The Other Side of Me

I called his office. His secretary said, "Mr. Richmond is in the cutting room. He can’t be disturbed."

"Will you have him call me? It’s very important."

"I’ll give him the message."

One hour later I called again.

"I need to talk to Mr. Richmond. It’s urgent."

"I’m sorry. He can’t be disturbed. I gave him your message."

I tried three times that afternoon and finally gave up.

I called Ray Crossett. "Richmond won’t return my calls. Go ahead and make the deal with Paramount."

"I made it four hours ago."

When Ben came in, I brought him up-to-date.

He was excited. "That’s fantastic," he said. "Paramount is an important studio. But what do we tell Ted Richmond?"

Good question. What were we going to tell Ted Richmond?

That evening, I called Ted’s home and he answered the telephone.

Because I felt guilty, I went on the offensive. "I called you a half a dozen times today. Why didn’t you call me back?"

"I’m sorry. I was in the cutting room and – "

"Well, you should have called. Because of you, Ben and I almost lost a deal."

"What are you talking about?"

"Paramount just bought Dangerous Holiday. They made an offer, and when we couldn’t reach you, we finally sold it to them."

"But I’ve already put it on our schedule and we – "

"Don’t worry about that," I said reassuringly. "You’re in luck. Ben and I have a story for you that’s much more exciting than Dangerous Holiday. It’s called South of Panama. It’s a drama, with a love story, suspense, and a lot of action. It’s one of the best things we’ve ever written."

There was a moment of silence. "All right," he said. "Meet me and Alex at the Pig & Whistle at eight o’clock tomorrow morning."

Alex was the executive head of PRC.

"I’ll be there," I said. I replaced the receiver and turned to Ben. "We’ll skip dinner. We’ve got to come up with a plot that has a love story, suspense, and a lot of action. We have until seven o’clock tomorrow morning."

Ben and I worked all night, tossing ideas back and forth, finding a plot, adding and deleting characters. It was getting more and more exhausting. We finished South of Panama at five in the morning.

"We did it!" Ben said. "You show it to them this morning."

I agreed. I set my alarm for seven o’clock. I would get two hours sleep before the meeting.

When the alarm clock awakened me, I got up and groggily read our story. It was terrible. I hated the plot, the characters, and the dialogue. But I still had to go to the meeting and face Alex and Ted.

At eight o’clock I slunk into the Pig & Whistle. Ted and Alex were seated at a booth, waiting for me. I had brought two copies of the story.

"I can’t wait to read it," Alex said.

Ted nodded. "Neither can I."

I sat down and handed them each a copy. They started reading. I couldn’t bear to look at them. They were turning pages. No comment. More pages. Silence.

It’s what we deserve, I thought. How can anyone write a story under that kind of pressure?

They both finished at the same time. Alex looked up at me. "It’s brilliant."

"Wonderful," Ted chimed in. "You’re right. This is better than Dangerous Holiday."

I could not believe what I was hearing.

"We’ll give you five hundred dollars," Alex said, "and you and Ben will write the screenplay for that."

I took a deep, deep breath. "It’s a deal."

Ben and I had performed a miracle. We had sold two stories in a period of twenty-four hours.

That night, Ben and I went to Musso & Frank’s, one of Hollywood’s classic restaurants, to celebrate. It was the first time we had been able to afford it. It was one day past my twenty-fourth birthday.

South of Panama was made by the Producers Releasing Corporation and starred Roger Pryor and Virginia Vale. Paramount made Dangerous Holiday and renamed it Fly-By-Night. It starred Richard Carlson and Nancy Kelly.

Ben and I were on a roll. The first thing I did was quit my reader’s job at Fox. Mr. Zanuck would have to get along without me. Shortly after I left Fox, Ben and I sold another story, called Borrowed Hero, to Monogram, a small studio that made B movies, and Dangerous Lady and Gambling Daughters to PRC. For each story and screenplay we received five hundred dollars, which Ben and I shared. It would be hyperbole to suggest that these were memorable movies, but at least we were now recognized screenwriters.

Leonard Fields, a producer at Republic Studios – the top of the B studio list – bought a story of ours called Mr. District Attorney in the Carter Case. For the story and the screenplay, Ben and I received the munificent sum of six hundred dollars.

The picture proved to be successful and Leonard Fields called me in. "We’d like to put you and Ben under contract."

"Great!"

"Five hundred a week."

"For each of us?"

"For the team."

Ben and I worked on screenplays at Republic for a year, until our contract was up. At Christmas, Leonard Fields sent for us.

"You boys are doing a terrific job. We’re going to re-sign you."

"That’s great news, Leonard. The only thing is that Ben and I would like six hundred dollars a week."

Leonard Fields nodded. "I’ll call you."

We never heard from Leonard Fields again.

I talked to Ray Crossett, and I asked him why he could not get us a job at a major studio.

"I’m afraid your credits are not very impressive. I’d have a better chance if you’d never written any of those pictures."

So Ben and I continued to write and sell B pictures. It was a living.