Glenn Ford: A Life

7. "Fire and Rain"

7 127 “Fire and Rain” I don’t want to leave the impression that my father was simply a disciplinarian , without kindness or humor. At times he was relaxed and full of fun. There were the Sunday mornings following services at Beverly Hills Presbyterian Church, strolling along the grassy parkway on the northern side of Santa Monica Boulevard. We would pass under the wide canopy of a leafy ficus tree on Beverly Drive, and my dad would stop and ask me if I wanted some chewing gum. Then he’d reach up and harvest a stick of Wrigley’s right off one of the branches. My dad had a magician’s hand and would palm things very expertly, but at a tender age I fully thought that there was a “gum tree” from which one could pick sticks of gum. I recall when I was even younger sitting at the dinner table, where, despite the formality, my father would call out Richard the Midget, who lived under the dining room table. Dad would throw his voice into a highpitched squeak, rap under the table, and have Richard pay a visit, to my delight. I knew Richard was always there, but I could never see him unless Dad summoned him. There were very few children living in our rural neighborhood when we first moved there. Scott and Winters McComas were among the first I remember when their parents moved in next door, and they became my lifelong friends. After church on many Sundays they would come over to my house, and we’d enjoy one of Ellie’s pancake breakfasts and have famous pancake-eating contests. Mom would make dozens of silver-dollar pancakes topped with pure maple syrup and butter, adorned with sausage or bacon, juice, and milk. The opportunity for publicity was too tempting, so this moment was captured in Movie Stars Parade in the story “Sunday Kind of Fun” (July 1951). Yet these were happy times; I wish all the times had been as happy. As I grew older those fun times seemed increasingly few and farther apart. Most of the time my father was just not around, and when he was, he was often distracted or exhausted. When making a movie he was so preoccupied when he got home at night that he hardly seemed to recognize any of us. My mother was asked about her husband’s preparation for his films, and she said, “Glenn’s a different person with every part he plays. I can hardly wait to read his next script—so I’ll know what kind of man I am married to!” She was only half kidding. My father took his craft very seriously. After dinner and some desultory conversation with my mother and Grandmother Hannah he would retreat to his bedroom for the rest of the evening to memorize his lines for the next day’s shooting. My father had developed his own technique for this, reading his lines into a tape recorder and then playing them back repeatedly in order to commit them to memory . He would have music playing—often a soothing recording of quiet Hawaiian music, his favorite soundtrack. No one was allowed to make any noise or disturb him when he was locked in his bedroom. He had a small red light installed above his door like the one outside the soundstage door at the studio that, when lighted, signified “Do Not Enter—Work in Progress .” When the light was lit, you did not dare go near the door, let alone knock on it. In 1946, after my father had established himself in Hollywood as a movie star, he returned to his alma mater, Santa Monica High School (SaMoHi), and created a tradition that continues to this day—the Glenn Ford Award. This award is given annually by the drama department to the student who shows the most promise or in some way has achieved distinction. Coupled with the trophy today is the Glenn Ford Scholarship, benefiting from a tax exemption for charities. In 1956 the award was won by a young student named Ken Smith. Ken would become an integral member of our family, and among his tasks was an occasional job keeping a watch on me when my parents were away or 128 129 out on the town. Ken’s main interest was in all things electronic. He was an electronics genius...