Ilamily Weekly jum it. im
The Most Interesting People
15 ftlA As reporter, war correspondent, and author, Quentin
Vw IVIwl Reynolds has met saints, scholars, and scoundrels
persons nobody could ever forget; who were the most fascinating? Here's his pick
with intimate insights into each
Humphrey Bogart
Humphrey Bogart was a man
not many people really knew. He
lived in Hollywood most of his
adult life but never became part
of it. He was a devoted husband to
Betty (Lauren) Bacall and a
wonderful father to their two
children. His whole life centered
around these three and a few
close friends who made his big
house their headquarters.
In his earlier days, Bogey's
trips to New York were occasion
ally highlighted in the gossip col
umns. He was an enthusiastic
member of the "dawn patrol"; an
avowed enemy of sleep, he'd stay
in a night club as long as there
was a waiter left to bring him his
favorite drink. He had a biting wit
and he enjoyed needling friend
or stranger. This got him into
occasional night-club embroglios
which were always well-publicized.
A large part of the public
undoubtedly thought of him as a
lusty, carefree playboy.
Nothing could be further from
the truth. Bogart was not a prod
uct of Hollywood but of Andover
and the New York stage. He had
a complete dedication toward act
ing, and Hollywood directors
found him a joy to work with.
After work, he usually took
either his director or his costar
home with him and rehearsed the
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next day's action for hours. When
he wasn't working, it was quite
different. Around S o'clock, Frank
Sinatra, Judy Garland, Spencer
Tracy, agent Paul Lazar, restau
rateur Mike Romanoff, and a few
others besides myself would drop
in. We would argue amicably
about everything from baseball to
politics. The two youngsters,
Stephen and Leslie, often would
drown us out with the blast of
the television set as they watched
the Westerns. Bogey would mere
ly shrug and say, "This hour be
longs to them. They'll disappear
at 6:30."
Bogey owned a boat, and it was
one of his passions. He had a fine
professional captain who made a
first-rate sailor out of him. Bogey
belonged to several West Coast
yacht clubs. One day he docked
his boat at one of them and took
his captain into the club for a
drink. When they had finished,
the club secretary drew him aside
and said stiffly, "Mr. Bogart, this
bar is for members and their
guests. We do not allow profes
sional sailors in here."
By some mighty effort, Bogey
controlled his temper and said,
"Then you can do without me. I
hereby resign from your lousy
club, and I'll get every friend of
mine to resign, too."
Bogey never preached liber
alism and tolerance; he practiced
them.
Bogey died the hard way from
cancer. He never admitted even
to Betty that he knew he was go
ing to die. To the very end, he
maintained an air of cheerfulness,
making things easier for his fam
ily and friends. When the end
came, his doctor said to Betty:
"Your husband was the most
courageous man I've ever met."
Winston Churchill
Once during the war, I did a
B.B.C. broadcast in London, and
two days later I was amazed to
receive a fan letter from Winston
Churchill. The next week, Mrs.
Churchill phoned and invited me
to dinner at Chequers, the estate
loaned to prime ministers of Eng
land during their term of office.
I had met Churchill only twice
before at large dinners, but 10
minutes after my arrival at Che
quers I felt almost as though I
had known the family for years.
This was during a crucial period,
before America entered the war,
but the Prime Minister was re
laxed, exuding charm and confi
dence; one would never have
known that his country was in a
virtual state of siege.
Before dinner, we assembled in
the large, high-ceilinged living
room for drinks. Daughter Mary,
then 18, presided over the bar. In
addition to myself, Harry Hop
kins, Robert E. Sherwood, and
Commander Thompson, the Prime
Minister's aide, were there.
It was a cozy family dinner,
and Churchill's conversation was
much like a chameleon on a rock.
It darted back into antiquity;
it touched on Greece, and that re
minded him of a canto from "Don
Juan"; and he spoke of Byron
who reminded him of Kipling.
"Ah, there was a singer of songs
but, of course, there was only one,
I mean Shakespeare. Do you re
member Hamlet's soliloquy?"
Now Winston Churchill, the ac
tor, took over. He stood up and
recited, the long soliloquy; he was
Hamlet, and not a word in the
long passage did he miss.
The' main course was served.
"It's lamb," Mrs. Churchill said.
He tasted it and frowned.
"Lamb! It's mutton! Really, Clem
my, can't you do better?"
Handsome Clementine Church
ill answered, smiling, "Remember,
Winston, there's a war on."
After dinner we had port
and the remarkable Churchillian
cigars. Bob Sherwood bemoaned
the fact that the war had not pro
duced one great poet.
"But the last war produced one,
Rupert Brooke," Churchill said.
"Do you remember The Fish'?
"In a cool curving world he
lies
And ripples with dark ecsta
sies." He then switched and asked us
mischievously if we could identify
a stanza of a poem. He gave it to
us, but we all looked blank. He
roared with laughter because none
of us could recall the lines from
the American writer Bret Harte.
When I left, the Prime Minister
walked to the door with me. "It's
been nice having you," he said.
"You must come again. Good
night."
The car pulled away. I looked
back just for a moment The
Prime Minister had forgotten the
blackout. He stood there in the
doorway, and the dim light from
the hall silhouetted him sturdy,
rocklike, immovable. His cigar
stuck in his mouth at a jaunty an
gle. He waved once and grinned.
family Weekly, June 19. I960