near perfect as it can be.” She enjoyed the praise and the control directing gave her, but the all-consuming nature of the responsibilities took every waking hour and she decided that until they were sure of Fred’s new calling, she take only those assignments that allowed her enough time to concentrate on him.²⁸

“We had plans which had not quite crystallized, though we both knew we were on the right track.” Fred wanted to channel his need to encourage children, if not into a religious life, at least into one with proper values. As head of the Boy Scouts in Nevada, he had seen the impact westerns had on the boys. He was troubled by the emphasis on gunplay and what both he and Frances thought was the misrepresentation of the real West. They took history seriously and shared a love of the idea of bringing realistic stories to the screen that would grab children’s interest.

“Fred wondered if stories such as Doug Fairbanks made could be converted into westerns, with the heroic feats intelligently and humorously worked out and climaxes built to thrill audiences without cruelty to men or horses.”

Frances felt tht if Fred went into producing or acting, it would provide a perfect solution on several levels. If he were occupied with something he believed was for a larger cause, the guilt she felt over taking him from the church would be assuaged, and it would also supply a solid rationale for him to be with her at the studio learning every aspect of filmmaking.

“We talked about this at great length” and they were mutually convinced “here was to be Fred’s mission.” For the time being, he was content to study from the sidelines.²⁹

Frances quickly scripted The Restless Sex for Marion Davies and The World and His Wife for Alma Rubens and she was concerned that in spite of her pride and confidence in Humoresque, it was being held back from immediate release. But this time she focused her attention on her private life; she and Fred had postponed their honeymoon long enough.

They threw themselves a farewell party at the Rachmaninoff apartment and Frances’s brother, Len, and his wife, Mary Margaret, arrived with Marie Dressler and a young man she brought along from “Tin Pan Alley.” Frances was taken aback by Marie’s conservative black gown with a string of pearls. Her usual attire was marabou feathers and sequins or at least big bows and lace, but Marie had “gone elegant.” Frances held her tongue until Marie brought it up.

“You’ve noticed the change in me?” Marie asked eagerly, and Frances just nodded.

“It’s not only for Jim, he’s so refined, but when I was selling government bonds in Washington I met the crème de la crème of the Four Hundred and, my dear, I’ve become society’s pet. Now we’re back to England, where I’ll produce several musical comedies. Jim is finally getting his divorce and we’ll be married over there.”

With a tinge of guilt over her hypocrisy, Frances said she was sorry Jim couldn’t make the party, and it was Hedda Hopper who said out loud what Frances was thinking. Listening to Marie’s affected speech, absent of all the former “ain’ts” and “damns,” Hedda said, “Ah, Lady Throckmorton, your A is broader than your rear. Come off that high perch, Marie. You’re among pals.”