Kay Thompson (21 page)

On weekends, Frank and Kay often hung out together by the pool and seemed mighty chummy to those who observed them—though there seems to have been more laughing than stolen glances.

“A picture no artist could paint,” was how columnist Edith Gwynn described one poolside scene in late September when Frank and Kay were joined by three smashed stooges: Charlie Butterworth, Ed Gardiner, and, most conspicuous, Robert Benchley, “with gay Hawaiian trunks about his avoirdupois.” Thompson encouraged Benchley to greater heights of public humiliation by giving him “lessons in swing singing.” Before long, an audience of dozens had gathered to witness the buffoonery. In the
Los Angeles Times,
columnist Hedda Hopper dubbed the lesson Kay’s all-time “funniest assignment.” And Sinatra had never laughed harder.

Frank adored spending time with Kay and, before long, the camaraderie evolved into something more. Thompson later regaled family and friends about the night that Sinatra made a pass at her—but she insisted that she remained faithful to her husband.

After the filming of
Higher and Higher
was completed, Frank headed to New York for a two-month gig at the Waldorf. Halfway through that engagement, Hopper noted, “Frank Sinatra still telephones Kay Thompson about song arrangements and asks for advice.”

Up until then, few were aware that Kay had become Frank’s “vocal guru,” least of all her employer. MGM apparently turned a blind eye because, by then, Sinatra was being sought to star in one of the studio’s pictures.

To that end, for Frank’s second RKO movie,
Step Lively
(with songs by Jule Styne and Sammy Cahn), MGM agreed to loan out Gloria DeHaven and the services of Kay Thompson—to coach both Frank and Gloria—in exchange for RKO allowing Frank to star in Metro’s
Anchors Aweigh.

For
Anchors Aweigh
, Kay collaborated with Jule Styne and Sammy Cahn to create “special arrangements” and “revised lyrics” for several numbers, including the Frank Sinatra–Gene Kelly duet, “If You Knew Susie Like I Know Susie” (Joseph Meyer–Buddy G. DeSylva). For the film’s leading lady, Pamela Britton, Thompson spent several weeks teaching her to sing “good and loud,” but by the time the movie started shooting, her proposed numbers had been dropped.

T
hough Sinatra tried his
best to monopolize Thompson, she still devoted quality time to MGM’s favorite daughter. “I like the title of the song Judy Garland has written with Kay Thompson, her gal arranger,” mused columnist Louella Parsons in September. “It is ‘If I Fell and Broke My Heart.’ ”

Nothing came of it, however. Countless Garland endeavors were stalled because of her legendary substance abuse, enabled for years by MGM’s studio-sanctioned doctors. “When Judy sometimes disappeared from MGM and they couldn’t find her,” wrote Sheilah Graham, “she was usually with Kay and Bill in their spare bedroom.”

Recognizing Thompson’s positive influence over Garland, Arthur Freed inquired about her availability for Judy’s next picture,
Meet Me in St. Louis
(directed by Vincente Minnelli). To his dismay, he would have to share Kay with rival producer Joe Pasternak, who had already secured her priority services for
Two Girls and a Sailor.

Because Kay was not available to work full-time on
Meet Me in St. Louis,
Freed used Hugh Martin to do much of the vocal arranging for the songs Hugh had composed with Ralph Blane, including “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and “The Trolley Song.”

Thompson’s contributions to the picture are less obvious, yet ubiquitous. When six-year-old Margaret O’Brien was cast to play Garland’s little sister, Tootie, she had never sung or danced in a movie. On November 8, 1943, columnist Harrison Carroll reported that “little Margaret O’Brien is being coached by Kay Thompson” for her songs, including her charming duet with Judy, “Under the Bamboo Tree.”

On the first day of rehearsal, Kay inquired, “Margaret, how do you like the idea of singing?”

“Fine,” the precocious youngster replied. “But, please don’t try to make another Shirley Temple out of me.”

Kay didn’t. By the time she was done with her, Margaret’s persona in the picture was something more akin to Eloise—with a morbid curiosity and an impish way with words.

When contacted for this book, the adult Margaret O’Brien remembered her teacher well. “Aside from being a great vocal coach,” Margaret recalled, “Kay was a great choreographer. My mother, being a dancer, did a lot of my choreography, but I remember that Kay and my mother talked dance a lot and Kay offered advice on some of my moves.”

After the film came out, Margaret was honored with a special Academy Award for Outstanding Juvenile Performer.

Another beneficiary of Thompson’s guidance was Dorothy Gilmore Raye, a contract dancer who appeared in the movie. “The first time I ever met [Kay],” Raye recalled, “she came swinging in a stage door and my eyes bugged right out of my head because here she was, with this full-length mink coat, dragging it across the floor. She swung it out in front of us and said, ‘I’m here. I’m ready.’ ”

Kay’s other duties on
Meet Me in St. Louis
were directing the choir, coaching Judy during the recording sessions, and supervising the lip-synching during filming. She even promoted the picture on radio by singing “The Trolley Song” five months before its release.

Next to the lavish and colorful
Meet Me in St. Louis,
the black-and-white production of
Two Girls and a Sailor
pales by comparison, though it does have its modest charms. The cast included Van Johnson, Jimmy Durante, June Allyson, Gloria DeHaven, Lena Horne, Don Loper, Frank Jenks (Kay’s 1933 radio partner), and Thompson’s newest assignment, Ava Gardner (who appeared as a canteen hostess).

Thompson created the vocal arrangements for nearly all of the twenty numbers performed in the film—most notably “My Mother Told Me There Would Be Moments Like This,” sung by Gloria DeHaven and a jazzy twelve-boy harmony chorus; “Paper Doll,” sung by Lena Horne; and “Young Man with a Horn,” sung by June Allyson with Harry James and His Orchestra.

“There’s a story about June Allyson,” related Michael Feinstein. “June’s hair was all done, so she didn’t want to put on earphones to hear the music. Losing patience, Kay said, ‘Darling, put your earphones on and forget about the
hair
! We’ve got work to do!’ ”

Kay got along much better with Jimmy Durante, who was so impressed,
he hired her to write songs and create special arrangements for his new CBS radio series,
The Jimmy Durante–Garry Moore Show,
which premiered October 8, 1943.

Thompson was also exerting her prerogative on her husband’s radio shows. She convinced Bill to cast up-and-coming MGM star Gene Kelly on the November 16 installment of
Suspense
to coincide with the release of his first nonmusical gig, the war drama
The Cross of Lorraine
.

Gene and Kay shared an intense fondness for playing charades, aka The Game. At his home on Alta Drive, Gene and his wife, Betsy, were known for hosting charades parties and Kay became an instant regular. Songwriter and musical director Saul Chaplin remembered one such party: “We arrived at 10:30 and rang the doorbell. No one answered. We tried the door. It was open, so we walked in. We were in a room packed with a lot of noisy people.”

The guest list included Thompson, Sinatra, Garland, Horne, Tyrone Power, Mickey Rooney, David O. Selznick, Betty Comden, and Adolph Green, among others. A high school teacher had been hired to umpire, and it was clear that Gene took The Game very seriously.

“It was scary watching our easygoing hosts turn into veritable storm troopers right before our eyes,” Chaplin related. “The time between games was taken up with postmortem recriminations. Gene would yell, ‘If it weren’t for
you,
’ naming the unfortunate who was slow coming up with the answer. It could be a movie star like Tyrone Power or a quick-witted comedienne and writer like Kay Thompson; Kelly didn’t care.”

Kay’s idea to put musical stars like Gene Kelly and Lucille Ball on
Suspense
helped establish one of the hallmarks of the series: casting against type. “We had people like Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart, Olivia de Havilland, Bette Davis, and everyone,” recalled Bill Spier. “They would do it because they got to play things that they could not do any other way. Jimmy Stewart would be a murderer, or Jack Benny, a murderer. Or Edward G. Robinson would be totally innocent. Boris Karloff would turn out to be completely wronged.”

B
etween work at MGM,
moonlighting for Durante’s radio show, and her volunteer casting chores for
Suspense,
Kay was burning the candle at both ends. In early December, the pace took its toll.

“Kay Thompson, the ace arranger, collapsed on a Metro set the other day,” announced columnist Dorothy Kilgallen, “and was rushed to the hospital for an emergency operation. At the time she was working on a Jimmy Durante song called ‘I’m Completely Floored.’ ”

On December 10, 1943,
Daily Variety
reported that she was “in Good Samaritan Hospital recuperating from [a] major operation.”

The exact nature of the surgery was left to the imagination—a highly unusual circumstance because, in those days, ailments of everyone in Hollywood were routinely reported in breathtaking detail. But, for some reason, MGM felt it necessary to downplay the situation. Metro’s first official statement was issued by Nat Finston, head of the music department. Dated December 9, 1943, it claimed that Kay “went home ill” and would continue being paid during her convalescence. This did not jibe with press reports of hospitalization. Later, the studio contended that Thompson was suffering from “a bout of the flu.”

There was, in fact, a flu epidemic that winter—even President Roosevelt had fallen ill—but if Kay had actually been suffering from influenza, MGM would have seen to it that she was properly quarantined from its most valuable assets. Evidence abounds, however, that no one seemed concerned about contagion.

“Judy Garland and Lana Turner sent the male patients’ temperatures sky high when they walked into Good Samaritan Hospital together,” noted Louella Parsons in her column on December 14, 1943. “They were visiting Kay Thompson, MGM’s vocal coach.” As did many others, including Gene Kelly, Lucille Ball, Orson Welles, Rita Hayworth, Johnny Green, and Ava Gardner.

So why the subterfuge? Insiders began to speculate that perhaps some “female problem” was being covered up. Had Kay been pregnant? If so, was Bill the father? Or, had Thompson’s flirtation with a certain blue-eyed crooner gone farther than she would ever admit? Whatever happened, it clearly was something the studio decided to quash—and Howard Strickling, Metro’s resident spin doctor, was well versed in suppressing any potential scandal.

By the end of December, Kay must have been feeling better. She returned home to the Garden and began secretly moonlighting—though the cat did not stay in the bag for long.

“Kay Thompson is coaching Alan Curtis in singing,” tattled Hedda Hopper on January 4, 1944, in the
Los Angeles Times
.

Because Curtis was exclusive to Universal, Kay was in serious breach of her contract, especially since she was playing hooky while doing it. In a terse memo, Nat Finston instructed the MGM payroll department to suspend Thompson’s sick pay, effective January 10.

The suspension apparently motivated a miraculous recovery. Three days later, Kay wrote this conciliatory letter to Finston: “My dear Nat, Time heals everything I’m happy to say and here I am once again my happy and dying-to-get going self . . . Happy Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer and thanks again, Nat. As ever, Kay Thompson.”

On January 14, she optimistically strolled through the gates at Metro, confident that nothing more needed to be said. Or so she thought. Finston greeted her with a piece of paper that explained she would have to make up for her sick leave by extending her obligation to the studio by an equal number of days. She had little choice but to sign the contract addendum.

F
or months, Kay had
been floating ideas for the Freed Unit’s upcoming production,
Ziegfeld Follies,
a pastiche of musical numbers and comedy vignettes that would feature many of MGM’s top stars.

“There was a lot of talk about what numbers there would be,” Kay explained.

Since the summer of 1943, dozens of submissions had been developed by various personnel on the lot and Kay was central among them. Collaborating with Lemuel Ayers (production designer of Broadway’s
Oklahoma!
) and Don Loper (the future clothing designer), Thompson spent much of her free time writing a treatment for “Frankie and Johnnie,” a “dramatic ballet” set in 1890, with Lena Horne in mind as Frankie.

On weekends, Kay had Lemuel and Don over to the Garden of Allah, where they brainstormed by the pool. They were often joined by Kay’s old pal Tennessee Williams, who had just given up a $17-a-week job as a theater usher in New York to earn his first big payday of $250 per week as a screenwriter for MGM. He was concurrently collaborating with Lemuel and Eugene Loring (Kay’s future choreographer on
Funny Face
) on a “folk-opera” treatment for
Billy the Kid
(a Freed Unit project that ultimately never came to fruition).

There were distractions, however, that hampered progress on both fronts. During those poolside gatherings Tennessee openly lusted after Lemuel’s “darkly gleaming curls” and “perfectly formed body,” and soon the young men were paying more attention to each other than to the work at hand.

Nevertheless, a treatment for “Frankie and Johnnie” somehow managed to get finished and it was submitted on August 27, 1943. Freed liked it and was very close to giving it a green light until the material was flatly rejected by the Breen Office (the censorship bureau run by the Hollywood Producers Association) due to the “flavor of prostitution and excessive sex suggestiveness.”

Undaunted, Kay shed her distracted collaborators and, by herself, wrote up another treatment for Lena called “Pistol Packin’ Mama,” submitting it on January 31, 1944. Freed’s associate producer, Roger Edens, met with Kay in mid-February to deliver the discouraging news that it had been turned down. But, as a consolation, he suggested, “Let’s write a number for Greer Garson.”