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Let's start with a few days before last May 26th. Rumors were sweeping Hollywood like a tropical hurricane. Gossip in homes of the great and humble, gossip in newspapers, gossip over the radio. All the people in the "know" -- and all who wanted to be -- were saying that Judy Garland's health was broken, Judy's voice was gone, Judy's career was finished.
Gossip unchecked is constantly fed by jealous and malicious minds. As Al Smith used to say, "Let's look at the record. Let's examine the facts. Let's get at the truth."
Judy had been replaced in "The Barkleys of Broadway" by Ginger Rogers. Why? Because she was ill on the starting date of that picture. The studio had a heavy investment and many commitments which could not be put aside, and so, purely for financial reasons, the movie that was written for Judy and Fred Astaire had to go on, with or without Judy. As we all know, it went on without her.
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Judy with Carleton Alsop, whom she affectionately calls "Pa,"
and his wife [actress] Sylvia Sidney.
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No artist is happy at being replaced, and Judy, like any normal human being, resented it. Mr. Louis B. Mayer, boss of M-G-M, came to see her and gave her another viewpoint.
"No picture is so important that it should be allowed to destroy your health," Mr. Mayer told her. "Spend this time in getting well. There are many pictures for you to do." Judy tried, realizing that ahead of her was a property called "Annie Get Your Gun," and a role in it which Ethel Merman had created on the stage -- a role Judy wanted with all her heart and soul.
She got better. She put on much-needed weight and the studio asked her to come back to do a picture for Pasternak, a simple nostalgic picture, before beginning her work in "Annie." That picture was "In the Good Old Summertime."
But Judy wasn't as strong as her optimism and her trouping spirit made her think she was. So, in spite of its being one of the happiest pictures she ever worked in, the last three weeks of shooting "Summertime" drained her strength still further. In spite of this, she came through with a brilliant performance -- what show people call "great trouping." Without having had sufficient rest after the finish of this picture, preparation was made for Judy to start "Annie Get Your Gun." Her studio, because of the gigantic expense involved in making a musical like "Annie," wanted to be constantly reassured that Judy was strong enough to start production. The more the studio worried, the more the burden of this many million dollar production was piled on the shoulders of this tiny artist, the trouper who had never let them down. She recorded the songs beautifully and the actual photography started.
After five or six weeks of production, Judy's strength failed again. The will to go on was as big as her great heart, but production had to be halted and Judy finally was replaced by Betty Hutton. After another meeting with Mr. Mayer and his executives, a long rest was decided upon.
Gossip! Gossip! Gossip! What was wrong with Judy? What was this mysterious malady? Who were the evil people destroying this girl?
It was all nonsense, of course. The mysterious malady was exhaustion. Frayed nerves. Irritability. Inability to sleep when sleep is desperately important, when you have a 5:00 a.m. studio call and a close-up by 9:00 where you must look pretty.
Frayed nerves don't stand up very well through constant wardrobe fittings, hairdressing, make-up tests, interviews with the press, still photography. You must stay well. You must meet everybody with a smile. You must sing and look pretty. You must dance and never show fatigue. With all these other "musts," you have a home to keep, a husband and child to keep happy, countless well-meaning friends to be reassured. You can't slip out of your girdle and take off your shoes and sprawl. You must dance! You must sing! You must act! You must do countless benefits for charity. You must keep from lashing out at people who say you need rest. When? How to get this rest? In Hollywood, there is no rest. The telephone rings constantly. Friends and fans want to know how you are. To leave and go to New York? There could be no rest there, for much the same reasons that exist in Hollywood.
The alternative seemed to be a comparatively quiet city, to the most distinguished doctors available, and under their guidance to replenish physical resources. Dr. George Thorne, professor of medicine at Harvard Medical School and the head of Peter Bent Brigham Hospital, a man internationally known was selected. The 25th of May, decision was made. The 26th of May, aboard the Super Chief. To Boston, to Peter Bent Brigham Hospital.
For a week or ten days after arrival, Judy took every known medical test. And then the great news, "There is nothing wrong with you organically."
Yes, it is all there on the record for the malicious gossips to see for themselves. There was no mysterious malady. Judy's job was to learn to rest -- to replenish the enormous output of energy she used every day. This was accomplished with great simplicity. How?
Check in to the hospital early and try to get ready to rest. Be awakened early each morning, check out of the hospital, and see something of Boston, its history and charm. Take daytime trips to Longfellows Wayside Inn. Go to the shore. Sprawl on the sand and let the salt water and sun work their magic.
Judy kept this up until she could sleep without having to go back to the hospital at night. Judy gained weight. Judy acquired a tan. Judy's good humor came back rapidly.
Judy became a baseball fan in Boston, started a collection of autographed baseballs. She threw out the first ball at the intercity series. In fact, Judy began to burst with good health, good spirits and good humor.
One incident, I am sure, will always remain engraved on Judy's mind. Judy, my wife, Sylvia Sidney and I were wondering what to do with a long evening at the shore and we decided to drive to Falmouth, Massachusetts to buy books and magazines. When we got to Falmouth, we saw signs advertising "Best Foot Forward," at the Tanglewood Summer Theatre, put on by an old and dear friend of Judy's, talented Hugh Martin, who wrote the score.
Word went through the tiny theater and backstage that Judy Garland was in the audience. The talented youngsters in the play were very excited. They sent a messenger to ask if Judy and her guests would join the cast for an after-theater party. Of course she accepted, and here's what happened: The audience gone, a work light put up backstage, the twenty or thirty young people in the cast, crowding out on the apron of the stage to meet Judy. Hot dogs, soft drinks served. What more natural than that brilliant composer Hugh Martin, should want Judy to hear some of the talented people in his cast sing? What more natural than that these people should want Judy to sing for them?
Bear in mind that Judy had not sung in nearly two months, but she did sing this night. For two-and-a-half hours, and to the most appreciative audience that it has ever been my privilege to hear. Judy had never been in better voice. People wept over the sad songs and laughed and beat out tempo with the gay tunes.
We drove back to the shore that night with a radiant-faced Judy. Health had come back and because of this, her voice was greater than ever. Now she could go back to Hollywood and talk over her next picture and to test her new-found strength. As this is written that trip has just been completed. Two wonderful weeks of swimming, of playing with her beautiful child, of dancing, of getting back to her beloved work, of reading scripts, of hearing the musical score of her next picture. All that have heard this score by Harry Warren and Mack Gordon believe it to be one of the all-time greats.
Two weeks of letting people see a tanned, happy, healthy girl. Then, a quick trip back to Boston for a once-over by her doctors to check and be sure that the excitement and pressure of Hollywood had no ill effect on her. It had not, and so, in a very few days, Judy will be leaving this charming city of Boston to go back to her career which, great as it has been, has not yet reached its potential peak.
I would like to add a little postscript on Judy's behalf. When you travel with her, as I have done, you find out how truly she is everyone's little girl. There doesn't seem to be any definite age group among Judy's fans. They include practically everyone who goes to the movies. It's never Miss Garland, it's always "Hi, Judy!" from cab driver to dowager, from children to old people.
I am convinced the greeting card stores must have been bought out by the flood of get-well messages that came to her from all over the world. The religious medals that were sent, the prayers, the simple honest invitations to come and share these people's homes and possessions.
It would be impossible to thank all these well-wishers personally, as Judy would like to, so she can only hope that through the medium of this magazine she can send you her warmest thanks and good wishes for all the loyalty and love you have given her. This great-hearted little trouper will be back on your screen very soon, letting you see for yourselves, an even greater Judy Garland than you have seen in the past.
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