回复：【长篇阅读】公子的传记

These were the uneventful years in Taylor’s life, though he was content as family man, father, and earning a top salary as one ofAmerica’s biggest box office stars.
During one of his interviews in 1956 he said, “There are two types of stars in Hollywood—actors and personalities. Well, I’m a personality.”
“What about Gable, Mr. Taylor? What do you consider him?”
“A friend who likes to hunt as much as I do.”
“Professionally . . .”
Taylor was eating lunch at the MGM commissary and concentrating more on his food than on the interview. “Professionally, what?”
“Do you think Gable is an actor or a personality?”
“Both!”
“Is there any reason why you consider yourself a personality rather than an actor?”
“Hell, if you’ve seen any of my movies you’d know the answer to that. People come to the theatre to see Robert Taylor, not a good piece of acting. The critics still refer to me as pretty, handsome and beautiful—a freak. I learned a long time ago to accept myself for what I am.That doesn’t mean I’m not trying to do better, but I’m also tryin’ to catch a bigger fish.”

The reporters followed him to the set ofThe Tip on a Dead Jockey. He proceeded to sit down and immediately fell asleep. When the director noticed this, he woke him up to prepare for the next scene. “You boys still here?”
“If you don’t mind, Bob, we’d like to watch. . .”
“Dull as hell, this movie. Hey, haven’t I met you somewhere before?”
One of the newsmen tipped his hat and said he had interviewed him when he was doing Ride Vaquero!
“God damn, that was another bad one!”
“All I can remember was trying to get a story out of you, and Ava Gardner walked over to the table. You put your hat over your face and went to sleep!”
“Who wants to talk to me when Ava’s around?”
“Yes, true . . . but you can fall asleep pretty fast.”
Taylor smiled. “Anytime, boys, anytime.”

Tom Purvis called Bob. “Read an interview about your fallin’ asleep. Can’t you even stay awake in front of reporters?”
“I only fall asleep when I feel like it.”
Purvis reminded Bob about the time he was in the back seat of his station wagon and Ralph Couser was in the front. “You were drivin’ and all of a sudden we ended up in a ditch. Ralph took hold of the wheel and straightened out, but you grabbed it and gave him hell! Can’t tell me you hadn’t dozed off!”
“My eyes were tried, that’s all,” Taylor retorted.
“Yeah, sure—and how many times do you fall asleep with a lighted cigarette in your hand. Ursula swears the house will burn down one day!”
Taylor was like that. He rose early—usually at dawn—whether he was working or not. He could go to bed whenever he felt like it. He once said, “Funny thing, I’m never really tried . . . bored, maybe, but not tired!”

Tom Purvis retired at the young age of fifty and moved to Bradenton, Florida. Before he had time to get his furniture off the moving van, he received a very expensive backyard barbeque from Taylor. “A house is not a home without! Dilly.”
Tom said Bob was very unpredictable when it came to gifts, but he was the kind of a guy who remembered a friend’s request when he was in Europe. “I told Bob once when he was going to Switzerland to get me a watch. I made it clear that I would pay for it but not to go out of his way. It was apparent that he really shopped for the one he finally picked out for me—even had some alterations done. The damn thing did everything but talk. He handed it to me and said it was worth well over＄600 but he got it for ＄250. I almost swallowed my cigar! I gave him the money, alright, but never expected him to pay more than ＄75. At the time I was a little peeved, but I have it to this day and it’s never been off a minute!”
Tom and Bob never had a falling out. They invested in property and other ventures that usually made small profits. Bob tried to get Tom to go along with him on a film venture for Winchester and was very excited about the project, but Tom said there were two things he’d never get involved in—running a motel, and motion pictures. It was his way of saying “no.” Bob was miffed, and never mentioned it again.

Taylor had an instinct about people and either liked someone at once orwas polite and distant.
Men liked him each in a different way. Some admired him for “not mixing with the big shots”—some for his devotion to Ursula—others because of his knowledge of horses and his love for sports—few for his depth.
He rarely gave compliments, and whatever he said to anyone, good or bad, he never took back.
One Hollywood producer labeled Taylor as a Hamlet, and went on to say that were few things interesting about the other top male stars whom the public worshiped, but only those very close to Taylor recognized these characteristics in him.

He was one star who did not get caught up with what was real and what was fake. It is common knowledge that most actors live their roles in real life—never leaving the camera, and truly believing that they should maintain their superficial script-like personality long after the studio had closed for the day. This was not Robert Taylor. He was what the clock dictated—an actor on the set, and just another guy everywhere else.
Taylor was pestered by men as well as women. They pursued him for one of two reasons: a homosexual wanted to meet Bob, or a tough guy wanted to see if “PrettyBoy” could match him drink for drink or provoke a fight.

On most occasion Taylor ignored these proposals; when someone telephoned him at his hotel it was simple enough for Bob to hang up after a firm and polite decline.
In Wichita, Kansas, while on a hunting trip with a few cronies, he got a call from a man who had had too much to drink. “Heard you were in the motel, Taylor, and would like to buy you a drink.”
“No, thanks, fella, I’m a little tired!”
“Well, then, Taylor, maybe I could come up to your room and we could relax.”
“Maybe some other time, but not now!”
“Maybe I’m not quite good enough, is that it? I ain’t got no fancy clothes like you, Taylor. Whatsa matter, pretty boy, pooped after a hard day of kissin’?”
Taylor got red in the face. “Look, friend, why don’t you take a nice long walk . . .”
“No, Taylor, I don’t want any of that Hollywood smooth talkin’ shit!”
“Ok, friend, why don’t you come up to room520—first door on the left. Make it about five tomorrow morning. I’m lookin’ for a stunt man who can do a little fallin’ off a horse. Ya see, I’m too pretty for that sort of thing and I can tell by your voice, you’re REALLLLLLLLLY tough. I’ll guarantee you at least fifty dollars a fall, and by tomorrow night you’ll walk away—that is, hopefully walk away—with a couple of hundred bucks! Now, you get lotsa rest, friend. I gotta get some sleep myself—ya know, all that huggin’ and kissin’ tuckers a guy out. See ya at five sharp—right here in room 520 . . .”

Taylor hung up the phone and said, “I’ve gotten these calls when I wanted to kill—especially from fags, but if this joker shows up, I’ll give him that job!”
No one knocked on Bob’s door early the next morning . . .
One of his hunting companions commented that when they packed up their guns and fishing gear, everyone in the group was serious. He said he could remember only one time that they didn’t concentrate on how the fish were biting or how many quail were waiting for them.
It was in 1950, shortly after Bob and Barbara announced their divorce, that they set out for Oregon by car, Taylor and a buddy in the first car and several other men in the second. As the trip progressed, the two automobiles were several hours apart.

Taylor and his friend stopped in small towns along the way, taking their time over coffee or Scotch while meeting people in diners and roadhouses. They were dressed in old clothes, Taylor with his hat, as usual, covering his forehead and eyebrows. Whether or not women he met on this particular trip knew who he was, no one will say, but he flirted and took several of them home.
The second car stopped off in the same towns, and the men were told by some of the local townsmen who answered their questions with a snicker that their friends had been and gone. When questioned further, they explained with a smile that there was little coffee left and the few girls who had been available weren’t available anymore. When the second group finally caught up with Taylor, they kidded him about the trip, but he wouldn’t talk. How he managed to do as much carousing as he did always amazed everyone. No matter what the situation, when it involved women he never volunteered any information.
When he was on business trips and obviously traveling as Robert Taylor, his conquests were always arranged by someone else; he never walked up to a pretty girl and made a pass. He simply didn’t have the nerve. If they liked the idea of meeting Taylor somewhere for a drink, they accepted the invitation through a second party; the young lady would disappear without notice, Taylor either leaving before or after her departure.

Ursula was as noncommittal as he was, but those who knew Bob before he married her observed a couple who were deeply in love. Their eyes said more than any words could express. He had changed for the better, but didn’t realize he was more outgoing, laughed without restraint and was aware of her presence—always.
In the beginning Bob was the master of the house, proving to himself that he WAS the boss. In later years this changed,and Ursula was the strength, though she gave Bob all the credit in every sense.
Hall Bartlett, who was married to Rhonda Fleming at the time, said, “Their’s was the greatest love story. It happens to one in a million. We’d get together for a few drinks, and no matter what he was talking about, he was looking at her. They would not sit together holding hands, but if you sat back and took a good hard look, there would be Bob on one end of the room, Ursula on the other, and they would manage to catch each other’s eyes at the same time. This continued throughout their marriage.”

Bob never confided his fear of losing his position as one of the highest-paid movie actors to Ursula, but she would laugh when he wasn’t around, “Why it wouldn’t bother me to scrub floors if I had to. We will always make out.”
They had no butlers, chauffeurs, maids, secretaries or stooges to run errands. Ruth did the baby-sitting on the few occasions that Ursula and Bob went out.
Ursula got along with Ruth much better than Barbara. The two women had no disagreements and Ursula took Ruth for who she was . . . Bob’s mother, who was sinking deeper into her religion and speaking of the evils of Hollywood. She was treated with respect and she still made it clear to Bob he would never have any money now that he had three children.
Taylor did not invite Ruth to live with him but did pay her expenses at her little house at 1063 Selby Street in Los Angeles. She became one of the family on birthdays and holidays. Ursula always made sure Ruth welcome. She knew, however, that Ruth was displeased, and accepted her role as Bob’s wife as one that his mother resented.
Taylor’s sixtieth movie was Tip on a Dead Jockey, in which he played a neurotic pilot who gets involved with a smuggling gang. The film was panned, but Robert Taylor was still powerful enough in 1957 to take the public away from their television sets for a few hours.

On October 29, 1957, L.B. Mayer died, brokenhearted. His last words spoken to Howard Strickling, head of studio publicity at MGM. “Don’t let them bother you. Nothing matters . . . nothing matters . . . ”
Taylor said, “For seventeen years it was he who guided me, and I never turned down a picture that he personally asked me to do. Some were so God damn rotten I thought he was trying to ruin me, but when things got tough he’d come up with a real plum. As far as I was concerned, he knew exactly what he was doing.
“He was kind, fatherly, understanding and protective. He gave me picture assignments up to the level that my abilities could sustain at the time and was always there when I had problems.
“I just wish today’s young actors had a studio and boss like I had. They groomed us carefully, kept us busy in pictures, thus giving us exposure, and made us stars. My memories of L. B. will always be pleasant and my days at MGM are my happiest—professionally.”

Elizabeth Taylor thought L.B. Mayer a horrible beast and to this day she will say so publicly. “Every year the whole studio had to celebrate his birthday. We would all be assembled on Stage Thirty which would have a dais and then tables for peasants like me. The kids would HAVE to stand around him and sing ‘Happy Birthday.’
“we were under contract and we were bloody well told to. Then he’d have a picture taken with a kid on each knee and he would say to the whole assembly including the peasants, ‘You must think of me as your father. You must come to me—any of you—with any of your problems, no matter how slight they might seem to you because you are all my children.’ Then he gave the full gesture—the open-arm embrace.
“But just try to get an appointment. And if you ever got behind those golden doors, you would just have to keep your mouth shut. My mother did once and they had an argument. He yelled, ‘You’re so God damned blankety-blank stupid you wouldn’t even know what day of the week it is. Don’t try to meddle into my affairs. Don’t try to tell me how to make motion pictures. I took you out of the gutter.’
“I yelled back at him, ‘You and your studio can both go to Hell!’ I never did apologize and I wasn’t fired. I swore I’d never go back into that office and I never did.” (Elizabeth Taylor, ELIZABETH TAYLOR New York: Harper and Row, 1964), pp. 15-17.

There were observers who said that in 1951 not only did Taylor lose Mayer but also Barbara—two strong forces in his life. With Mayer out of the picture, Barbara might have helped him through this difficult period. Regardless of her personality drawbacks, she was smart in her decisions about making movies and for whom. She might have advised Bob to get out then and there, but this is speculation. Her own career was in jeopardy, and in 1953 she made almost as many movies as she did in 1933, but only one—Titanic—was successful. She said as long as the customers wanted to see her, she would continue to make movies, and added, “After all, they SHOOT old horses.”
However, after Crime and Passion in 1957she was asked if she thought she was through as a film star. “Sure, why not admit it? I can’t stay up there forever. It’s a man’s world and it’s getting worse. I don’t know, they aren’t writing beautiful adult stories anymore. In the past three years I haven’t been sent any scripts—period. Oh, I know stars who say they can’t find anything they want to do in films, but I wouldn’t lie like that.
“I just haven’t had any offers!”

Barbara’s frankness spoke for the majority of established motion picture stars of the Golden Era. One of the few who were hanging on was Taylor, because he was one of the few still under contract to a major studio. His movies never lost money, but then he had MGM behind him even without Mayer. His productions were not cheap by any means, regardless of the story content.
In 1958 three Taylor movies were released: The Law and Jake Wade with Richard Widmark (“Taylor, looking grim and mature, carries conviction as the lawman!”); Saddle the Wind with John Cassavetes and Julie London (“The three stars are consistently good in this intelligent Western drama. Taylor turned out a thoughtful performance.”); and his last picture as an MGM contract player, Party Girl with Cyd Charisse. (“As the true blue legal spokesman for the mob, Robert Taylor makes the most of a fairly stereotyped series of situations. He is a grim, but stalwart operator who is as convincing as might be excepted in a well-worn role.”)