Love from Boy Page 18
Many thanks for letters from Alf and Else. I’d answer them separately but there’s not much point if they read this. But go on writing because I don’t get many letters from England—except masses from Air Ministry!
My head is still fairly active, but I think it’s improving a little.
Lots of love to all
Roald
November 27th 1942
Dear Mama
Well, I’ve been to Hollywood and come back; and had the most amazing time.
I think I told you in my last letter 2 weeks ago that I had a frantic telegram from Walt Disney, saying that he was all set to start work on the Gremlins—so with everyone’s permission in an official capacity I boarded an American Airlines plane Wednesday evening, the 11th Nov. at 8.30 p.m. in the evening. It’s the hell of a way across America—about the same as across the Atlantic only a bit further, and I kept having to put my watch back one hour in every five. At dawn on Thursday we were over Arizona on the Mexican border, and finally got into Los Angeles at about midday Thursday (about 14 hours’ trip). I was met by Jimmy Bodrero, Walt’s number one artist, and taken to the Beverly Hills Hotel, and after a bath and a shave was driven out to the studio and ushered up to Walt’s room. He has two secretaries outside—one called Dolores who has been with him for 20 years—and his room itself is very magnificent with sofas, armchairs, a grand piano and Dolores serving coffee or drinks the whole time.
He said he wanted to get an illustrated book out right away, based on my story, and would I sit down and write it. He would give me all his best artists to work with, and anything else I wanted. And, oh, by the way, I’ve put a car at your disposal the whole time that you’re here.
I said thank you very much and followed Jimmy down to an enormous room where a half a dozen of his best artists were waiting with pencils poised to be told what a Gremlin looked like. I’d already told them that the ones they drew in Cosmopolitan Magazine to go with my article were lousy.
So we set to work. I wrote and they drew. As soon as I’d finished a page, it was typed out in the pattern they wanted, sometimes with the type going slantwise across the page and sometimes squiggly. Then they drew pictures all around it, and now and again a full colour picture for the opposite page.
And could they draw. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. Walt has gathered together there about 80 artists, any one of whom could be placed amongst the first 6 drawers of pure line pictures in the world—Jimmy Bodrero, Freddie Moore, Bill Justice and a whole flock of others. When they choose to do a picture out of hours for a client, they sell it for about 1000 dollars.
So all the first day we worked. Then there was a party for me which Walt had arranged at which I think I met most of Hollywood in one evening.
Charlie Chaplin came in and pretended to be a Widget all around the room, and all the rest of them arrived trying to be some sort of a Gremlin or other. Greer Garson, Dorothy Lamour, Spencer Tracy, Bill Powell etc. etc. And I must say they were all very nice. There weren’t many English—Basil Rathbone and Reggie Gardiner were the only ones I can remember. There was a very beautiful dame called Phyllis Brooks (who is at present co-starring with Ginger Rogers in some new film) who I thought was a great deal better than the rest, and made it my business to organise for the rest of my stay.
Well that was a good party, but next morning, and every one after that, I was up at six, then ½ an hour’s drive out to the studio at Burbank, and work on the book until 6 in the evening, with probably a couple of hours each day in conference with Walt on the actual film script. He plans to make it the biggest film he has yet made—with real actors and actresses—in Technicolor, with the Gremlins, Fifinellas and Widgets actually drawn on to the photographs. It’s a new experiment.
He’s the most amazing type. He doesn’t draw at all, and can’t very well anyhow; but he runs everything and the people in the studio worship him. He’s quite an erk and when he gets excited always gets his grammar wrong with ‘E don’t do this’, or ‘E don’t do that.’ When Mary Blair, the only woman artist there, and incidentally one of the finest exponents of colour in the world, brought him her picture for the outside cover of the book he didn’t like it.
‘Goddammit, Mary, I have to buy the stories, direct the pictures, produce them, but son of a bitch I’m buggered if I’m going to draw the illustrations as well.’ At which Mary said, ‘Don’t be a bloody fool, Walt; I’ll do you another.’ And she did.
By Sunday we all thought we needed a bit of a rest, so Jimmy took me up north to stay the day with his family in Santa Barbara—or rather I took him in the car Walt had lent me.
Santa Barbara is a lovely place. Blue skies, and blue seas, and we lounged around drinking with the local citizens, and talking to Jimmy’s two children. Then we bathed in the Pacific, because I said it was about the only ocean I haven’t bathed in, and drove back to Hollywood and so back at 7.30 next morning . . .
Finally we got the book finished in a week, and it is being published in late January, which is apparently quick work. I’ll send you one as soon as it comes out. And I had to go back to Washington. I held a party in Phyllis Brooks’ house to which all the types came, and a fellow called Hoagy Carmichael (who composed Stardust and many others, and has the biggest house I’ve ever seen) played rude R.A.F. songs on the piano which were sung with great gusto by all concerned. This was Monday—23rd Nov. and at 11.30 pm we drove out to the aerodrome where I just caught my aeroplane back to Washington.
Walt gave me four books, Snow White, Pinocchio, Bambi and Fantasia, all signed and with best wishes, and I got some of the artists who created the original characters in them to draw inside the covers.
Jim Bodrero gave me one of the best large watercolours he has ever done, which is really something, considering he is the best artist in the Studio. It’s of two galloping mules with two wonderful Mexicans on their backs, and it really is a lovely picture.
Anyway now I’m back—and that was Hollywood. The most exciting thing about it was working for Walt (who calls me Stalky because he can’t pronounce Roald). I believe the whole thing is going to do quite a bit of good over here in furthering the ever-present question of Anglo American Relations . . .
Lots of love to all
Roald
I’m enclosing a sketch of a young Widget drawn by Jim Bodrero, who is drawing them for Walt. Even that is well drawn. They are going to be floppy creatures who manoeuvre around the plane like little bags filled with water.
Roald Dahl and Walt Disney with cuddly toys inspired by Roald’s creations, the gremlins. He described them as “little types with horns and a long tail, who walk about on the wings of your aircraft boring holes in the fuselage and urinating in your fuse-box.”
December 28th 1942
Dear Mama
I’m afraid I haven’t written for rather a long time, but some rather curious things have been happening which have taken up practically all my time.
I don’t know whether you’ve ever heard of a film director called Gabriel Pascal—he’s a great Bernard Shaw man and produced Pygmalion, Major Barbara, etc. Well, the other day this Gabriel Pascal walked into the Embassy and asked to see me. I saw him and said Hallo and he sat down and talked a bit then said, ‘Come out to lunch.’ So I went. Then he said he wanted me to write a script for an enormous film he was thinking of doing about the world and good and evil, etc. etc. and in which Henry Wallace the Vice President of America was very interested. I said—‘Well . . .’ And the next day I found myself having lunch with the Vice Pres. of the United States and talking to him from one o’clock until 6 p.m. He said he wanted me to give up my job for 3 months, retire into the mountains somewhere and write the script! I said no, I wouldn’t—but if he liked I would try to do it in my spare time. He said O.K. and then rang up Lord Halifax and I had a lot of long talks with him about it. He said, ‘Go ahead.’ So I suppose I’m going ahead. No-one knows, lea
st of all myself, why they should pick on me. Money is apparently no object, because the Vice-Pres. is arranging all that with the U.S. Treasury.
We had a good party on Christmas Eve—we acted two silly plays I wrote and a good time was had by all. The mail is going on return. The bag is closing in 5 mins so must stop. Will write a longer letter soon.
Love to all
Roald
January 7th 1943
Air Attaché
British Embassy
Washington, D.C.
Dear Mama
I’m so busy these days that there’s hardly any time for anything, what with the Air Attaché down in Central America, and one thing and another. I turn down nearly all my evening dinner invitations, and try to stay at home and write. I leave off work at perhaps 6.30 or 7 in the evening, then probably go along and have a short drink with someone. Then off home, stopping at my grocer on the way to buy my supper, which I proceed to cook (very well!). Then I get comfortable, may be with a glass of Californian (or if I’m rich) French Brandy and begin to write. After an hour I get fed up and play a symphony or something on the gramophone, and then start writing again.
Tomorrow I’ve got another long conference with the Vice President of the United States on this script he has asked me to do, and on Saturday I’m seeing the President, old Roosevelt; so we move in very high circles—so bloody high that sometimes it is difficult to see the ground . . .
As usual, I’m scribbling along as fast as I can to try to catch the air bag before it closes—so I must apologise for this scrawly letter. I always say I’m going to write you a better one, but never do—Next time I will. Will also send you a photo of self by next mail, which I had to have taken over here. As usual it’s a rather exaggerated semblance of Primo Carnera.*
Lots of love to all
Roald
January 12th 1943
Dear Mama
We’ve had an awful lot of snow lately and it’s been very cold, but today there’s a lovely blue sky and the sun is shining. But still freezing hard and driving about the streets—and even walking—has become very dangerous. Talking about driving—they’ve suddenly realised over here that there’s a war on, and have forbidden people to use their cars for pleasure purposes, which is just about the most sensible thing yet. Now police cars patrol the streets and one is liable to be stopped and asked where one is going. If you can’t think up a better excuse than that you’re just going to drive down to the park and pick your nose then they reach an enormous hand inside your window and demand your ration book there and then. A very American way of doing things, but quite effective. And the people groan and grouse until one might almost think that they’d spent the whole of the war in the front line . . .
I’m getting a little tired these days—so as soon as Air Commodore Thornton comes back I think I’ll take a little leave somewhere. All this is not very good for the head . . .
Lots of love to all
Roald
April 17th 1943
Washington
Dear Mama
I’m afraid it’s the hell of a time since I wrote to you, but I thought it better to wait till I came back from the West Coast—Things were so hectic out there, and there was so much to do in such a short time.
I flew out on Wednesday evening 31st March, leaving here at 6.30 pm. It’s a very tiring trip, you sit up all night and try to go to sleep, but it doesn’t work. By 5.30 am the next morning we’d arrived at El Paso in South Texas, just on the Mexican border, and it was fun to go out of the plane and find yourself in desert country once more.
Got to Los Angeles at 10.30 that morning and was met by Jim Bodrero and Ted Sears from Walt Disney’s studio. They handed me over a very smart Packard car which was to be mine for my stay. Unshaven and feeling pretty shagged I went straight to the studio for a conference with Walt which lasted over lunch and well into the afternoon.
He told me he’d booked a palatial suite for me at the Beverly Hills Hotel, and that I was to pay for nothing. All drinks, cigarettes, meals and parties I wished to throw would be on him. I thought that was a good show and he said, ‘Not at all; you’re not costing us anything, whereas we should normally have to pay $400 or $500 a week for a writer.’
Anyway it was a very fine apartment, and when I arrived the manager came sidling in rubbing his hands saying that I had only to ring the bell and everything would be taken care of—it was Mr. Disney’s orders.
That evening I had a bath and a shave and drove out to have dinner with Ginger Rogers. She’s got a marvellous house right up on top of the hills overlooking the sea. Bars, swimming pool, tennis courts, private cinema, etc., it was all there including Ginger, who was by far the best part of the house. A very nice girl.
From then on I was at the studio at 7.30 a.m. every morning, having conferences with Walt, going off and writing, looking at storyboards, having more conferences, more writing, more story boards and so on all day till we left at about 7 p.m.
The second night I went to Dorothy Lamour’s wedding reception. There we saw all the types. A milling throng of people, stars, directors, producers, etc. Half of them were very nice indeed, and the other half were pretty bogus. Spent most of the time with Marlene Dietrich with whom I was most impressed. At first she kept saying, ‘I wish my daughter were here—you’d like her,’ until I remembered the right American retort which was, ‘Honey, forget her and don’t give me that stuff about your daughter—get your hat.’
Gary Cooper is a decent type and so is Spencer Tracy.
The next day I told the studio that I was fed up, and that I wanted some sun. If they wanted to work that afternoon they’d have to come along to the edge of Hoagy Carmichael’s swimming pool and do it there, because that was where I was going. So they all packed their easels and pencils and pads and we had a good afternoon’s work and sunbathing.
When anyone got persistent about a foolish idea he was just rolled off into the pool to cool off.
Hoagy Carmichael plus wife and two terrific small boys called Hoagy Bix and Randy Bub are the nicest family I met there. He’s the composer of Lazy Bones, Stardust, Little Old Lady etc. but apart from that he’s as nice as his wife. He asked me to write a poem for his children who are mad on flying, which I did, although I can’t write poetry.
TO HOAGY BIX AND RANDY BUB
When I am old and bent and crinkly-faced
When you are big and strong and muscle-meat
I know you’ll learn to fly; you’ll like the taste
Of freezing clouds at thirty thousand feet.
You’ll like the taste of hail and ice and sleet.
II
When you come down to earth, you’ll have to pay.
You’ll hear the people talk of little things;
You’ll hear them laugh, and some of them will say:
‘It isn’t only angels that have wings.’
III
If they do this, you mustn’t ever yield.
Walk away slowly, never start to run.
Stand in the middle of a poppy field
Stand on your toes and try to reach the sun.
IV
If someone hits you where it really hurts,
Then say ‘I’ll see you in the afternoon’
Just throw away your most expensive shirts.
Stretch out your hand and gently touch the moon.
I had a busy time also visiting aircraft factories, talking to the workers, and exhorting them to greater efforts.
My last night I threw a party in Hoagy Carmichael’s house and charged it to Walt. I hired a large projector, and put on a preview of the film ‘Desert Victory’ which I expect you’ve seen, and which I think is marvellous. It created a terrific impression. I asked a lot of the types, including, let me see, Ginger Rogers, Carole Landis, Jimmy Cagney, Bob Montgomery, Bert Marshall, Joan Blondel
l, etc. and all the boys from Walt’s studio including Duckie Marsh (the man who makes the Donald duck noises!).
Now I’m back here working very hard . . .
Lots of love to all
Roald
June 25th
Washington
Dear Mama
I missed the last mail, but it couldn’t be helped—there was so much to do. But this evening at any rate, I can write in comparative comfort because they have just installed an air conditioner in my office. The bloody thing sits in the window and makes a noise like a four-engined bomber taking off, disgorging the while a certain amount of cold air. It makes the temperature more reasonable, but I still wouldn’t like to wear a jacket in here.
It’s now 7 p.m. and hot as hell outside. I’m writing this whilst waiting for my girl to finish typing some notes on a rather high powered speech I’ve got to make in New York on Sunday. It’s to the Aviation Writers Association of America, who are holding a Convention, and I can tell you that there are a large number of Aviation writers in this country right now. Some are congenial others are cantankerous, but they are rather an important bunch of types—otherwise I wouldn’t be taking all this trouble. I wish they’d go and stuff themselves, each one separately and individually . . .
Next weekend, Saturday and Sunday I’m going to run away, because I’m going (as I think I told you) to stay with President Roosevelt. I’ll let you know all about it in due course. I’ll tell you whether he blows his nose in his fingers, or whether he eats with his mouth open, or whether (and this will be interesting to find out) he laughs at my dirty jokes. I don’t think he will, but he might as well hear them just the same.
Lots of love to all
Roald
CHAPTER 7
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“A good time was had by all”
1943–1945