Glenn Ford: A Life

2. "Somewhere over the Rainbow"

2 “Somewhere over the Rainbow” S ol “Solly” Wurzel had worked at Twentieth Century Fox since the time it was still just plain Fox, before it had merged with Darryl Zanuck’s upstart Twentieth Century in 1935. In those seven years he had produced no fewer than eighty movies, including various musicals, mysteries, comedies, dramas, and assorted entries in the Mr. Moto and Charlie Chan series. With the possible exception of a pair of Will Rogers vehicles directed by John Ford, not one of those eighty films Wurzel made would ever be hailed as a classic. Solly was not expected to make classics, only to oversee an assembly line of briskly entertaining product made on a tight budget and intended for the lower half of a double bill. In 1939 alone he was responsible for fourteen releases. One of these was Heaven with a Barbed Wire Fence. It was an unusual project in that Heaven did not fit into one of the typical B-picture genres like mystery, crime, western, or comedy. It was a sort of odyssey, or “road” movie, before Kerouac—or Hope and Crosby— coined the term. More unusual still for a Hollywood B movie, it contained elements of tragedy and social criticism. Joe Riley, the hero, leaves New York to claim twenty acres of Arizona land he intends to cultivate. Along the way he meets and travels with a band of odd and troubled characters, including a streetwise drifter who shows him the ropes, a half-Spanish girl on the lam from the immigration 24 25 authorities, and a homeless former professor. By journey’s end, the girl has been nearly gang-raped by hoboes, the drifter loses a leg after being shot, and Joe’s Arizona acres turn out to be a plot of dry dirt. A happy ending could not be denied, however; Joe marries the girl to save her from the law, and the couple looks to a hopeful future turning their dry acres into bountiful farmland. The principal screenwriter of Heaven was Dalton Trumbo, then commencing his long and distinguished—and sometimes notorious—career. Ahead lay epic assignments, Oscars, blacklisting, and a term in prison as one of the Hollywood Ten. Scene-stealer Raymond Walburn, a specialist in dithering blowhards, played the professor, Ward Bond was a would-be rapist, veteran Marjorie Rambeau was a saloon keeper, and Jean Rogers— Flash Gordon’s “Dale Arden” in the series—was the leading lady. In the role of the tough young drifter was a young actor from New Jersey also making his film debut, Nick Conte, who in a few years would be known as Richard Conte. Directing the film was yet another movie star—or at least he had once held that title. This was Ricardo Cortez, a well-known leading man in the silent movie days and in the early talkie years at Warner Bros. His real name was Jacob Krantz. By the late 1930s he was trying to make a new career as a low-budget director. Low-budget meant no time or need for rehearsals. Since many actors under studio contract were often scheduled to finish a film one day and begin a new one the next, it was not unusual for cast members to meet their director and each other on the first day of shooting. That was the case on the June morning when Gwyllyn—that is, Glenn—first reported for work at the Fox lot on Pico Boulevard in Los Angeles. Hurried through makeup and wardrobe, he joined the crew and his fellow cast members on the soundstage. Trying to hide his nervousness, he stood around making small talk with the other actors. At last, flanked by flunkies, strutting and glowering like a summer stock copy of Erich von Stroheim, Ricardo Cortez arrived. The director stopped before the line of gathered actors and looked them over, then barked, “Which one’s Ford?” “Mr. Cortez?” my father said, clearing his throat. “Uh . . . I’m Glenn Ford.” “Yes, that’s right,” said Cortez. The director backed up and raised his voice to address the entire cast and crew. “I want you all to know,” he began, “they have stuck me with this guy in the lead. I didn’t want him. I wanted a real actor for this thing and not some unknown amateur. I’m disgusted, but there is nothing I can do, so I ask...