Judy Garland on Judy Garland (28 page)

Judy:
Yes.

Me:
You like Hollywood society and go to many parties?

Judy:
No. However, I have nothing against Hollywood society. I have found it attractive and at times very charming, but neither my husband nor I care for large parties.

Me:
You dislike publicity and have been annoyed by stories about you?

Judy:
Yes. “Annoyed” is putting it mildly; however, I realize that it is part of my work.

Me:
You have no favorite type of music?

Judy:
None. I like all music.

Me:
You know of no one of whom it might be said you have a sense of hero worship?

Judy:
No. That does not mean that I am overconfident of myself or of my abilities. It is simply that I believe people outgrow hero worship.

Me:
You want to do a play in New York?

Judy:
I'm not sure. I've thought about it often. Perhaps someday I will if just exactly the right thing comes along.

Me:
You are afraid of doing radio broadcasts?

Judy:
Yes. They have a tendency to make me nervous.

Me:
You seldom give a thought to the future?

Judy:
How can you have a child and not give a thought to the future? A daughter or a son represents the future.

Me:
You have no time for hobbies?

Judy:
I haven't found one I could be crazy about, except reading.

Me:
You have no idea where you'd like to go or what you'd like to do if you got a real vacation?

Judy:
Oh, yes! Lots of ideas that my husband and I share together. And Liza is included in all of them.

Me:
You would handle your career the same way if you had it to do over again?

Judy:
Yes, I am happy to say, yes!

And this should put the Judy Garland rumor factory out of business. Let's hope it has a quiet demise!

It has been well documented that, as the 1940s drew to a close, Judy was dependent upon cyclical doses of uppers and downers, and overworked to the point of exhaustion. She underwent psychotherapy and was even admitted to sanitariums on several occasions. Tensions between Judy and Vincente were at an all-time high when the two announced their separation on March 30, 1949. They briefly reconciled later that year, but their marriage was nearing its end.

From 1948 through 1950, Judy completed
Easter Parade, Words and Music, In the Good Old Summertime,
and
Summer Stock,
but the press focused on her dismissal from other productions, namely
The Barkleys of Broadway
and
Annie Get Your Gun.
“I don't know [when I'm going back to work],” she told Hedda Hopper one evening at the Mocambo nightclub in May 1949. “I'm suspended so high I can't even sit down!”

Motion Picture
announced in the summer of 1950 that Judy's film career seemed at its end, which alarmed its readers, many of whom responded with letters of concern, disbelief, and sympathy. “Could it be true?” asked one reader. “How sick is she?” asked another. “For how long will she be out of picture making? Those questions we want answered. Not from her press agent, but from Judy Garland herself. We are tired of the gossip and we want the truth.”

It is apparent Judy was fed up with the gossip, too, given that she responded to the magazine personally in a letter addressed to
Motion Picture
editor Maxwell Hamilton. This brazen dispatch signified the arrival of an unrestricted Judy, one clearly breaking free of the Metro publicity machine. That the letter was written and published without the studio's consent, or even its knowledge, spoke to the strained relationship between her and the studio.

Judy was shattered when a third suspension came down on June 17, 1950, on the set of
Royal Wedding,
in which Judy had recently replaced a pregnant June Allyson. Two days later she attempted suicide.

We said in our June issue that Judy Garland would never make another picture, that she was under constant guard. Judy denied our story in the letter you'll find on these pages. Judy's shocking attempt on her life, however, proves we knew what we were talking about!

In the June issue of
Motion Picture,
we published some pretty ugly, but well-founded, rumors about Judy Garland, to the effect that she never would make another picture. Judy denied our story and, on her own behalf, wrote us the letter printed on these pages, a letter we felt—and we told Judy so—was one of the frankest, most honest we've ever received from a star. Then, on June 20th, came the shocking news that Judy had attempted to take her life. We still think you'll want to read this dramatic letter, written, as we know it must have been, while Judy was under the strongest of emotional strains. For, to us, it paints a vivid picture of Judy Garland, the
one
picture which perhaps shows Judy as the truly beloved star she certainly has been.

The Editors.

Hollywood, California

Dear Mr. Hamilton:

Although I don't believe in answering Hollywood gossip about myself, whether to deny or affirm it, your article in
Motion Picture
seems to call for some sort of word from me. So I take up the challenge:

First of all, let's talk about the reason I don't act the same way I did when I was 14 years old and “skip about the M-G-M lot like a gay ragamuffin,” to quote you. The answer is simple. That was fourteen years ago! I'm quite sure everyone in the world changes rather radically between the ages of 14 and 28 and, if they don't, they should. Certain responsibilities, raising a child, running a home—all add up to changes; very normal ones, but changes nevertheless.

May I emphasize the word
normal?
You see, I'm so tired of reading articles in newspapers and magazines in which I'm described as neurotic, psychotic, idiotic, or any “otic” the writer can think of—and also that I am, as I've read too often, a desperately sick woman (Ah, the drama of it all), with everything from falling arches to possessing at least two heads. Allow
me to start pulling you writers and columnists down to earth. Whether it makes for good reading or not, I'm sorry to have to tell you I'm hopelessly normal; normal enough to get tired once in a while, normal enough to rest when this happens (No, dear,
not
in a sanitarium—just some place dull, like Monterey Beach, where I'm writing this), normal enough after I rest, to go back to work and make a
hit
picture and normal enough to get damn mad at the junk you boys and girls have written about me.

This is my first answer but not my last. I've kept quiet until now because to try to answer seemed to be giving dignity to pure rot. However, enough is enough. So here we go—

Of course I'm not quitting pictures. Are you kidding? I love my work, and I am looking forward with great anticipation to doing
Show Boat,
my next assignment, in which I play the best part of my career, the role created by the beloved Helen Morgan, the role of Julie.
*
Before this I'm going to take a trip to Europe with my husband and daughter, as the studio won't be ready to start production for several months. In the meantime, Vincente will go to Paris to shoot his next picture and he is taking his family with him.

Next, how I felt about not doing
Annie Get Your
Gun—this was not a tragedy to me. It was a very good part, but there are a lot of good parts. I just finished a fine one in
Summer Stock.
The preview last Thursday night was the most successful I've had in five or six years. The audience seemed to love it. This thing you wrote about my having a doctor or, as you put it, a
guard
on the set with me, is simply fantastic. My physician (most people have one, you know) wanted to see how pictures were made and asked if he could visit my set. I said “Of course.” Result—you make it sound as though I was shooting the musical version of
The Snake Pit.

And what is the prize remark you quoted as mine? Oh, yes—“The only real happiness in life is found in unhappiness.” Wow! That's not only heavy, it doesn't make any sense! If I wanted to convey a Chekhovian philosophy, I'd word it better than that.

If I tried to answer all of the many weird and baffling things that have been said about me it would fill volumes. Let me tell you how it's affected
me. I'm unscathed, unscarred, unembittered and it's left me with a better sense of humor than before.

At first it was uncomfortable having a few people in Hollywood peer at me as though I were either Lon Chaney in full makeup or a walking Charles Addams cartoon. But my good friends laughed long and loud, and I heartily joined them. It's good to be able to laugh at yourself—and I don't think it's considered neurotic!

I have the public, my warm and loving friends, to thank for setting me straight. They seem not even to be aware of all the printed nonsense; they still treat me with deep affection. Their love is constant, mine for them everlasting.

There's my answer, Mr. Hamilton. Print it as I wrote it, and you'll be doing me a favor. If you don't, I suppose it will be because my letter lacks in dramatic weightiness. But come on, all of you writers, radio commentators, gossip reporters, columnists, editors:

Let's keep it light!

Judy Garland

*
Show Boat
was not to be. Studio executives felt that Judy's recent weight gain left her unrecognizable and said she was not photographable “in her physical condition.”

On September 29, 1950, Judy Garland parted ways with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. Legend has it she was fired, but in truth it came down to a mutual dissolution. The studio deemed her to be a liability; she was no longer cost-effective. But Judy reached a point where she just wanted out, and by 1950 her doctor demanded it. “It is with great reluctance that Judy's request has been granted,” said Louis B. Mayer in his official statement to the press. “We wish her all the success and happiness in the continuance of her career.” Recalling the split, he later expressed, “She had to go; it broke my heart.”

“I was a very tired girl,” Judy announced in a public response, “and now maybe Metro realizes that…. I feel like I've shed a suit of armor.” But the pressure and anxiety quickly began to mount. Sixteen years and more than two dozen feature films after having signed with Metro, she found herself out of work and, to quote much of the press at the time, “unemployable” at the age of 28.

Judy expresses her gratitude to
Modern Screen's
understanding readers

Dear Friends,

This is a thank-you note.