Visit https://ebookluna.

com to download the full version and

explore more ebooks

(eBook PDF) Brownlie's Principles of Public

International Law 9th Edition

_____ Click the link below to download _____

https://ebookluna.com/product/ebook-pdf-brownlies-
principles-of-public-international-law-9th-edition/

Explore and download more ebooks at ebookluna.com

Here are some recommended products that might interest you.
You can download now and explore!

(eBook PDF) Ashworth's Principles of Criminal Law 9th

Edition

https://ebookluna.com/product/ebook-pdf-ashworths-principles-of-
criminal-law-9th-edition/

ebookluna.com

(eBook PDF) International Human Rights Law 9th Edition

https://ebookluna.com/product/ebook-pdf-international-human-rights-
law-9th-edition/

ebookluna.com

(eBook PDF) Principles of Public Speaking 19th Edition

https://ebookluna.com/product/ebook-pdf-principles-of-public-
speaking-19th-edition/

ebookluna.com

(eBook PDF) The Law of Public Communication 10th Edition

https://ebookluna.com/product/ebook-pdf-the-law-of-public-
communication-10th-edition/

ebookluna.com
(eBook PDF) Global Business Law: Principles and Practice
of International Commerce and Investment, Fourth Edition
4th Edition
https://ebookluna.com/product/ebook-pdf-global-business-law-
principles-and-practice-of-international-commerce-and-investment-
fourth-edition-4th-edition/
ebookluna.com

(eBook PDF) The International Law of the Sea

https://ebookluna.com/product/ebook-pdf-the-international-law-of-the-
sea/

ebookluna.com

(eBook PDF) Public Law Reprint Edition

https://ebookluna.com/product/ebook-pdf-public-law-reprint-edition/

ebookluna.com

(eBook PDF) Principles of International Taxation 6th

Edition

https://ebookluna.com/product/ebook-pdf-principles-of-international-
taxation-6th-edition/

ebookluna.com

(eBook PDF) Principles of Taxation Law 2021

https://ebookluna.com/product/ebook-pdf-principles-of-taxation-
law-2021/

ebookluna.com
 CONTENTS

Preface xv
New in this edition xvii
Table of treaties and other international instruments xviii
Table of legislation xxxii
Table of cases xxxvi
Abbreviations lxvii
Glossary lxxxii

PA RT I P R E L I M I NA RY TOP IC S

1 INTRODUCTION 3
1. Development of the Law of Nations 3
2. International Law as Law 6
3. The Reality and Trajectory of International Law 12

2 THE SOURCES OF INTERNATIONAL L AW 18

1. Introduction 18
2. The Statute of the International Court of Justice 19
3. International Custom 21
4. Treaties 28
5. General Principles of Law 31
6. Judicial Decisions 35
7. Other Material Sources 39
8. Other Considerations Applicable in Judicial Reasoning 41
9. Conclusion 44

3 THE REL ATIONS OF INTERNATIONAL AND NATIONAL L AW 45

1. Theoretical Approaches 45
2. Relations of International and National Law: An Overview 48
3. International Law in the Common Law Tradition 58
4. International Law in the Civil Law Tradition 80
5. Conclusion 101
viii contents

PA RT I I P E R S ONA L I T Y A N D R E C O G N I T ION

4 SUBJECT S OF INTERNATIONAL L AW 105

1. Introduction 105
2. Established Legal Persons 106
3. Special Types of Personality 111
4. Conclusion 115

5 CREATION AND INCIDENCE OF STATEHO OD 117

1. Introduction 117
2. The Criteria for Statehood 118
3. Some Issues of Statehood 126
4. Achieving Independence: Secession and Self-Determination 130
5. Identity and Continuity of States 132
6. Conclusion 133

6 REC O GNITION OF STATES AND GOVERNMENT S 134

1. Recognition as a General Category 134
2. Recognition of States 135
3. Recognition of Governments 141
4. Collective Non-Recognition and Sanctions 145
5. Issues of Recognition Before National Courts 147
6. Conclusion 155

7 INTERNATIONAL ORGANIZ ATIONS 156

1. Introduction 156
2. Legal Personality 156
3. Privileges and Immunities 161
4. Performance of Acts in The Law 168
5. Interpretation of the Constituent Instrument 173
6. Relations of International Organizations 178
7. Law-Making Through Organizations 181
8. Control of Acts of Organizations 185
9. Conclusion: The Rule of Law and International Organizations 187
 contents ix

PA RT I I I T E R R I TOR IA L S OV E R E IG N T Y
8 FORMS OF GOVERNMENTAL AU THORIT Y OVER TERRITORY 191
1. The Concept of Territory 191
2. Key Terms and Distinctions 192
3. Territorial Administration Separated From State Sovereignty 194
4. Restrictions on Disposition of Territory 198
5. Conclusion 200

9 AC QUISITION AND TR ANSFER OF TERRITORIAL SOVEREIGNT Y 203

1. Introduction 203
2. Determining Title 204
3. The ‘Modes’ of Acquisition 208
4. Displacement of Title 217
5. Extent of Sovereignty: Territorial Disputes 223
6. Territorial Sovereignty and Peremptory Norms 228
7. Conclusion 230

10 STATUS OF TERRITORY: FURTHER PROBLEMS 231

1. International Procedures of Territorial Disposition 231
2. Sovereignty Displaced or in Abeyance 235

PA RT I V L AW OF T H E SE A
11 THE TERRITORIAL SEA AND OTHER MARITIME ZONES 241
1. The Territorial Sea 241
2. The Contiguous Zone 250
3. The Continental Shelf 254
4. The Exclusive Economic Zone/Fisheries Zone 259
5. Other Zones for Special Purposes 265
6. Conclusion 266

12 MARITIME DELIMITATION AND ASSO CIATED QUESTIONS 267

1. Introduction 267
2. The Distinction Between Entitlement and Delimitation 269
x contents

3. Delimitation by Agreement 270

4. Territorial Sea Delimitation 271
5. Continental Shelf Delimitation 271
6. Exclusive Economic Zone Delimitation 277
7. The Effect of Islands Upon Delimitation 278
8. Conclusion 279

13 MARITIME TR ANSIT AND THE REGIME OF THE HIGH SEAS 280

1. Introduction 280
2. Freedom of the High Seas 281
3. Jurisdiction over Ships on the High Seas 295
4. Regimes of Transit to and from the High Seas 300
5. Regulation of High Seas Fisheries 304
6. The Seabed and Ocean Floor Beyond the Limits of National Jurisdiction 310
7. Conclusion 314

PA RT V T H E E N V I RON M E N T A N D NAT U R A L R E S OU RC E S
14 C OMMON SPACES AND C O OPER ATION IN THE
USE OF NATUR AL RESOURCES 317
1. Introduction 317
2. Cooperation in the Generation and Use of Energy 318
3. Transboundary Water Resources 322
4. The Polar Regions 329
5. Outer Space 331
6. Conclusion 335

15 LEGAL ASPECT S OF THE PROTECTION OF THE ENVIRONMENT 336

1. The Role of International Law in Addressing Environmental Problems 336
2. Emergent Legal Principles 339
3. Development of Multilateral Standard-Setting Conventions 345
4. Conclusion 350

PA RT V I I N T E R NAT IONA L T R A N S AC T ION S

16 THE L AW OF TREATIES 353
1. Introduction 353
2. Conclusion of Treaties 356
 contents xi

3. Reservations 360
4. Observance, Application, and Interpretation of Treaties 363
5. Amendment and Modification of Treaties 371
6. Invalidity, Termination, and Suspension of Treaties 372
7. Conclusion 380

17 DIPLOMATIC AND C ONSUL AR REL ATIONS 381

1. Modalities of Interstate Relations 381
2. General Legal Aspects of Diplomatic Relations 382
3. Staff, Premises, and Facilities of Missions 385
4. Inviolability of Missions 387
5. Diplomatic Agents 390
6. Other Matters 396
7. Conclusion 399

18 UNIL ATER AL ACT S, AC QUIESCENCE, AND ESTOPPEL 401

1. Introduction 401
2. Unilateral Acts 402
3. Acquiescence 405
4. Estoppel 406
5. Conclusion 408

19 SUC CESSION TO RIGHT S AND DU TIES 409

1. Introduction and Overview 409
2. The Forms of Territorial Change 411
3. State Succession and Municipal Legal Relations 414
4. State Succession: Fields of Operation 423
5. Conclusion 428

PA RT V I I STAT E J U R I SDIC T ION

20 SOVEREIGNT Y AND EQUALIT Y OF STATES 431
1. The Concept of Sovereignty 431
2. Some Uses of ‘Sovereignty’ 432
3. The Interaction of States with International Law 434
xii contents

21 JURISDICTIONAL C OMPETENCE 440

1. Overview 440
2. Prescriptive Jurisdiction over Crimes 441
3. Civil Prescriptive Jurisdiction 455
4. The Separateness of the Grounds of Jurisdiction 460
5. Enforcement Jurisdiction 462
6. Conclusion 468

22 PRIVILEGES AND IMMUNITIES OF FOREIGN STATES 470

1. Evolution of the International Law of Immunity 470
2. The Modalities of Granting Immunity 475
3. Attachment and Seizure in Execution 487
4. Further Concerns and Issues 489
5. Conclusion 491

PA RT V I I I NAT IONA L I T Y A N D R E L AT E D C ON C E P T S
23 THE REL ATIONS OF NATIONALIT Y 495
1. Introduction 495
2. The Effective Link Principle and Nottebohm 499
3. The Application of Rules of International Law 504
4. Conclusion: A Functional Approach to Nationality 511

24 NATIONALIT Y OF C ORPOR ATIONS AND ASSET S 512

1. General Aspects 512
2. Nationality of Corporations 512
3. Nationality of Ships 515
4. Other Rules of Allocation 517
5. Conclusion 520

PA RT I X T H E L AW OF R E SP ON SI B I L I T Y
25 THE C ONDITIONS FOR INTERNATIONAL RESPONSIBILIT Y 523
1. Configuring the Law of Responsibility 523
2. The Basis and Character of State Responsibility 524
3. Attribution to the State 526
4. Breach of an International Obligation 538
 contents xiii

5. Circumstances Precluding Wrongfulness 546

6. Conclusion 550

26 C ONSEQUENCES OF AN INTERNATIONALLY WRONGFUL ACT 552

1. Introduction 552
2. Cessation, Reparation, Invocation 553
3. The Forms of Reparation 555
4. Invocation of Responsibility 566
5. Conclusion 576

27 MULTIL ATER AL PUBLIC ORDER AND ISSUES OF RESPONSIBILIT Y 577

1. The Varying Content of Illegality 577
2. Objective Consequences of Illegal Acts 580
3. Conclusion: An Emerging System of Multilateral Public Order? 587

PA RT X T H E P ROT E C T ION OF I N DI V I DUA L S A N D G ROU P S

28 THE INTERNATIONAL MINIMUM STANDARD:
DIPLOMATIC PROTECTION AND PROTECTION
OF INVESTMENT S 591
1. State and Individual: The Search for Standards 591
2. Admission, Expulsion, and Liabilities of Aliens 592
3. Requirements for and Standards of Diplomatic Protection 595
4. Breach and Annulment of State Contracts 605
5. Conclusion 609

29 INTERNATIONAL HUMAN RIGHT S 610

1. Introduction 610
2. Historical Perspectives 611
3. Sources of Human Rights Standards 613
4. Non-Discrimination and Collective Rights 619
5. Scope of Human Rights Standards: Some General Issues 625
6. Protection and Enforcement of Human Rights 630
7. Conclusion 641

30 INTERNATIONAL CRIMINAL JUSTICE 645

1. Introduction 645
2. Development of International Criminal Law and Institutions 646
xiv contents

3. International Criminal Courts and Tribunals 648

4. International Criminal Justice in National Courts 660
5. Conclusion 663

PA RT X I DI SP U T E S
31 THE CL AIMS PRO CESS 667
1. Jurisdiction and Admissibility Distinguished 667
2. Interstate Claims: Prior Negotiations and the Requirement of a Dispute 668
3. Interstate Claims: Grounds of Inadmissibility 671
4. Diplomatic Protection 675
5. Mixed Claims: Private Persons versus States 688
6. Conclusion 691

32 THIRD PART Y SET TLEMENT OF INTERNATIONAL DISPU TES 692

1. Peaceful Settlement in General 692
2. Development of International Dispute Settlement 693
3. The International Court of Justice 695
4. Other International Courts and Tribunals 707
5. Conclusion 716

33 USE OR THREAT OF FORCE BY STATES 717

1. Historical Overview 1815–1945 717
2. The Charter Prohibition on Use or Threat of Force 719
3. Authorizing the Use of Force: The Security Council 731
4. Continuing Sources of Controversy under the Charter 742
5. Conclusion 748

Index 749
 PREFACE

It is difficult to overestimate the importance of successive editions of Ian Brownlie’s

Principles for the teaching of international law over the past half century. It is not
too much to say that several generations of Anglophone international lawyers have
absorbed their sense of the structure of their subject from Principles. It was both an
honour and responsibility to undertake an eighth edition following Ian Brownlie’s
tragic death in January 2010.1 This ninth edition follows some seven years later and
captures the plethora of developments in international law which have occurred in the
intervening period.
Ian was used to describing Principles as a ‘legal handbook’, but it was always much
more than that, seeking to cover the broad subject matter of international law in
13 Parts and 32 chapters. In the eighth edition, these were somewhat simplified into
11 Parts and 33 chapters (with the introduction of an Introduction). Although there
was some reorganization of Parts and chapters, the structure and the approach of this
edition was recognizably that of earlier editions and has remained so.
As to structure, an initial review of general topics (history, sources, and the relations
of international to municipal law) is followed by Parts on statehood and legal per-
sonality (into which the law of international organizations has been fitted); territorial
sovereignty; law of the sea; the environment and natural resources; international trans-
actions (including unilateral acts and succession); jurisdiction; nationality; respon-
sibility; protection of individuals and groups; and disputes (including use of force).
The result is coverage of all the major topics of classical and modern international
law (with the exception of international trade law) in a form hopefully accessible to
advanced undergraduates, graduate students, and legal professionals alike. A feature
of the present edition, suggested by one of the readers, is a summary conclusion added
to most chapters.
As to approach, this is unabashedly that of the international lawyer, historically
informed but aware of the climate of changes, real and attempted, which seems to
threaten the fragile international order.2 Due note has been taken of these changes and
threats of change, but without any attempt to predict an uncertain future.

* * *

Ack now l e dgements

Thanks are due to a number of people who assisted with this edition, including
Amelia Bleeker, Rose Cameron, Emily Crawford, Rosalind Elphick, Marcos Garcia

1
A biographical memoir of Brownlie is in British Academy, XI Biographical Memoirs 55–77. See also
Owada (2010) 81 BYIL 1; Lowe, ibid, 9.
2
As to this ‘seems’ cf Hamlet, Act 1, sc 2, l 77.
 Visit https://ebookluna.com
now to explore a diverse
collection of ebooks available
in formats like PDF, EPUB, and
MOBI, compatible with all
devices. Don’t miss the chance
to enjoy exciting offers and
quickly download high-quality
materials in just a few simple
steps!
xvi preface

Dominguez, Yulia Ioffe, Ryan Manton, Nico Pavlopoulos, and Theodora Valkanou.
Robin Cleverly provided the graphic of maritime boundaries in Chapter 12.
At Oxford University Press I must thank Lucy Read, John Louth, Matthew Humph-
rys, the six anonymous reviewers who read through the text and made helpful sugges-
tions, and Yvonne Dixon, Caroline Quinnell, and Debbie Shelley.
The text is, as far as possible, current as at 1 July 2018 although in some places the
reader is alerted to cases where decisions have been made after this date.
James Crawford
International Court of Justice
The Hague
31 July 2018
 NEW IN THIS EDITION

A full revision of the text with updated references, including treatment of the following:
Decisions of the International Court (e.g. Whaling in the Antarctic, the Marshall Islands
cases, Peru v Chile; Somalia v Kenya; Costa Rica v Nicaragua; Bolivia v Chile).
Recent decisions on the law of the sea and the status of islands (Arctic Sunrise; Croa-
tia/Slovenia; South China Sea; Bangladesh/India; Ghana/Ivory Coast; Timor Leste/Aus-
tralia (Conciliation)).
Decisions of senior national courts in the US (e.g. Bank Markazi v Peterson; Daim-
ler AG v Bauman; Jesner v Arab Bank; Kiobel v Royal Dutch Petroleum), the UK (e.g.
Al-Saadoon v SSD; Belhaj v Straw; Freedom and Justice Party; Rahmatullah; Miller v
Secretary of State for Exiting the European Union; Benkharbouche v Sudan), the Nether-
lands (Mothers of Srebrenica; Urgenda Foundation), the Russian Federation (Anchukov
& Gladkov v Russia) and elsewhere.
Recent ILC work (including Conclusions on Identification of Customary Inter-
national Law, and Subsequent Practice in relation to the Interpretation of Treaties).
Plus discussion of developments in the fields of climate change, diplomatic asylum
(the Assange stand-off), international criminal law and the ICC, immunities of senior
state officials, investment arbitration, corporate social responsibility, and the use of
force by and against non-state actors.
A particular feature is the introduction of punchy conclusions to chapters.
 TABLE OF TREATIES AND OTHER
INTERNATIONAL INSTRUMENTS

African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights American Convention on Human Rights
1981 . . . 594, 616, 619, 636, 639 1969 . . . 616, 619
Art 11 . . . 638 Art 1 . . . 625
Art 12 . . . 638 Art 27 . . . 639
Arts 19–24 . . . 636 Art 27(2) . . . 639
Art 20(1) . . . 622 Art 46(1)(a) . . . 637
Art 21 . . . 636 Arts 52–69 . . . 635
Art 24 . . . 636 Arts 61–63 . . . 635
Art 27(2) . . . 638, 640 Art 64 . . . 635
Art 45 . . . 636 American Treaty on Pacific Settlement
Arts 47–54 . . . 636 1948 . . . 30
Art 50 . . . 637 Antarctic Treaty 1959
Arts 52–53 . . . 636 Art IV . . . 208, 238, 330
Arts 55–56 . . . 636 Art VI . . . 329
Art 56(5) . . . 637 Art VIII(1) . . . 444
Art 58 . . . 636 Arab Charter on Human Rights
Agreement concerning Interim Arrangements 2004 . . . 616
relating to Polymetallic Nodules of the Deep Art 2 . . . 621
Seabed 1982 . . . 312 Articles of Agreement of the International Bank for
Art 2 . . . 313 Reconstruction and Development (IBRD) 1944
Art 4 . . . 312 Art 7 . . . 161
Art 5 . . . 312 Art 7(3) . . . 164
Agreement establishing the Asian Development Art 9(a) . . . 175
Bank 1965 Association of South-East Asian Nations
Art 59 . . . 175 Comprehensive Investment Agreement
Agreement establishing the World 2009 . . . 713
Trade Organization 1994 (Marrakesh Australia–Nauru Settlement 1993 . . . 537
Agreement) . . . 115, 308, 710 Barcelona Convention and Statute on the Regime
Preamble . . . 342 of Navigable Waterways of International
Art IV.3 . . . 711 Concern 1921 . . . 323
Art VIII . . . 162 Basel Convention on the Control of
Art VIII.1 . . . 158 Transboundary Movements of Hazardous
Annex . . . 710, 737 Wastes and Their Disposal, 1989, Art
Agreement on Privileges and Immunities of the 6 . . . 347
Organization of American States 1949 . . . 162 Belgrade Convention 1948 . . . 324
Agreement on the Privileges and Immunities of Berlin Declaration 1945 . . . 120, 126
the International Criminal Court 2002 . . . 162 Biological Diversity Convention 1992 . . . 339,
Art 6 . . . 164 341, 349
Art 11 . . . 166 Charter of the Organization of American States
Arts 13–14 . . . 168 (OAS) 1948
Art 13(1)(b) . . . 168 Art 1 . . . 179
Art 18 . . . 167 Charter of the United Nations 1945 . . . 13, 43,
Art 19 . . . 167 140, 146, 187, 331, 376, 578, 610, 619, 620, 648,
Art 20 . . . 167 656, 692, 718, 748
Agreement relating to the Implementation of Preamble . . . 610
Part XI 1994 . . . 312 Ch VI . . . 631, 692
 table of treaties and other international instruments xix

Ch VII . . . 14, 179, 234, 288, 300, 437, 439, 631, Art 105(3) . . . 169
632, 642, 660, 692, 732, 733, 736, 740, 747 Art 108 . . . 372
Ch VIII . . . 741 Art 109 . . . 372
Ch IX . . . 438 Comprehensive Nuclear Test Ban Treaty 1995
Ch XI . . . 113, 233 (CTBT) . . . 319
Art 1(1) . . . 580 Constitution of the International Labour
Art 1(2) . . . 130 Organization 1919
Art 2 . . . 29, 185, 719 Art 40 . . . 162
Art 2(1) . . . 436 Constitution of the United Nations Educational,
Art 2(4) . . . 14, 374, 548, 581, 719, 720, 726, Scientific and Cultural Organization 1945
728, 730, 735–6 Art XII . . . 158
Art 2(5) . . . 157 Constitution of the United Nations Industrial
Art 2(6) . . . 180, 371 Development Organization 1979
Art 2(7) . . . 179, 436, 437, 438 Art 21(1) . . . 160
Art 4 . . . 137, 141 Constitution of the Universal Postal Union 1964
Art 10 . . . 157 Art 32 . . . 175
Art 13(1)(a) . . . 41 Constitution of the World Health Organization
Art 14 . . . 372, 630 (WHO) 1946
Art 17(2) . . . 186 Art 66 . . . 158
Art 24(1) . . . 732 Art 76 . . . 174
Art 24(2) . . . 185, 580, 736 Convention Against Illicit Traffic in Narcotic
Art 25 . . . 157, 178, 437, 699, 732, 737 Drugs and Psychotropic Substances 1988
Art 27(3) . . . 14, 176, 184 (Narcotics Convention)
Art 36(1) . . . 699 Art 17 . . . 298
Art 36(3) . . . 580, 699 Art 17(4) . . . 298
Art 36(5) . . . 696 Convention against Transnational Organized
Art 37 . . . 696 Crime 2000 . . . 663
Art 39 . . . 174, 178, 437, 731, 733–4, 736 Annex II . . . 299
Art 40 . . . 736 Convention between Great Britain, Japan, Russia
Art 41 . . . 175, 178, 437, 736, 737, 738 and the United States Requesting Measures for
Art 42 . . . 178, 437, 731, 736, 738, 739 the Preservation and Protection of Fur Seals in
Art 43 . . . 158, 169, 178, 739 the North Pacific Ocean 1911 . . . 283
Art 48 . . . 732 Convention concerning Certain Questions
Art 51 . . . 14, 31, 573, 720–5, 728, 730, 742, Relating to the Conflict of Nationality Laws
743, 745, 746 1930
Art 53(1) . . . 741 Art 1 . . . 497
Art 55 . . . 130, 185, 620 Art 4 . . . 683
Art 55(c) . . . 610 Art 14 . . . 498
Art 56 . . . 610, 620 Convention for the Conservation of Southern
Art 57 . . . 169 Bluefin Tuna 1993 (CCSBT)
Art 62 . . . 610 Art 5(2) . . . 307
Art 63 . . . 169 Art 8(1) . . . 307
Art 68 . . . 610 Art 8(3)(a), (b) . . . 307
Art 76 . . . 233, 610 Art 16 . . . 307
Art 81 . . . 179 Convention on the Inter-Governmental Maritime
Art 85 . . . 233 Consultative Organization
Art 92 . . . 696 Art 28 . . . 511
Art 93 . . . 696 Art 28(a) . . . 517
Art 94 . . . 74 Convention for the Prevention of Marine
Art 96(1) . . . 174 Pollution by Dumping of Wastes and Other
Art 102 . . . 360 Matter 1972 . . . 349
Art 103 . . . 69, 178, 187, 188, 364, 437, 737 Convention for the Protection of All Persons
Art 104 . . . 157, 158 from Enforced Disappearance 2006 . . . 617,
Art 105 . . . 158, 161 633
xx table of treaties and other international instruments

Convention for the Protection of Submarine Art IX(1)(c)–(d) . . . 307

Cables 1884, Art 10 . . . 295 Art IX(1)(e), (f) . . . 307
Convention for the Protection of the Marine Art IX(2)(h) . . . 307
Environment of the North-East Atlantic 1992 Art XXV . . . 307
(OSPAR Convention) . . . 348 Convention on the Conservation of Antarctic
Convention for the Regulation of Aerial Seals 1972 . . . 330
Navigation 1919 Convention on the Elimination of All Forms
Arts 5–10 . . . 517 of Discrimination against Women 1979
Convention for the Suppression of Unlawful (CEDAW) . . . 617, 620, 632
Acts Against the Safety of Civil Aviation Art 9(2) . . . 497
1971 . . . 450 Convention on the Establishment of ‘Eurofima’,
Convention for the Suppression of Unlawful Acts European Company for the Financing of
Against the Safety of Maritime Navigation Railway Equipment 1955 . . . 112
1988 . . . 289, 299 Convention on the International Maritime
Art 8bis . . . 300 Organization
Convention for the Suppression of Art 66 . . . 174
Unlawful Seizure of Aircraft 1970 (Hague Convention on the Law of Non-Navigational
Convention) . . . 450 Uses of International Watercourses
Art 4(2) . . . 454 1997 . . . 324, 349
Convention on Early Notification of a Nuclear Convention on the Law of Treaties between
Accident 1986 . . . 349 States and International Organizations
Convention on International Civil Aviation 1944 1986 . . . 106
(Chicago Convention) . . . 150, 518 Convention on the Nationality of Married
Arts 17–21 . . . 517 Women 1957 . . . 497
Art 77 . . . 518 Convention on the Physical Protection of
Convention on International Liability for Nuclear Material 1980 . . . 322
Damage Caused by Space Objects . . . 332 Convention on the Political Rights of Women
Art II . . . 544 1953 . . . 617
Art III . . . 544 Convention on the Prevention and Punishment
Art XXII(3) . . . 171, 173 of Crimes against Internationally Protected
Convention on International Trade in Persons, including Diplomatic Agents
Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora 1973 . . . 399
1973 (CITES), Art 2(1) . . . 345 Convention on the Protection and Use of
Convention on Jurisdiction and the Enforcement Transboundary Watercourses and Lakes
of Judgments in Civil and Commercial Matters 1992 . . . 349
1968 . . . 457 Convention on the Protection of the Underwater
Convention on Nuclear Safety 1994 . . . 318 Cultural Heritage 2001
Convention on Offences Committed on Board Art 15 . . . 450
Aircraft 1963 (Tokyo Convention) Convention on the Recognition and Enforcement
Art 3(1)–(3) . . . 450 of Foreign Arbitral Awards 1958 (New York
Art 4 . . . 450 Convention)
Art 4(b) . . . 446 Art III . . . 57, 715
Convention on Registration of Objects Launched Art IV . . . 715
into Outer Space 1974 . . . 332, 518 Convention on the Reduction of Statelessness
Convention on the Conservation and 1961
Management of Fishery Resources in Art 2 . . . 498
the South East Atlantic Ocean 2001 Convention on the Rights of Persons with
(SEAFOC) . . . 306 Disabilities 2006 . . . 617, 633
Art 6(3)(a)–(b) . . . 307 Convention on the Safety of Spent Fuel and
Art 6(3)(c) . . . 307 Radioactive Waste Management 1997 . . . 318
Art 6(3)(g)–(h) . . . 307 Convention on the Settlement of Investment
Art 6(3)(k)–(l) . . . 307 Disputes between States and Nationals of Other
Art 9 . . . 307 States 1965 (ICSID Convention) . . . 609,
Convention on the Conservation of 713–14
Antarctic Marine Living Resources 1980 Arts 18–24 . . . 161
(CCAMLR) . . . 306, 330 Art 20 . . . 164
 table of treaties and other international instruments xxi

Art 21 . . . 167 Art 7 . . . 321, 322

Art 22 . . . 167 Art 26 . . . 321
Art 25(2)(b) . . . 514, 679, 689 Art 45(3)(a) . . . 320
Art 26 . . . 687–8 Art 47 . . . 716
Art 52(1) . . . 715 Espoo Convention on Environmental Impact
Art 53 . . . 57 Assessment in a Transboundary Context
Art 54 . . . 57, 715 1991 . . . 343–4
Convention on the Suppression of Unlawful Art 17(2) . . . 344
Acts Relating to International Civil Aviation Art 17(3) . . . 344
2010 . . . 450 European Agreement for the Prevention of
Convention on the Transboundary Effect of Broadcasts Transmitted from Stations outside
Industrial Accidents 1992 . . . 349 National Territories 1965 . . . 297
Convention on the Transit Trade of Landlocked European Convention for the Pacific Settlement
States 1965 . . . 329 of Disputes 1957 . . . 30
Convention Regarding the Regime of Navigation European Convention on Extradition
on the Danube 1948 . . . 324 1957 . . . 71, 465
Convention Relating to Intervention on the Art 2 . . . 465
High Seas in Cases of Oil Pollution Casualties Art 3 . . . 465
1969 . . . 296 European Convention on Human Rights and
Convention Relating to the Status of Stateless Fundamental Freedoms 1950 (ECHR) . . . 29,
Persons 1954 60, 62, 69, 90, 91, 187, 366, 612, 616, 619, 623,
Art 16(3) . . . 511 634, 643, 644
Convention to Suppress the Slave Trade and Art 1 . . . 625, 626, 627, 635
Slavery 1926 . . . 295, 611 Art 1(1), (2) . . . 479
Council of Europe Convention on Preventing Art 2 . . . 486, 627, 639, 641
and Combating Violence against Women and Art 3 . . . 486, 639, 641
Domestic Violence 2011 . . . 617 Art 4(1) . . . 639
Covenant of the League of Nations 1919 . . . 14, Art 5 . . . 69, 481, 641
578, 611, 718 Art 6 . . . 54, 475, 482, 490
Art 4 . . . 13 Art 6(1) . . . 165, 187, 361
Art 4(6) . . . 178 Art 7 . . . 639
Art 5 . . . 13 Art 7(1) . . . 480
Art 5(1) . . . 178 Art 7(2) . . . 32
Art 5(2) . . . 178 Art 8 . . . 89, 482, 639, 641
Art 7(4) . . . 157 Art 9 . . . 482
Art 7(5) . . . 157 Art 10 . . . 482
Art 12 . . . 13 Art 11 . . . 482
Art 13 . . . 13 Art 13 . . . 641, 686–7
Art 15 . . . 13 Art 15 . . . 69, 636, 638, 639
Art 15(6) . . . 178 Art 16(2) . . . 638
Art 15(7) . . . 178 Art 20(1)(a) . . . 479
Art 15(8) . . . 179, 437, 438 Art 22(3) . . . 638
Art 16 . . . 13 Art 23 . . . 488
Art 16(1) . . . 737 Art 26 . . . 488
Art 19 . . . 372 Art 28(1), (2) . . . 275
Art 22 . . . 568 Art 34 . . . 688
Cuba–US Treaty 1903 . . . 235 Art 35(1) . . . 637, 689
Declaration of Lima 1970 . . . 261 Art 38(1)(b) . . . 690
Declaration of Paris 1856 . . . 29, 289 Art 39 . . . 690
Declaration of Principles on Interim Self-Government Protocol 1, Art 1 . . . 640
Arrangements 1993 see Oslo Accords Protocol 4, Article 4 . . . 635
Declaration of Santo Domingo 1972 . . . 261 Protocol 14 . . . 634
Declaration on the Granting of Independence to Protocol 16 . . . 634, 635
Colonial Countries and Peoples 1960 . . . 130–1, 182 European Convention on Nationality 1997, Art
Energy Charter Treaty 1994 . . . 358, 713 3 . . . 497
xxii table of treaties and other international instruments

European Convention on State Immunity Art 50 . . . 648

1972 . . . 472, 473 Art 51 . . . 648
Art 15 . . . 473 Art 125 . . . 114
European Convention on the International III Relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War
Validity of Criminal Judgments . . . 465 Art 3 . . . 628, 651
European Energy Charter 1991 . . . 320, 321 Art 129 . . . 454, 648
European Framework Convention for the Protection Art 130 . . . 648
of National Minorities 1994 . . . 621–2, 623 IV Relative to the Protection of Civilian
Friendly Relations Declaration 1970 . . . 182, 229 Persons in Time of War
General Act for the Pacific Settlement of Disputes Art 3 . . . 628, 651
1928 Art 49 . . . 584
Art 28 . . . 43 Art 146 . . . 648
General Act for the Repression of the Slave Trade Art 147 . . . 648
1890 . . . 295 Additional Protocol I (1977)
General Agreement on Privileges and Immunities Art 1(4) . . . 113
of the Council of Europe 1949 . . . 162 Art 91 . . . 529
Art 3 . . . 164 Art 96(3) . . . 113
Art 6 . . . 166 Additional Protocol II . . . 651
Art 7 . . . 166 Geneva Convention on the Continental Shelf
Arts 9–10 . . . 168 1958 (GCCS) . . . 24, 29, 256
Art 16 . . . 167 Arts 1–3 . . . 256
General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade 1994 Art 1 . . . 258
(GATT) . . . 710 Art 2(4) . . . 257
Art I . . . 309 Art 5(1) . . . 257
Art V . . . 309 Art 5(3) . . . 258
Art XI . . . 309 Art 5(4) . . . 258
Art XX . . . 308, 309, 712 Art 5(6) . . . 258
Art XXI(c) . . . 737 Art 6 . . . 25, 30, 42, 272
Art XXIII . . . 711 Art 7 . . . 258
General Convention on the Privileges and Geneva Convention on the High Seas 1958
Immunities of the United Nations 1946 . . . 162 (GCHS) . . . 280
Art II, s 2 . . . 164 Art 1 . . . 280
Art II, s 6 . . . 166 Art 2 . . . 283, 310
Art II, s 7 . . . 166 Art 3 . . . 328–9
Art III, s 9 . . . 166 Art 4 . . . 329
Art III, s 10 . . . 166 Art 5 . . . 516
Art IV, s 11 . . . 167 Art 6(2) . . . 285
Art V, s 19 . . . 167 Art 11 . . . 37
Art VII, s 18 . . . 166 Art 15 . . . 286
Art VIII . . . 174 Art 19 . . . 288
Art XIII, s 11 . . . 168 Art 22(1) . . . 291
General Treaty for the Renunciation of War Art 23 . . . 294, 295
1928 . . . 29 Arts 26–29 . . . 295
Geneva Convention 1922 . . . 556 Geneva Convention on the Territorial Sea and
Geneva Conventions 1949 . . . 29, 376, 452, 454, 650 Contiguous Zone (GCTS) . . . 241
I Amelioration of the Condition of the Art 2 . . . 241, 242
Wounded and Sick in Armed Forces in the Art 3 . . . 243
Field Art 4 . . . 245
Art 3 . . . 628, 651 Art 4(3) . . . 249
Art 49 . . . 648 Art 7 . . . 245
Art 50 . . . 648 Art 7(2) . . . 246
II Amelioration of the Condition of Wounded, Art 7(4) . . . 247
Sick and Shipwrecked Members of Armed Art 10 . . . 237, 247, 249
Forces at Sea Art 11 . . . 249
Art 3 . . . 628, 651 Art 12(1) . . . 247, 271
 table of treaties and other international instruments xxiii

Art 13 . . . 245 Art 17 . . . 689

Art 14 . . . 250, 300 ILC Articles on Responsibility of States
Art 15 . . . 300 for Internationally Wrongful Acts 2001
Art 21 . . . 241 (ARSIWA) . . . 523, 550, 552, 553, 559, 579,
Art 24 . . . 251, 252, 253 599, 732
Art 24(1) . . . 253 Art 2 . . . 526
Geneva Convention Relating to the Status of Art 3 . . . 505
Refugees 1951 . . . 617 Art 4 . . . 503, 527, 531, 541
Art 16(3) . . . 511 Art 5 . . . 528, 551
Geneva Protocol 1925 . . . 29 Art 7 . . . 533
Genocide Convention 1948 (Convention on the Art 8 . . . 551
Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Art 10 . . . 109, 536
Genocide) . . . 29, 136, 361, 411, 616 Art 11 . . . 538
Art III(e) . . . 537 Art 12 . . . 526, 554, 580
Art VI . . . 653 Art 16 . . . 538, 551
Art IX . . . 669 Arts 20–25 . . . 546
Hague Convention Concerning the Laws and Arts 20–27 . . . 547
Customs of War on Land 1907 . . . 452 Art 20 . . . 548
Preamble . . . 43 Art 21 . . . 548, 573
Art 3 . . . 529 Art 22 . . . 548, 572, 573
Hague Convention for the Pacific Settlement Art 23(1), (2) . . . 549
of International Disputes 1899 . . . 29, 693, Art 24(1), (2) . . . 549
707 Art 24(6) . . . 549
Hague Convention IV for the Pacific Settlement Art 25 . . . 550
of International Disputes 1907 . . . 29, 693 Art 25(2) . . . 550
Hague Convention on the Taking of Evidence Arts 28–39 . . . 576
Abroad in Civil or Commercial Matters Art 31 . . . 560
1970 . . . 60 Art 32 . . . 505
Hague Regulations 1907 Art 35 . . . 557
Art 43 . . . 193 Art 36 . . . 558, 560
Art 45 . . . 193 Art 36(2) . . . 559
Havana Convention on Asylum 1928 . . . 389 Art 37 . . . 562, 563
Headquarters Agreement between the Arts 40–41 . . . 565, 576, 585
Organization of American States and the Art 40(1) . . . 583
United States 1992 Art 41 . . . 145, 565–6, 583
Art VIII(1) . . . 180 Art 41(2) . . . 145
Helsingfors Convention for the Suppression Art 42 . . . 570, 571
of Contraband Traffic in Alcoholic Liquors Art 42(a) . . . 568
1925 . . . 252 Art 42(b)(i) . . . 571
Helsinki Final Act 1975 . . . 612, 613, 618 Art 42(b)(ii) . . . 571
Arts 3, 4 . . . 228 Art 45 . . . 674
ICSID Convention see Convention on the Art 47 . . . 537
Settlement of Investment Disputes between Art 48 . . . 565, 570, 571, 572, 576
States and Nationals of Other States 1965 Art 48(2) . . . 571
ILC Articles on Diplomatic Protection Art 49 . . . 574
2006 . . . 495, 502, 523, 591–2, 675, 687 Art 50(1) . . . 573
Art 5 . . . 676–7 Art 50(1)(a) . . . 548
Art 6 . . . 683 Art 50(2)(b) . . . 388
Art 7 . . . 683 Art 51 . . . 574
Art 9 . . . 680 Art 52(1) . . . 573
Art 10 . . . 677 Art 54 . . . 574, 575
Art 11 . . . 682 Art 55 . . . 554
Art 12 . . . 681 ILC Draft Articles on Diplomatic Protection
Art 14(2) . . . 686 2006 . . . 596
Art 14(3) . . . 686 Art 1 . . . 596
xxiv table of treaties and other international instruments

Art 5 . . . 422 ILC Model Rules on Arbitral Procedure

Art 14 . . . 596 Art 10 . . . 20
Art 15 . . . 596 ILO Convention 169 Concerning Indigenous
Art 18 . . . 516 and Tribal Peoples in Independent Countries
ILC Draft Articles on Jurisdictional Immunities 1989 . . . 624
of States and Their Property 1991 . . . 472 IMF Articles of Agreement 1944
ILC Draft Articles on Nationality of Natural Art XXIX(a) . . . 175
Persons in Relation to the Succession of States Indus Waters Treaty 1960 . . . 323
1999 . . . 419, 677 Inter-American Treaty of Reciprocal Assistance
Arts 20–44 . . . 420 1947 . . . 741, 742
ILC Draft Articles on the Effects of Armed International Agreement for the Regulation of
Conflicts on Treaties 2011 Whaling 1938 . . . 339
Art 3 . . . 376 International Convention Against the Taking of
Art 6(b) . . . 376 Hostages 1979 . . . 455
Art 7 . . . 376 International Convention for the Prevention of
Art 14 . . . 376 Pollution from Ships 1973 (MARPOL) . . . 349
ILC Draft Articles on the Expulsion of Aliens . . . 592 International Convention for the Regulation of
Art 4 . . . 593 Whaling 1946 (ICRW) . . . 310
Art 9 . . . 593 Art VIII . . . 17, 346
Art 10 . . . 593 Art VIII(1) . . . 310
Art 12 . . . 593 Sch 1, para 10 (d)–(e) . . . 17
Art 14 . . . 594 International Convention for the Suppression of
Arts 23–24 . . . 593 Counterfeiting Currency 1929
ILC Draft Articles on the Prevention of Art 9 . . . 454
Transboundary Harm from Hazardous International Convention for the Suppression of
Activities . . . 340 the Financing of Terrorism 1999 . . . 738
Art 7 . . . 340 International Convention on the Elimination
ILC Draft Articles on the Responsibility of of All Forms of Racial Discrimination 1965
International Organizations 2011 . . . 523 (ICERD) . . . 616, 620, 632, 670
Art 2(a) . . . 157 Art 1(4) . . . 621
Art 3 . . . 171 Art 2(2) . . . 621
Art 4 . . . 171 Art 22 . . . 669, 670
Arts 6–9 . . . 171 International Convention on the Protection
Art 7 . . . 172 of the Rights of all Migrant Workers and
Arts 10–13 . . . 171 Members of their Families 1990 . . . 617, 633
Art 17(2) . . . 175 International Convention respecting the
Arts 20–27 . . . 171 Limitation of the Employment of Force for the
Arts 28–42 . . . 171 Recovery of Contract Debts 1907
Arts 41–57 . . . 171 Art 1 . . . 572
Art 58 . . . 173 International Court of Justice Statute 1945 (ICJ
Art 59 . . . 173 Statute) . . . 23, 40
Art 60 . . . 173 Art 2 . . . 696
Art 61 . . . 172, 173 Art 3(1) . . . 696
Art 62 . . . 713 Art 9 . . . 696
ILC Draft Conclusions on Identification of Art 16(1) . . . 696
Customary International Law Art 17 . . . 696
Conclusion 8(2) . . . 22 Art 18(1) . . . 696
Conclusion 12 . . . 182 Art 19 . . . 167, 696
Conclusion 16 . . . 27 Art 24 . . . 696
Conclusion 96 . . . 22 Art 31 . . . 697
ILC Draft Conclusions on Subsequent Art 32 . . . 696
Agreements and Subsequent Practice . . . 30 Art 34 . . . 170, 692
ILC Draft Principles on the Allocation of Loss in Art 34(1) . . . 697
the Case of Transboundary Harm Arising Out Art 34(3) . . . 170
of Hazardous Activities . . . 544 Art 35(2) . . . 36, 698
Other documents randomly have
different content
 “A producer I know couldn’t wear them, so he gave them to me.
They pinch a little, but aren’t they beautiful? They cost him $75.”
Clifton wandered over to add a word of praise for the suit. “But you
can’t wear that tie with it.”
“What kind should I wear, Mr. Webb?”
“Come over to my house tomorrow and I’ll give you some.”
Tony found a wife who was used to being kept on a tight financial
rein when he married Janet Leigh in 1951. Her father, Fred Morrison,
who ten years later took an overdose of pills that ended his life, held
the purse strings after her career got going. I remember coming across
her at Rex, the mad hatter, where she was aching to buy a sweater for
$75, but her dad said no. When he died, she was on the French Riviera
with Mrs. Dean Martin, guests of Joe Kennedy.
Tony and Janet bought an eighteen-room house in 1958. (“Did you
ever believe I’d end up a country gentleman?” he asked me.) They had
enough money left to furnish the dining room, but not enough to buy
much else. He was around at my house when I mentioned that I had a
handsome, carved oak chair down in the basement, which I couldn’t
use. “If you want it, take it. Go down and see.”
He came back conveying the heavy chair in his arms. “It’s
wonderful,” he said. “I’ll put it in my car.” He’d started the motor to
drive straight home before I caught him. “Come back here. We’ve got a
party going. Janet can see it when you get home.” It still sits in their
front hall, bleached and upholstered in white brocade.
MCA maneuvered Tony’s affairs so astutely that he now owns his
own picture company, makes millions, drives a Rolls-Royce. “I hope
that in a few years I’ll have enough security so I can drive around in an
old battered station wagon if I want to,” he says. He lost Janet Leigh
after he made a picture in South America with Yul Brynner, which
featured a girl named Christine Kaufman, to whose apartment in the
Château Marmont, in the company of her mother, Tony would go to
have coffee on his way home.
 He sent me another letter after I’d criticized him in the column last
year over the postponement of Lady L. “I wonder,” I’d asked, “if actors
realize they’re killing the goose that laid the golden eggs and are
ruining their careers.”
“You might well have asked whether the studios realize what they
are doing to actors,” Tony wrote back. “Because of the delays and
stalling on this project, I have not made a film for eight months. True, I
was paid a salary for part of that time but money alone can never
make up for the fact that I might have two films during that period,
that I could have been working in my chosen profession, could have
been improving in the only way an actor can improve—by working.
“As a star, I have the right to pick my own parts, to decide whether
or not a script is right for me. That is clearly understood by everyone
who seeks to employ me.
“If the final script does not meet my requirements, the burden
must remain with the company and not with me. The studio did submit
a script I liked, which is why I signed to do the picture in the first
place. Before we could get into production, they began making changes
and the script they were finally ready to shoot bore little resemblance
to the one I had approved.” He was right, the picture has never been
made.

* * * * *
When press agents nudge an actor hard enough, he imagines he
can write, produce, direct, and act simultaneously, as busy as a one-
armed paper hanger. That was a delusion Clark Gable avoided.
“Why don’t you want to direct, like everybody else?” I asked him
not long before he died.
“It’s hard enough to act without going into all those monkeyshines,”
he said. “I just want to act and get the money. Let them take the grief.”
Clark loved money all his working life. I don’t remember that he
ever gave a party. He nursed a grievance against Metro from the time
Mayer loaned him to David Selznick to make Gone With the Wind. Clark
thought he should have received an extra bonus for that, not simply
continue on his salary of $7000 a week, fifty-two weeks a year.
When he cast off from Metro in 1954 and entrusted his business
affairs to MCA, he boasted that he had “never really made any big
money” until then. Like the rest of the monarchs of the movies, he
wanted what they call “the most”—highest salary, biggest percentage.
“Why do you fight so hard for those enormous salaries?” I asked
him, as I’ve asked them all. “Why can’t you put back some investment
in the industry when it’s done so much for you?”
“I want the most because you’re only important if you get it.”
Money helped kill Clark Gable. That and his refusal to acknowledge
that he was growing old. He couldn’t resist earning the most he’d ever
get, when the offer came along for The Misfits; $750,000 plus $58,000
for every week the picture ran overtime.
On location in the Nevada desert, where the heat jumps to 130
degrees, he roped and wrestled with wild horses to prove to everybody
who watched, including me, that he still had his old virility. “This picture
will prove he is America’s answer to Sir Laurence Olivier,” said the ever-
present Mrs. Paula Strasberg. He was encouraged by John Huston, a
director with no qualms about making actors sweat. And he was
outraged by the behavior of Marilyn Monroe.
He was habitually early on the set, ready to work at 9 a.m. Some
days she wouldn’t show up until lunch time, sometimes not at all.
Though he seethed inside, Kay Gable told me, he curbed his feelings by
iron self-control. Clark was not a pretty sight when he blew his top, as
he did when The Misfits was completed, but Huston wanted one more
retake.
The retake was never shot. Huston was still working the final cut of
the picture when Clark died, nearly a million dollars richer, leaving a
beautiful widow in Kay Gable and a handsome son he never saw.
 Seven
Hollywood was always heartbreak town, though most of the
world fancied it to be Shangri-La, King Solomon’s mines, and Fort
Knox rolled into one big ball of 24-karat gold. We used to see the
hopefuls stream in from every state of the Union, tens of thousands
of them, expecting that a cute smile or a head of curls was all it took
to pick up a million dollars. Many were old enough to know better,
but not the children.
They came like a flock of hungry locusts driven by the gale
winds of their pushing, prompting, ruthless mothers. One look into
the eyes of those women told you what was on their minds: “If I can
get this kid of mine on the screen, we might just hit it big.” I used to
wonder if there wasn’t a special, subhuman species of womankind
that bred children for the sole purpose of dragging them to
Hollywood.
Most of the women showed no mercy. They took little creatures
scarcely old enough to stand or speak and, like buck sergeants,
drilled them to shuffle through a dance step or mumble a song. They
robbed them of every phase of childhood to keep the waves in the
hair, the pleats in the dress, the pink polish on the nails. I’ve had
hundreds of them passing through my office asking for help.
Stage mothers are nothing new. I remember as far back as the
Tartar we lovingly called “Ma” Janis, who took care of all the cash
her daughter Elsie earned. When “Ma” died, Elsie got so lost in the
tangle of her financial standing that she wondered whether she had
$100,000 or a million in the bank. She found she had little left
except a note signed by “Ma” certifying that she owed Irving Berlin
$10,000. Elsie had never made out a check in her whole life, never
had more than $5.00 in her pocketbook.
What motion pictures did was to encourage the breed and give
them better opportunities to ruin their children while they were
beneath the age of consent. Peg Talmadge, mother of Norma and
Constance, was a sweetheart. Anita Loos wrote her book Gentlemen
Prefer Blondes from choice bits that fell from the lips of Peg, but
even she ruled with a whim of iron. We all laughed at Peg when she
said these things but didn’t have the wit to write them down. Anita
did.
Jackie Coogan’s boyhood earnings were so scandalously
dissipated by his family that the law was changed to protect child
actors—but Jackie was left penniless.
When I worked for Metro, stage mothers lingered outside the
gates at the Culver City studios, waiting to catch some dignitary’s
eye or for a chance, which seldom came, to slip past the guards into
the maze of narrow streets that wound between the big barns
plastered with stucco which were called sound stages.
Some children made it, though not by waiting like beggars at the
gates of paradise. Louis B. Mayer needed appealing youngsters for
the all-American family pictures which this Russian-born Jew from
New Brunswick delighted in making because they earned fortunes
for him. There were two children in particular, a boy and a girl, who
captured the imaginations of all.
The boy had once had his hair dyed black by his mother so he
could get a job in two-reel silent comedies. She wanted to change
his name to Mickey Looney, but the “L” became an “R” when he was
signed on at Culver City.
The girl’s mother had seen her child walk out onto a vaudeville
stage when she was two years old to join her two older sisters in a
song-and-dance act. Mrs. Ethel Gumm took her three children
slogging through West Coast theaters for years. Frances, the
youngest, developed the hungriest drive of them all, battling to show
her big sisters that she could sing louder and longer than either of
them.
It was a cheap act, and it made very little money for anybody.
One Christmas saw the traveling Gumms chewing on tortillas at a
corner drugstore near the theater they were playing. Frances Gumm
had been rechristened Judy Garland when Lew Brown spotted the
trio playing The Lodge at Lake Tahoe and decided she might have
something.
In the typical Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance switching that usually
makes it possible for half a dozen people to claim they “discovered”
a star, Brown put Judy and her mother in touch with an agent
named Rosen, who knew Jack Robbins, a music publisher with
offices in Culver City.
With Rosen, Judy was in Robbins’ office when he telephoned
down to Ida Koverman, who made a point of hunting for fresh talent
to keep the wheels turning at MGM. Judy was twelve; round as a
rain barrel; stringy hair; dressed in an old blouse, blue slacks, dirty
white shoes. Ida heard her sing with a zing in her heart, and she
flipped. She called Mayer, who grudgingly came up to see what was
causing all the excitement. Ida had got hold of the words to the
Jewish lament “Eli, Eli” and coached Judy in the pronunciation.
That’s what she sang for Mayer, but he wasn’t impressed. He tossed
the ball right back at Ida. “If you want her, sign her up.”
But Ida was too knowing about the foxy ways of Mayer to fall for
that. She needed a second opinion, or else if Judy failed, Mayer
would never let Ida forget it. She had Judy sing again, this time for
Jack Cummings, a producer who just happened to be Mayer’s
nephew.
Jack was called one of the “Sons of the Pioneers,” a walking
testimonial to the fact that it never hurt to be somebody’s relative at
Metro. “A producer produces relations” was a stock gag. Later on,
however, in pictures like Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Jack
proved that he could fly when they gave him wings.
 Long before that, he made a picture with a young girl named Liz
Taylor and a collie dog: Lassie Come Home. The picture was sweet,
sentimental, and I went all out in praise of it. A loyal friend in
Metro’s New York office wired me after reading the review: you sure
stuck your neck out this time hopper stop it’s nothing but a potboiler. But
the picture made a fortune, got Lassie a lifetime contract, helped get
Liz National Velvet.
Cummings could see the potential appeal of Judy, a roly-poly girl
with eyes like saucers and a voice as clear as a gold trumpet “This
kid’s got it,” he told Ida. “Let’s sign her up.” While he went off to set
the legal wheels in motion, Ida took Judy to the commissary for
some ice cream.
She tried to introduce her there to Rufus Le Maire, head of
casting, but she got the brush-off. Mr. Mayer hadn’t given the little
new girl the nod, so she wouldn’t receive any favors. He was starry-
eyed over another schoolgirl MGM had signed. Deanna Durbin was
the real talent, in his book. The two children made a musical short
together, Every Sunday Afternoon, but Deanna was the one given
the big build-up. After that, Judy had nothing to do but hang around
the lot—and get some education at the school Ida had established
with academically qualified teachers to meet the requirements of
California law.
Mayer had decided to let Judy go and keep Deanna, but the plan
turned sour. Universal, looking for a youngster to play in Three
Smart Girls, wanted Deanna. By a fluke, Metro had let her contract
lapse. Mayer was away on one of his many trips to Europe. He knew
nothing of this until he returned and found his prize pigeon had been
allowed to fly the coop. He went berserk.
For days he ranted and raged at everybody in sight until some
anonymous prankster won revenge. In Mayer’s exclusive, private
bathroom one morning, Louis found that on every sheet of toilet
paper the face of Deanna had been printed overnight.
 Deanna got stardom and the royal treatment from Universal with
One Hundred Men and a Girl, which followed Three Smart Girls.
There was a fancy premiere, and she planted her footprints in wet
cement in the forecourt of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, a pastime
which was one of the glorious bits of nonsense in those days.
Deanna is now quite plump and leading a happy married life with
husband and children in Paris. Once a year newspapermen descend
upon her home, but she won’t receive them or allow photographs to
be taken. She’s had her fill of Hollywood and you couldn’t lure her
back for a million dollars. The only singing she does is with her
children.
Judy was living in a little rented house with her mother. Her
father, Frank Gumm, was not in Hollywood. Judy’s mother
telephoned Ida the morning after Deanna’s big show: “I can’t do a
thing with Judy. She’s been crying all night. What shall I do?”
“Bring her right over,” said Ida. With no children of her own, she
was a mother hen to everyone who needed her. Judy was as close to
her as a daughter. She fell into Ida’s lap and buried her head on her
shoulder, sobbing: “I’ve been in show business ten years, and
Deanna’s starred in a picture and I’m nothing.”
Frustrated ambition has to be treated gently. “You’ll get your feet
in cement, too,” Ida soothed her. “You’ll be starred, you’ll see. Don’t
forget, I’ve told you so.”
Mayer schemed to turn the tables on Universal. Nobody was
going to laugh at him for keeping the wrong girl. “I’ll take this fat
one, Garland, and make her a bigger star than Durbin,” he boasted
to his associates. How to start was the puzzle. He began by insisting
that she be coached in acting and dancing, though she’s never had a
formal singing lesson in her life. She still doesn’t know what key she
sings in. She’ll say, “Play some chords and I’ll pick one.” He had
orders sent down to the commissary: “No matter what she orders,
give her nothing but chicken soup and cottage cheese.”
 Her one dear friend in approximately her own age group was
Mickey Rooney. They were nuts about each other. They went to
school together, along with Metro’s Jackie Cooper, Freddie
Bartholomew, and other child stars whom Mickey rapidly eclipsed.
Mickey, who remains today one of the greatest underrated talents in
entertainment, was brash, cocksure, and growing up fast. He was
doing calisthenics in the schoolyard one day under an instructor’s
eye when Frank Whitbeck, the studio advertising director, passed by.
“Hi, Uncle Frank,” yelled Mickey. “Ain’t this the damndest thing
for a grown man to be doing?”
The crush Judy had on Mickey would have burned up a girl twice
her age. An explosive mixture of emotion and ambition churns inside
her. “I have to have a crush on somebody,” she once cried to Ida,
“but they don’t last.” Mickey had a shield of toughness, which she
lacked, and a heart as big as Ireland, but he mostly regarded her as
a kid, too young for him.
She’d played minor roles, two of them with Mickey as star, when
The Wizard of Oz came along. Producer Mervyn LeRoy, typically, was
all set to have Shirley Temple as Dorothy, but Twentieth Century-Fox
wouldn’t release her. So he reluctantly settled for Judy—and she had
it made.
The top executive offices at Culver City are located in the
Thalberg Building, otherwise known as the “Iron Lung” by reason of
its much-envied air-conditioning system. Before it was built, Metro
tried to buy a little piece of corner property, on which stands a long-
established undertaker’s parlor. He refused to sell, so today his
establishment stands like a sore thumb next to the handsome
structure named for Irving Thalberg. The undertaker occasionally
peers into the “Iron Lung” and says: “Well, I’ll get you all, sooner or
later.” He’s had most of the old-timers already.
From the executive offices you could look across the street at
four big twenty-four-sheet billboards standing side by side. On them
were displayed posters that shouted the claims of the studio’s
newest hits, listing names of the stars, featured players, producer,
director and, if they were lucky, the writers.
Since actors are vain, Mayer and his aides, like soft-spoken
Benny Thau and burly Eddie Mannix, could sweet-talk them into
accepting bigger billing in lieu of more money in many a contract.
With Oz, Judy’s billing grew like a mushroom. It jumped above the
picture’s title, making her technically a star. The size of the lettering
that was used to spell out her name expanded year by year. Now
she’s reached the peak, where one name, Judy—like Garbo and
Gable—does all the selling needed to pull in an audience.
Then Metro smelled gold in billing Mickey and Judy together for
Babes on Broadway, and some of her cruelest years opened up for
her. Compared with Mickey’s greased-lightning ability to do
everything and anything and get it right instantly, Judy was a slow
study. Dance rehearsals were a torture. She was driven frantic,
dancing, singing, improvising, putting a picture together. The
director, Busby Berkeley, was a taskmaster who extracted the last
ounce of her energy.
“I used to feel,” she told me later, “as if he had a big black bull
whip, and he was lashing me with it. Sometimes I used to think I
couldn’t live through the day. Other times I’d have my driver take me
round and round the block because I hated to go through the gates.”
I saw him work her over in one picture, where she stood on a
truck and sang. He watched from the floor, with a wild gleam in his
eye, while in take after take he drove her toward the perfection he
demanded. She was close to hysteria; I was ready to scream myself.
But the order was repeated time and time again: “Cut. Let’s try it
again, Judy.”
“Come on, Judy! Move! Get the lead out.” By now, she was
determined to keep her name in the billing, but I doubt if she would
have pretended to anyone that she enjoyed being an actress. She
was jealous of Mickey, forever running to Ida to complain: “He got
the break, I didn’t.” For all the friendship of the two young people,
she wanted to best him in everything they did together.
The two of them sat together in the darkened theater. On one
side of them was Irene Dunne; on the other, Sonja Henie; behind
them, Cary Grant. When the house lights came on, Judy was crying
through the applause. “I know what you’re thinking,” Mickey said.
“We’re two kids from vaudeville, and we didn’t mean a damn thing
for so long, and now it’s happened to both of us.”
Years later, after Judy had fallen into a bottomless pit and
climbed out again, the Friars Club gave a banquet at the Biltmore
Bowl and proclaimed her “Miss Show Business.” She had just had the
British eating out of her hand at the London Palladium, played the
Palace in New York for nineteen sensational weeks; toured the
United States and finished her triumph at the Philharmonic
Auditorium in Los Angeles. Mickey’s career was running downhill.
Somebody remembered to send him an invitation to the Biltmore
Bowl, but it was to sit way over in a corner.
“Everybody was slapping each other on the back,” he reported
without bitterness, “and I said to myself: ‘Poor Judy, how many of
these people really care about you?’”
I said: “You two were like ham and eggs. You helped her more
than anybody.”
“Yeah, but the people who gave the party forgot that. That was
the only thing that hurt. Because I felt so close. I haven’t seen her
much lately. It’s all a kind of whirl.”
Adolescence can give a rough ride to any girl—and her mother, if
she’s around to share her daughter’s fears and confidences and dry
her tears. Judy’s thinned-out body was not given time to readjust.
The public idolized her. The exhibitors couldn’t get enough Garland-
Rooney musicals. She had to go on churning them out one after
another. They’d been sent to New York for the Capitol Theatre
opening of Babes on Broadway. They went back again and broke
every house record.
 “We’d been doing six, seven shows a day and having about forty
minutes between shows,” Mickey recalled. “This one afternoon we’d
just gone off stage to come back and take a bow together, and she
collapsed in the wings. I didn’t know what to do. I filled up with
tears. I felt as though something serious had happened. I came out
on stage and just felt lost without her. She wasn’t dieting at this
time. She was just going too fast.” And with the wrong companions.
That was Louis B. Mayer’s doing. His suspicious brain came up
with the idea that Ida had too much influence over Judy. She might
be tempted to think of what was good for the girl before she
thought of the studio, so he flatly told Ida: “You’ve got too much
work to do to look after the Garland.” By order, the old intimacy was
ended.
The studio brushed off somebody else in Judy’s life, too—her
first husband, David Rose, the serious-minded, preoccupied
composer to whom she was married at nineteen. She made two
mistakes in that. She married him without consulting Mr. Mayer
beforehand, which was a fracture of MGM protocol. Even worse was
the fact that she married at all.
A star’s life was supposedly controlled twenty-four hours a day
by the studio. She was told what to do, both at work and after
working hours; where to go; what to say; whom to mix with. Mayer
didn’t want any star to marry because that introduced a foreign
influence in the control system. A husband could often influence a
star against the studio for her own good and sometimes for his own
power.
They turned on Judy like rattlesnakes. On Academy Awards
night, she had sat for years at the number-one table along with the
rest of the MGM stars. As Mrs. David Rose she was deliberately
humiliated and seated at a much less desirable spot on the side and
out of the spotlight. That year she called to ask if I’d like to sit with
her.
 “Love to,” I said, then proceeded to give the tsar hell by
telephone: “Louis, you are treating her outrageously. Even if you
personally don’t like her, think of what she has done for your
company. You should be ashamed of yourself.” But he was immune
to shame or compassion. I wasted my breath.
They actually believed that she belonged to them, body and
soul. They’d created her; why couldn’t she show more gratitude?
The marriage hadn’t a chance. The studio told her so. David Rose
was the wrong man for her, said the sycophants who clung to her
like leeches. “He’s trading on your popularity. You’re a star; he’s a
struggling composer.” If they passed the two of them in the Culver
City streets, they’d greet her but ignore him.
After Judy left him, as she inevitably did, her private life changed
in many ways. Her father had died and her mother remarried to
become Ethel Gilmore. Both sisters were married, too. Metro
assigned a publicity writer, Betty Asher, to stay with Judy, and they
lived high, wide, and not particularly handsome.
She turned from her mother and her old friends. When they
warned her about the new set she was going with, the rainbow girl
screamed: “I’m old enough to know what I want. When I want your
advice I’ll ask for it.”
The dismal cycle of benzedrine and sleeping pills began again.
The studio kept up the illusion of Judy’s perfect health. She plunged
on, beating her thin chest and saying: “I feel fine.” Of course, she
knew she wasn’t, but she was too riddled with ambition to let
someone else take over a picture scheduled for her.
She listened to anybody who flattered her ego. Joe Mankiewicz,
the director who suffered the tortures of the damned on Cleopatra,
was a great ego booster. “You could be the greatest dramatic star in
the world,” he told her. “Anything Bernhardt did, you can do better.
I’ll write material for you, make you another Bernhardt.” That was
something he never did.
 Metro smiled on marriage number two—to Vincent Minnelli, who
had directed her in Meet Me in St. Louis and The Clock. They felt
this gentle man would bring her under control. Judy was married in
her mother’s home. Louis Mayer gave the bride away; Betty Asher
was matron of honor; Ira Gershwin the best man. Ida Koverman was
not invited, nor was I. Judy was then twenty-three.
Minnelli, ten years her senior, had never married before. Though
he controlled hundreds on a sound stage, he wasn’t successful in
seizing the reins as husband. He was too gentle. She continued to
mingle with her old crowd; sought and found her sensations;
quarreled with her mother.
By this time, we knew many of Judy’s problems and were
delighted to hear that she was pregnant. Maybe motherhood would
bring her back to her senses. Before Liza was born, I wanted to give
her a different kind of baby shower, with only men invited. Judy was
in a depressed mood. She bowed out with a note: “I’d have been a
dull guest of honor, but it was a wonderful idea. Thanks for thinking
of me. Forgive me, and after March I’ll be rarin’ to go. I’ll be my old
self again.”
Unfortunately motherhood rarely produces miracles. Though the
birth left Judy weakened, she scurried back to work again. Metro
issued glowing reports about her health, but her previously ravenous
appetite had strangely deserted her, and she stayed pathetically thin.
She got through her pictures only on nervous energy and doctors’
help. She was so near the borderline that when I visited her in her
dressing room on the set of The Pirate, in which she was co-starring
with Gene Kelly, she was shaking like an aspen leaf. She went into a
frenzy of hysteria. Everybody who had once loved her had turned
against her, she said. She had no friends.
Even her mother, Judy said, tapped her telephone calls. “She is
doing everything in her power to destroy me.”
I said: “You know that isn’t true. Nobody in the world loves you
as your mother does—and has all your life through all your troubles.”
 But she cried out against her mother; against Ida Koverman;
against all those who had helped her out of so much potential
trouble. She was carried out of the dressing room, put in a
limousine, still wearing make-up and costume, and put to bed. But
she rallied and finished the picture.
The gulf between her and Minnelli widened. He tried to force her
to eat, but she couldn’t. In fits of temperament, the couple parted
many times. But he was always on hand to help.
The road got rougher. Something desperate was happening to
her. The sad chronicle of studio suspensions began. Then Metro
bought Annie Get Your Gun for her and assigned as director the
“man with the bull whip,” Buzz Berkeley. She went into a weeping
rage when she was told she’d have to work for him again and
refused point-blank to do it. So the studio gave her Charles Walters
in his place. But then nothing could have improved the situation for
her.
She recorded the songs which are collectors’ items—I often sit
and play them in my den at night. Then day after day, with a million
dollars of Metro’s money already invested, she didn’t show up for
work. Her bosses took her off the picture. Betty Hutton was brought
in to replace her, which was one of their biggest mistakes. They
should have waited until Judy got well.
When Judy walked into my den after hearing the news from
Mayer himself, she looked middle-aged. She stared into space,
blamed herself for her troubles. “I understand the studio’s problems
at last. I’d been there so long I’d forgotten you have to conform to
their plans. Mr. Mayer promised to take care of me. He said he’d give
me so much to live on while I’m out of work.”
She was in the throes of another separation from Minnelli. “I’m
broke. How can anyone save money in this business? When Vincent
and I were together, I spent $70,000 decorating our house. Since
our separation I’m paying $1000 a month rent on another. It’s tiny;
no nursery for my baby. But I have to keep working.”
 I begged her to go to the Menninger Clinic. Treatments there
had done much good for Robert Walker, her co-star in The Clock.
“There’s nothing the matter with my head,” she replied. “It’s my
body that’s tired.”
A few days later she entered the Peter Brigham Hospital in
Boston, with Louis Mayer personally paying the bills, and stayed
there for several months. Back in Hollywood, fighting to lose weight
again, she finished Summer Stock with Gene Kelly. Then, during
rehearsals for Royal Wedding with Fred Astaire, the headlines
screamed that Judy Garland, suspended for refusing to work, had
cut her throat in the house she’d spent $70,000 decorating. Stories
told of her racing into the bathroom, breaking a glass, slashing her
throat. In fact, the scratch could have been as easily made with a
pin. The cut wasn’t serious. It was more a case of nerves than
anything else.
Her mother had long since given up the hopeless task of staying
close. She was working as a theater manager in Dallas. When she
heard the news, she got in her little jalopy and drove thirty-six hours
nonstop to go to her daughter. “Judy,” she said enigmatically, “will
never kill herself.” She stayed on in California, working in a job in an
aircraft plant that Ida Koverman helped obtain for her. She died of a
heart attack in the parking lot there. Previously, she used to plead
with her friends: “Please don’t introduce me as Judy’s mother.”
Judy has walked the rocky road back to the top of the mountain
with Sid Luft by her side for most of the miles. Sid is her husband,
“manager,” and a gambling man who can kill $10,000 in an
afternoon. He loves horses and fast motor cars. It was Sid, with
whom she has led an on-again off-again life as Mrs. Luft, who
arranged her first tour that opened at the London Palladium, where
she was an absolute sensation. She has two more children by him:
Lorna and Joe.
“I don’t think there’s any actress in the world that can produce
like she can when she’s going,” said one member of the group that
accompanied her to London. “When she’s going, she’s the greatest
thing on wheels. When you’re with a dame that’s fantastic like that,
and you don’t know if she’s going to get on or off or anything, you’re
bound to crack under the strain.”
Many people wondered how Judy Garland got her amazing
contract from Jack Warner to make the musical version of A Star Is
Born. There was a clause in it she didn’t have to work before 11 a.m.
If she was ill they wouldn’t expect her to work. It was a fantastic
deal. Here’s the story.
When it came time for Jack’s beautiful daughter Barbara to have
her coming-out party, he promised to get her anything she wanted.
What she wanted was to have Judy Garland sing at the party. Her
father told her that was impossible. “But, Daddy, you promised to
give me anything I wanted, and I thought you could do anything.”
Then she burst into tears and hung up the telephone.
Father went to work. He called Judy. Her answer was: “Why
would I do that? No.” He called her again: “What would I have to
give you to change your mind?”
Then it was that Sid Luft came on the phone and said: “We want
A Star Is Born,” naming an astronomical price for Judy and special
clauses in the contract. Warner had to buy the story from David O.
Selznick at a cost, I believe, of a quarter of a million.
But Judy survived the flop that A Star Is Born proved to be, as
she has survived all the incredible excesses of her life. In every
performance—at concerts, on television, in her new pictures—she
has the power to stir an audience to the depths of their hearts, like
an old-fashioned revival meeting. “We have all come through the fire
together,” she seems to say, “and none of us is getting any younger,
but we’re here together, and I’ll love you if you love me.”
This feeling she gives out to and gets back from an audience
may be the one crush of her life that will last. She used to be her
own worst critic. Before she went into a number for the screen, her
co-workers had to keep telling her: “You’re wonderful, wonderful!”
But she never thought she was good. “I was awful” was her own
self-judgment whenever she’d finished. But now, as she literally
tears her way through her songs, her audiences go crazy listening to
her. They crowd around to touch her, and she believes in what she
can achieve.
Ethel Barrymore, one of her greatest boosters, told me: “I think
she has a tremendous frustration. She’s always felt she wasn’t
wanted. She has a complex common among women—she wants to
be beautiful. I told her: ‘God is funny that way. He divides these
things. When you open your mouth to sing, you can be as beautiful
as anyone I’ve ever known.’ But you’ve got to keep telling her.”
Judy suffers from nightmares concerning her mother. She has
lost something of herself somewhere along the road. But so long as
she has millions of people loving her and fighting for her, she’ll keep
the ghosts in the background.
Her performance in Carnegie Hall was one of the most amazing
things I ever witnessed. Her fans screamed and applauded after
every number. She gave encore after encore, promised: “I’ll stay all
night if you want me.” She threw her head back and used the mike
like a trumpet.
She repeated the same frenzied performance in the Hollywood
Bowl, this time in the rain, and nobody moved. You sat enthralled
because she’d cast her magic spell as she did first when she sang
“Over the Rainbow.” This was our little Judy, who came home and
persuaded the natives that skies really were blue and that dreams
really do come true.
 Eight
One bright morning last spring, a fat young woman with a baby
carriage ambled along Hollywood Boulevard. First to catch my eye were
the pink Capri pants and her wabbling derrière that was threatening to
burst right out of them. Next item I spotted was the cigarette dangling
out of her mouth, sprinkling ashes on the baby. I put on speed to catch
up with her, though I didn’t know her from Little Orphan Annie.
“I wonder if you know how you look from the rear. You should be
ashamed of yourself, and you a mother, too.”
That stopped her dead in her tracks. “And who might you be?”
“Doesn’t matter, but you’re disgusting.” With that, I walked on,
feeling I’d done my bit for the cause. I wasn’t exactly running any risk.
Though she outweighed me by thirty pounds, I knew she couldn’t leave
the baby to come after me.
The cause is glamour, for which I’ve been fighting a losing battle
for years. Our town was built on it, but there’s scarcely a trace left now.
Morning, noon, and night the girls parade in babushkas; dirty, sloppy
sweaters; and skin-tight pants. They may be an incitement to rape, but
certainly not to marriage. Unless the era of the tough tomboy ends
soon, the institution of matrimony is doomed to disappear forever.
The geniuses who conduct the motion-picture business killed
glamour when they decided that what the public wanted was not
dream stuff, from which movies used to be made, but realism. They
took the girls out of satin, chiffon, velvet, and mink, put them first into
gingham and then blue jeans. So what happened? They converted the
heroine into the girl next door, and I’ve always advocated that if they
want to see the girl next door, go next door. Now they’ve thrown the
poor kid out to earn her living on the streets.
 The milliners, especially the males, have helped stitch glamour’s
shroud. Deep inside whatever they call their souls, they hate women.
They made the most ridiculous concoctions for women to wear on their
heads. Hats like table doilies, little pot holders, coal scuttles, dishpans,
crash helmets, bedpans. Husbands were ignored when they
complained: “Where in God’s name did you get that thing? Whoever
made it must hate your sex.”
Not until other women laughed at them did the glamour pusses
discard their psychotic chapeaux and go bareheaded. By then the
designers had ruined their own racket; they’d killed the sale of hats. I
can walk six blocks today in any city and see nothing more than hair or
a scarf covering anybody else’s hair but mine.
Studio wardrobe departments that employed cutters, seamstresses,
and embroidery hands by the dozens are empty, staffed by skeleton
crews. The stock rooms were crammed with bolts of magnificent
brocades, satins, laces; now most of the shelves are bare. One odd
sight you’ll see, though—rows and rows of realistic breasts cunningly
contoured from flesh-colored plastic, complete with pink nipples,
hanging in pairs, labeled with the name of the underprivileged star they
were created for. Some deceivers are made of rubber and inflate to
size.
Everything else in Wardrobe was real—furs, fabrics, and feathers.
The cost of sheer labor that went into making the clothes drove the
accountants cross-eyed. One costume Garbo wore in Mata Hari took
eight Guadalajaran needlewomen nine weeks to complete. In my
wardrobe I have the most beautiful coat I have seen anywhere, which
Travis Banton of Paramount designed. The embroidery alone cost
$4000.
The studio designers were brilliant men and would have succeeded
as artists, painters, decorators. One or two were addicted to the bottle,
but they all blazed with talent. Travis at Paramount, Adrian at Metro,
Omar Kiam at Goldwyn, Orry-Kelly, now free-lancing and making more
money than ever. He designed the clothes for Marilyn Monroe in Some
Like It Hot, but she recut them to suit herself, and he refused to do her
next picture.
 There are only two women associated with the movies now who
make sure they look like stars, and they both live in New York. Joan
Crawford won’t venture out of her Fifth Avenue apartment to buy an
egg unless she is dressed to the teeth. Marlene Dietrich does more—
she’s made herself a living legend of spectacular glamour around the
world.
For her opening night the first year at the Sahara in Las Vegas I
had a front-row seat. She came on in a white dress that was poured
over her. She wore layers of sheer soufflé, infinitely finer than chiffon,
but only one layer to protect her chest from the evening air. The
audience let out a gasp that threatened to blow away the tablecloths.
The next night she wore the same gown, but she’d had two little circles
of seed pearls sewed strategically on the bodice and forever after
swore she had never appeared any more naked than that. But I’d seen
both of them.
Every year she outdoes herself. One season she succeeded with a
full-length coat of rippling swan’s-down that for sheer beauty surpassed
anything in fabulous fashion. Jean Louis designed it, but it was made
by my furrier, Mrs. Fuhrman. In her shop one day, where the coat was
kept in cold storage, she asked me to try it on. I felt like a maharaja’s
mother.
“We had a terrible time getting the swan’s-down,” said Mrs.
Fuhrman, as I preened my borrowed feathers. “You know, you have to
pull the feathers off the living swans—”
“You what?” I gulped. “I don’t want to see it again.”
Marlene was invented as a fashion plate just as Pygmalion created
Galatea. The first time Travis Banton saw her, I thought he’d pass right
out at her feet. Soon after she landed here, as Josef von Sternberg’s
protégée, she turned up at an afternoon tea party wearing a black satin
evening gown complete with train, trimmed with ostrich feathers. Her
hips were decidedly lumpy. Except for her beautiful face and perfect
legs, which we’d seen in The Blue Angel, she could have passed for a
German housewife.
 Travis, a Yale man, took her in hand, taught her everything he
knew about art, clothes, and good taste. She slimmed down, was made
over into the most strikingly dressed clothes horse on the screen. She
had some keen competition to contend with at Paramount. Carole
Lombard, Claudette Colbert, Kay Francis, Evelyn Brent, and, later, Mae
West fought for Travis’ most stunning designs.
For one picture Mae insisted upon having only French clothes. She
had posed for a nude statue and sent it to Paris to have the clothes
fitted on it. They were beautiful clothes that arrived back, but when
they were tried on Mae, they didn’t meet by ten inches. Everything had
to be remade at the studio.
There aren’t any Marquis of Queensberry rules when an actress
wants to win, but Marlene walked off with the honors. She was Travis’
favorite. Nothing was too good for her. As top star at Paramount, she
allowed herself the luxury of a raging temper unless she got her own
way, but she took care not to rage at Travis.
At Christmas time she showered him with presents by way of
thanks. He invited my son Bill and me to help trim his tree one
Christmas. I saw him unwrap twenty-two separate packages from
Marlene, covering the whole gamut of giving, from sapphire-and-
diamond cuff links with studs to match, to Chinese jade figures and a
kitchenload of copper pots and pans.
She is a complex woman. A different side showed when she
wanted a hat, made almost entirely of black bird-of-paradise feathers,
which she was going to wear at the race track. Trouble was that federal
agents had just swooped down on the Wardrobe Department and
confiscated its entire stock of egret and paradise feathers—$3500
worth. The law said that importing, buying, or possessing them was
forbidden, though these particular items had been carried on the
inventory for years.
So Marlene’s precious hat had to be made of substitute plumage by
a staff of expert milliners—one of them even came out from New York
for the occasion. Marlene took one look at the result, tried the fine
feathers disdainfully on for size, then in silence ripped them to shreds.
The milliners worked for days before they came up with a hat she’d
wear.
The same perfectionism blazed again when Ouida and Basil
Rathbone announced a costume ball they were giving at the old Victor
Hugo Restaurant in Beverly Hills. This was going to be the diamond-
studded social event of the season. Our hosts counted the invitations
they’d sent out, then thoughtfully had the restaurant install extra
plumbing and built two complete extra powder rooms, ladies’ and
gents’.
Marlene, as ever, was intent on outdoing everybody. She decided to
come as Leda and the Swan. Paramount’s sewing ladies labored for
weeks on the costume. The studios in those days took care that
wherever a star appeared, she lived up to the glittering image of a star
that they—and the public—carried in their minds. If she showed up at a
private gathering looking less than immaculate, she’d be hauled on the
carpet next morning by a head executive and advised to mend her
manners.
On the evening of the Rathbones’ party Marlene made up at home
and went to the studio at 8 p.m. to be poured into her Leda gown. She
regarded herself in the mirrors, then cried: “It won’t do. I can’t possibly
wear a swan whose eyes match mine.” So the sewing girls fell to, and
the embroidered blue eyes were picked out and green ones
substituted. Marlene sent out for champagne and sandwiches for them
all to have an impromptu celebration in Wardrobe. She arrived at the
Rathbones’ shivaree five hours late and was the sensation of the
evening.
I’d intended to go in a borrowed brocade that had a coronation
look, with a jeweled crown to match, toting a baby lamb with gilded
hoofs on a leash. But the lamb submitted to his pedicure for nothing. I
was working on a picture with Louise Fazenda until midnight. When I
got home, I was too tired to look at the lamb or do anything but flop
into bed.
Under the swan’s-down and sequins, Marlene remains at heart
what she was in the beginning: a Hausfrau with a mothering instinct a
mile wide. She has mothered every man in her life. They’ve loved her
for that, and much more. Mike Todd enjoyed a special place under her
warm, protective wing. A great friendship started when he went to see
her in Las Vegas to ask her to appear as a “cameo” star along with
Frank Sinatra, Red Skelton, and George Raft in the San Francisco
honky-tonk sequence in Around the World in Eighty Days.
She agreed and instantly took on the full-time job of mothering
Mike. She saw to it that he ate regularly, and the proper food. She
helped him with advice. She bought him his first matched set of
expensive luggage when she saw the ratty collection of cheap suitcases
in which he’d been living. “You are a very great man, Mike,” she told
him; “you must look and act like one.” He bought her nothing in return.
Every dollar he could scrape up had to go into completing his picture.
He hadn’t then met Elizabeth Taylor.
I watched Marlene play the honky-tonk scene, which wasn’t suited
to her—she could have written a much better script herself. Then Mike
drove me over to Metro, the only place where Todd-AO equipment had
been installed, to see José Greco, David Niven, Cantinflas, and Cesar
Romero in the flamenco and bullfight sequences. I sat stunned. “If the
rest is as good as this,” I told Mike, “you’ve got one of the greatest
spectacles ever made.” Joe Schenck, who’d sat with us, agreed. “If you
need money to finish it,” he promised, “all you have to do is come to
me.”
Mike gave Marlene and me his word that we could see the first
rough cut of the complete picture. He kept his promises with most
people, certainly with us. We had a six o’clock date to attend the
screening with him before the three of us ate a quick dinner at
Chasen’s and he flew to New York. He was late, as usual, but at six-
thirty he was there to call: “Roll ’em.”
When the screening ended, Marlene and I sat in total silence. Mike
couldn’t stand it. “Why don’t you say something? What’s the matter?
I’ve never known you two broads at a loss for words.”
“Shall I tell him?” I asked Marlene.
“Go ahead.”
 I gave it to him on the chin. “Who cut this picture? A butcher?
Where are those wonderful scenes I saw in the gypsy tavern and the
bull ring? Why have they been cut to bits?”
“She’s right,” murmured Marlene. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“The cutter said they ran too long,” Mike explained.
“Well, fire him. Get the negative put back together and start all
over again. Pay him off and find yourself an artist, not the man who did
this.”
“I don’t know if I can do it. I gave him a year’s contract. It’d cost a
fortune.”
“If you don’t, it will cost you a great picture.”
“Who could I get?” he begged.
“You’ve got one friend in this town who wants to see you succeed,
not fail,” I said, “and that’s Sam Goldwyn. He has saved his own
pictures in the cutting room many a time. Go to Sam and let him find
you the finest cutter in the business. It’s the only way you can save it.
You haven’t got a picture unless you do.”
Mike sat there churning with anger. This was his first picture. We
made a sad threesome in the restaurant, with Mike complaining about
how hard he’d worked already and us not listening to him. “You’re
going on a plane and you’ll get no food there,” Marlene interrupted. “I’ll
order dinner for you. Hedda and I will eat later.”
He accepted that idea, then grumbled that he didn’t feel like going
to New York anyway and he’d cancel his reservation. “You must go.
You’ve got money questions to settle there,” said Marlene, the mother
again.
After he’d left, she telephoned the airport: “Mr. Michael Todd will be
a few minutes late for his flight, number ten, TWA, for New York.
Would you please hold the plane for him? It’s very important.” Then
she asked me: “Are you hungry?” We hadn’t eaten a mouthful with
him.
 He went to New York. On his return he saw Sam Goldwyn, who
came through with the right cutter. The first real preview, loaded down
with Hollywood and New York big shots, was a sensation. But by then
Mike had met and been dazzled by Liz, who arrived late at that
screening nursing a highball, and sipped her way through the
performance. Marlene saw very little of him after that, and Liz got all
the glory.
On the afternoon of March 22, 1958, I was in Havana, Cuba,
bowing before Madame Fulgencio Batista, wife of the reigning dictator,
who was guest of honor at a fashion show being staged to celebrate
the opening of a new Conrad Hilton hotel. In my outstretched hand I
held a hat for presentation to her. A newspaperman in the crowd
couldn’t wait until I’d finished. He hurried forward and whispered in my
ear: “Mike Todd’s dead—his plane crashed.”
I quickly dipped my head to Madame. “Will you excuse me? I’ve
had some very sad news.”
When I flew back to New York next day, Marlene telephoned me at
the Waldorf Towers, broken up by the news of Mike. We talked for
ninety minutes. She wept for him, and so did I.
Over cocktails in Havana I’d met an ex-subject of my movie-making
days. Ernest Hemingway had cursed like a troop of cavalry in 1942
when my cameraman trailed him around Sun Valley and ruined a day’s
quail hunting for him. I wanted to bag him and the Gary Coopers on
film for my series of two-reelers called Hedda Hopper’s Hollywood. In
Cuba I got very chummy with Ernest and his lovely wife, Mary. “We
should have met twenty-five years ago,” he said gallantly.
“Yes, I think we might have made some sweet music then.”
“It’s not too late now,” the old flirt replied.
“It is for me,” I said.
He sighed. “I was boasting a bit. I guess for me, too.”
The following winter in New York I saw Mary at a Broadway
opening. “Where’s your ever-loving?” I asked.
 “Out with Marlene Dietrich. He preferred dining with her to coming
to see this play.”
“Can’t blame him. But how come I never get that much attention
from your husband?”
“Because you don’t do as much for him as Marlene,” said Mary.

* * * * *
Where Marlene was a challenge and an inspiration to Travis Banton,
Garbo was a challenge, exclamation point, to Gilbert Adrian at Metro.
Marlene loves seductive glamour in clothes, and she finished up
knowing as much as her master. The Swede hated dressing up, enjoyed
wearing only her drab woolen skirt, turtle-neck sweater, flat-heeled
shoes, and men’s socks on her big feet.
Travis delighted in high fashion. Adrian came up with more
fantastic designs, though when femininity was in order, his clothes
dripped with it for Greer Garson, Norma Shearer, Jeanette MacDonald.
He sized up Garbo like a bone surgeon, with his keen, kind, hazel eyes.
She moved like a man, and she had a man’s square shoulders. Her
arms were muscular; her bosom—let’s just say meager. Yet on the
screen there was a commanding presence and luminous beauty.
She had an acting secret that only a few of us who watched her
closely caught on to. In every clinch, a split second before the leading
man put his arms around her, she would reach out and embrace him. It
was one of the subconscious things that marked the difference
between a European and an American woman—and Americans were
always awed by Garbo. Her pictures are still earning lots more praise
and money overseas than at home.
Her face hinted at sadness. She suffered her first bitter taste of
that not long after she was brought over from Stockholm by Metro, to
land in the middle of a New York heat wave, when she spent most of
her days sitting in a hotel bathtub full of cold water. It wasn’t Garbo
that the studio wanted but Maurice Stiller, the Swedish director who
had discovered her and refused to travel without her. But Stiller was
subsequently fired by Irving Thalberg, and it was Garbo who was given
the build-up. Stiller returned to Stockholm, a defeated, ailing giant of a
man, and she was heartbroken.
She stored up bitterness against MGM. In her early days Pete
Smith, head of publicity, had her pose for cheesecake shots wearing
track shorts, to be photographed with another Scandinavian, Paavo
Nurmi, the record-breaking runner, on the athletic fields of the
University of Southern California. When she had made her name a
household word and insisted on working in complete privacy on the set
behind tall screens, Louis B. Mayer brought six important New York
stockholders to see her. She sent them packing. “When Lillian Gish was
queen of the lot, all I was allowed to do was show my knees. Now let
these visitors bend their rusty knees to me, but they shall not watch,”
she said.
Once Arthur Brisbane, Hearst’s top editor, came on the set to
watch. When she saw him she walked out of the scene. “If he wants to
see me, he can see me in the theater.” She went to her dressing room
and wouldn’t come back until he’d gone.
Adrian accentuated Garbo’s assets and concealed her liabilities. For
her he devised the high-necked, long-sleeved evening gown that swept
the world of fashion in the thirties. For As You Desire Me, in which I
played her sister, he invented the pillbox hat with strings tied under her
chin, which became part of every smart woman’s wardrobe. He had her
dripping in lace and melting costume lines for Anna Karenina, sent the
dress industry off on an oriental kick with her exotic outfits for The
Painted Veil. Her costumes in Grand Hotel could be worn today and still
be high fashion.
He achieved much the same kind of fashion influence for Crawford.
Her padded halfback’s shoulders in Chained and a dozen other movies
convinced half the women of America that this was exactly how they
wanted to appear. His Letty Lynton dress, with wide sleeves and
sweetheart neck, was a garment-center classic. “If Crawford has an
apron,” we used to say, “it has to be by Adrian.”
His new clothes for any top star were guarded like the gold of Fort
Knox. Until the premiere costumes were kept under lock and key so
manufacturers’ spies couldn’t run off with his designs and pirate them.
Welcome to our website – the ideal destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. With a mission to inspire endlessly, we offer a
vast collection of books, ranging from classic literary works to
specialized publications, self-development books, and children's
literature. Each book is a new journey of discovery, expanding
knowledge and enriching the soul of the reade

Our website is not just a platform for buying books, but a bridge
connecting readers to the timeless values of culture and wisdom. With
an elegant, user-friendly interface and an intelligent search system,
we are committed to providing a quick and convenient shopping
experience. Additionally, our special promotions and home delivery
services ensure that you save time and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Let us accompany you on the journey of exploring knowledge and

personal growth!

ebookluna.com