Alan Jay Lerner: A Lyricist's Letters (17 page)

    
To Edna Ferber

    
April 9, 1956

    
Dear Edna,

    
First off, a million thanks for your opening night wire and charming little notes that you sent me while I was in rehearsal. I’ve been in the process of writing my “thank yous,” and I saved yours for last because obviously I don’t consider it among those. It was a wonderful opening night, and I’m so glad you were there.

        
In the last few days I’ve been in touch with Fryer and Carr,
¹⁹
and thousands of attorneys. I also received your letter of concern. I must
say in fairness to Fryer and Carr, they have not been remiss in any way. The reason no financing deal was made is because Fritz and I have been holding it up on purpose. There would never be any problem of raising money—especially for a property by you, and I suppose after
My Fair Lady
, by Fritz and me, either. The reason we were loathe to make any commitments is quite simple. We did not know from whom we wanted something. In other words, suppose we wanted Howard Keel
²⁰
and he was tied to Metro? Then it naturally would behoove us to try to work out a deal with Metro, freeing Howard Keel. With
My Fair Lady
, we were at one point thinking about Audrey Hepburn (until a strange report that she was pregnant reached our ears—which it seems she wasn’t),
²¹
and so we spent a good deal of time thrashing it all about with Paramount, who own her contract. In short, I think Bobby and Jim have done everything they could, and have acquitted themselves more than fittingly and energetically in their joint role of producer.

        
As it turns out now, it was a very wise thing that no deal was made. I don’t know whether you know it or not, but Fritz had an emergency appendectomy just before we went into rehearsal. He went right from a hospital bed back to work. He is now exhausted and had intended taking a month’s vacation. I had breakfast with Bobby this morning and told him that Fritz would be back in June and that we had intended starting work at that time. Since then I have seen Fritz, who incidentally is leaving for Europe tonight, and he tells me that he cannot possible start on anything until at least the fall. He saw his doctor this morning, and acting, not upon his orders, but upon his suggestion, he feels that he really needs a good six-months’ rest, and maybe even longer. Therefore, he now intends staying abroad for the next few months. Of course, this bit of news comes as a sad blow to me, but I can certainly understand the position he is in, as I’m sure you do, and would not want to force him into doing anything that would be bad for his health.

        
Bobby told me this morning how anxious you are to get started. I certainly don’t blame you. You have been more than patient with our endless delays in getting
My Fair Lady
launched. I cannot possibly ask you to wait any longer, and don’t intend to. Even if you should say that you would wait an additional year or two, which is what would now be involved because of our road company commitments to
My Fair Lady
and the English production of same, I would know very well what anxiety it would cause you, and I simply could not be a party to it. Too, if we were well into the writing, sufficiently to have some estimation of how long it would take to complete the play, we could quite conceivably make production plans, in spite of the delay. However, that is not the case. Although we have done much talking about it and have many notions and many scratch ideas for melodies and lyrics, we are still in fact at the beginning.

        
Considering all that, this leaves us with no other choice but to withdraw. I say this with great regret and great sadness, but with the time that we can work so vague, I do feel it’s the only thing we can do.

        
I’ll send a copy of this letter to Bobby and Jim. I do hope you all won’t curse us to high heaven, or places lower, or in any way construe this as a rejection of the property, or think that
My Fair Lady
has changed our attitude about it in any way. It is purely a physical matter over which we have no control.

Fondly,

Alan

Lerner’s letter is masterful, since it explains from several points of view why he and Loewe were now no longer interested in pursuing the project, without making reference to Ferber’s work or anything other than practical considerations. Ultimately, had they been passionate about the project, they would probably have stuck with it, in spite of what Lerner writes here.

    
Ferber was not impressed: in her reply, she described the affair as “sad and dispiriting,” and expressed her sorrow and disgust. The huge impact of
My Fair Lady
clearly made her situation even worse because the potential commercial success of
Saratoga Trunk
had suddenly become much greater, had Lerner and Loewe gone ahead with it. She reminded Lerner that a contract had been signed between them, and, with a mixture of irritation and flattery, tried to persuade him to go ahead after all. In response, Lerner rose to Ferber’s challenging letter politely but firmly. It seems that one of the most irritating aspects of the “affair” for her was the fact that she had received Lerner’s letter withdrawing from the project after having read about it in the
New York Times
. Sam Zolotow’s gossip column had announced on April 11 that Lerner and Loewe were “unable to
proceed with their next project” due to Loewe’s health. “Mr. Lerner feels tuckered out, too,” Zolotow further reported, and went on to announce, that Lerner had therefore decided to withdraw from the stage version of the long-planned
Huckleberry Finn
, which Burton Lane would now produce on his own. This article was the first Ferber knew of Lerner and Loewe’s withdrawal from
Saratoga
, and she was evidently shocked. She also saw through several of Lerner’s other excuses, such as being too busy with further productions of
Fair Lady
to write a new musical (something that
Gigi
was soon to prove untrue). Yet most of her arguments were of little relevance now that Lerner and Loewe had decided it was not for them, as Lerner tried to tell her gently in the following letter:

    
To Edna Ferber

    
April 24, 1956

    
Dear Edna:

    
I didn’t call you the next day because after I read your letter, I wanted to first write you an answer to it before speaking to you again, and this is the first chance I’ve had to do it. I put my house in the country up for sale and for the last month I have been out practically every day looking for another house to rent for the summer. Yesterday we finally found one—so here I am this morning with your letter before me.

        
I hate to do what I’m going to do—which is to answer the various points you’ve raised one at a time. I hate it because it makes me feel like I’ve been hiding something in the closet that now must be revealed, when actually the closet is as empty as the second night of “Grandma’s Diary.” However, here goes:

        
Quite true, I wrote you a letter on the afternoon of April 9th. It was that afternoon that Fritz left for Europe. The next day Zolotow of the
Times
called me about Fritz’s departure and about our future places. I saw no reason not to tell the truth. Hence the alacrity with which the story appeared in the press.

        
I don’t know whether you meant it or not, but in your letter you implied some Machiavellian scheme on our part to postpone the financing of the play. Actually, we did it for the best interests of the show. It was no scheme which in any way indicated tentativeness on our part or any hesitancy whatsoever about our intention to do your lovely book. As I explained, we felt it was foolish to make a deal before we knew what motion picture company could best serve us artistically.

        
You ask quite logically why we did not request an extension. The answer is very simple. I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how long to ask an extension for. I have no idea when Fritz and I will be settling down to work together. As a matter of fact, because I am already growing restless, I may even do something in another medium without him over the summer and into the early fall,
²²
just to fill up the time until he feels up to going to work again.

        
I was terribly amused by your reference to your not being a “Tennessee mountain girl.” Dear Edna, I swear to you, I have never pictured you bringing the water down from the mountain. I also sigh with relief you were not brought up in the shotgun country or this lovely April breeze might be wafting through my head. However, please don’t ever think that the preparations for a second company are any less detailed and time-consuming than those of a first company. It might be easier on a straight play but on a musical the work is prodigious. The only difference is you are sending out an exclamation point and not a question mark.

        
As for Fritz and I damaging
Saratoga Trunk
in any way, I think you are being too modest. Rodgers and Hammerstein simply turned down
Pygmalion
and said it couldn’t be done. Yet when the property became available, the bidding was ferocious. It’s absolutely absurd to even think that the likes of Fritz and me could ever in any way injure Edna Ferber’s
Saratoga Trunk
, much less “degrade” it by having to withdraw for reasons of health.

        
And finally, you seem to have misconstrued my saying that I had been “in touch with thousands of attornies.” I was merely being facetious about Pilpel, Cohen, Fitelson, Aslan, etc. etc.
²³
I must tell you I never consulted our attorney at all before I wrote you the letter. After all, it had nothing to do with him. I don’t think it is even a question of a breach of contract. I have always understood that any contract in which an outside date for completion of a play is involved with the penalty of loss of rights automatically contemplates the possibility the play may not be done. Not only that, but from the more important point of view, namely the ethical, Fritz and I feel that we acted on the
best
of faith by not holding you up any longer.

        
I beg you not to feel the “business is sordid.” Sad it undoubtedly us, but sordid, never.

        
Now I shall phone you.

Fondly,

Alan Jay Lerner

Three days later, the
New York Times
confirmed that “The musical stage rights to Edna Ferber’s novel ‘Saratoga Trunk’ have reverted to the author.…Messrs. Lerner and Loewe were too worn out from their efforts in making ‘My Fair Lady’ the big hit it is to process ‘Saratoga Trunk’ immediately.”
²⁴

    
With these negotiations with Ferber out of the way, Lerner wrote to Selznick to update her on the Equity situation, as well as the arrival of the partners of Rex Harrison and Julie Andrews to Manhattan:

    
To Irene Mayer Selznick

    
April 27, 1956

    
Darling:

    
Life continues to be hectic—although if you ask me what I am doing that makes it so, I couldn’t quite tell you—hence the delay in writing you.

        
First off, I am thrilled about the success of
The Chalk Garden
,
²⁵
and I know that my pleasure can only be a small portion of what yours is and that makes me doubly happy. Congratulations, and I wish I’d been there on opening night with you.

        
Oscar, Dick and Howard Lindsay had an informal meeting with some of the Equity officials the other day. According to them, the 60/40 arrangement has
not
been changed and there is, in fact, no basic alteration of the previous policy. The impression that Oscar, Dick and Howard got was that the executives of Equity feel rather on the spot themselves and wish that even the present laws were not as stringent as they are. It is interesting to note that the rigid laws of British Equity didn’t even come up. A permanent committee from the Dramatists Guild is now being appointed and they will continue more detailed discussions with Equity. I’ll keep you informed.

        
How long are you staying over? There still is a slight possibility I might come around mid-May. I’ll know definitely within a few days and will cable you accordingly. I am writing Binkie [Beaumont] today to find out precisely when he is coming so that we don’t wave to each other from the airplane enroute.

        
After a devilish search that took me practically every other day for the last three weeks, we finally got a house for the summer in Glen Cove. It has a real human beach for people instead of those usual North Shore jobs that are only for clams and crabs. Quite wonderful really.

        
Katy
²⁶
arrived a week ago and Rex is now the Governor of the Stage of Euphoria. He got himself a house in Westbury for the summer and he and Katy will probably move out in June. So for the time being, all is quiet, cozy and iniquitous.

        
Julie’s love
²⁷
arrived the same day as did Katy and I must say he came as rather a shock. He couldn’t possibly be more than twelve although he claims to be twenty. He’s terribly nice but so young you could kick him. He is now ensconced in Julie’s hotel and I live in mortal fear that they might get drunk on buttermilk one night, commit the original sin (in a highly unoriginal way), and leave us with the problem of having to let out her costumes. Ah, the arts!

        
Write soon. Miss you.

All my love,

Alan

Lerner’s gently humorous comments on Andrews prefigured the “buttermilk” image that was to overshadow much of her career.
²⁸