The score was one of Cole Porter's best. The problem was the libretto. The story involved a group of people who came in contact with public enemy number thirteen, who had slipped onto the ship to avoid the FBI. I felt that the libretto was old-fashioned and unworkable for a movie, and I told that to Don.
He nodded. "That's what you're here for. Make it work."
I came up with a new story line about two partners who were producing a Broadway play. Each partner, unbeknownst to the other, had met an actress and promised her the starring role in their new production. I showed my outline to Don.
He nodded his approval. "Fine. This will work great with our cast."
"Who's our cast?"
"Oh, didn't I tell you? Bing Crosby, Donald O'Connor, Mitzi Gaynor, and a beautiful ballet dancer named Zizi Jeanmaire. She's married to our choreographer, Roland Petit."
Bing Crosby! A whole generation had grown up listening to his songs.
Bing Crosby had started out with a singing group and when he was too drunk to show up for a broadcast one night, he was banned from the airwaves. That should have been enough to finish any singer's career, but Bing Crosby was not just any singer. He had an inimitable style that captured people's approval. He was given a second chance and he shot to the top. Before his career was over he had sold more than four hundred million records, and had made one hundred eighty-three films.
I went to his dressing room to meet him. Bing was charm itself, friendly and easygoing, with a relaxed, laid-back manner.
"I'm glad we're going to be working together," he told me. He had no idea how glad I was. It was a dream come true.
The shooting of my script, Anything Goes, went smoothly. Roland Petit was a world-famous choreographer and Zizi Jeanmaire did full justice to his work. Donald O'Connor was incredibly talented. It seemed to me that he could do anything, and he and Crosby complemented each other very well.
The production went off without a hitch. When it opened, everyone was happy with the movie, including the critics.
It was not until years later that Bing Crosby's dark side was revealed. His first wife, Dixie, who was dying of ovarian cancer, told friends that Bing neglected her. After she passed away, Bing became a single dad, and a strict disciplinarian. Two of his sons, Lindsay and Dennis, committed suicide.
While I was working on Anything Goes, Jorja was at Twentieth-Century-Fox, co-starring with William Holden and Jennifer Jones in Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing. Shortly after Jorja started the picture, she said to me, "I have some news for you."
"About the picture?"
"No, it's about us. I'm pregnant."
The two most exciting words in the English language.
I grinned like an idiot, hugged her, and then quickly backed away. I didn't want to hurt our baby.
"What are you going to do about the movie?" I asked. Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing was in the middle of production.
"I told them this morning. They said they could shoot it so that they won't have to replace me."
I was ecstatic. I had a wonderful sense of well-being.
As Jorja's due date approached, she fixed up a nursery at the house. As it turned out, Jorja was a brilliant decorator - a talent that would come in handy later on, when we kept moving between Hollywood and New York. She also hired a lovely African-American maid named Laura Thomas, who was destined to become a big part of our lives.
One morning, after seeing the rushes of Anything Goes, Don Hartman asked, "How would you like to write another picture for Dean and Jerry?"
"Sounds great, Don." I had enjoyed working with them.
"We just bought a western for them, called Pardners. I think you'll like it."
I hesitated a moment. "If you don't mind, I'd like to bring someone in to work with me."
He was surprised. "Who?"
"Jerry Davis." Jerry had not worked in a while and this was a chance to help him.
"I know Jerry. If you want to bring him in, that's fine."
"Thank you."
Jerry was delighted with the news, and I was happy to have him around. He was always upbeat and amusing. He was very attractive to women, and when he broke up with someone, they always remained friends.
One time, an ex-girlfriend named Diane called Jerry to tell him she was getting married. Jerry, who was very protective, said, "Tell me about him."
"Well, he's a writer. He lives in New York."
"Diane, successful writers don't live in New York. All the action is in Hollywood. He has to be a loser. What's his name?"
"Neil Simon."
Jerry and I began work on the screenplay and everything went well. What no one knew was that this was going to be one of Lewis and Martin's final pictures as a team. There were many reasons given for their breakup, but the truth was that their personalities were too disparate.
Both men were besieged with invitations for them to host charity events all over the country, and Lewis, who was very gregarious, always said yes. When he told Dean they were going to do it, Dean was upset. He preferred playing golf. Finally their different temperaments led to a permanent break, but first they agreed to do Pardners.
Pardners was a western comedy, and Dean and Jerry were ideal for it. Paul Jones, one of the nicest men in the business, produced the picture.
The reviews were excellent and the picture was a box office hit.
On October 14, 1955, our daughter, Mary Rowane Sheldon, came into the world. Because of me, Jorja almost did not get to the hospital on time. I inadvertently turned the big event into a situation comedy.
It had started years earlier, when I had called Information and asked for the address of the Beverly Hills Public Library.