回复：【长篇阅读】公子的传记

To add to his personal problems, Ruth was becoming more senile every day and wandered away from her home on Selby Street forgetting who she was. The only thing she could remember was, “I am Robert Taylor’s mother.”
She had given up calling him “Arly” and became completely engrossed in being the mother of a celebrity even though she thought the life of an actor was a wicked one. It had gotten to the point that if grace was not said before a meal, she was shocked.
One evening the family, including a few friends, sat down for dinner and during the first course, Ruth began to rant that actors were disrespectable and were too busy with their lives of sin, divorcing, drinking and cursing. She got up form the table and left the room.
Taylor smiled. “Guess we forgot to say grace again. Oh well, I’m just a heathen!”

Ruth embarrassed him in other ways, but he became used to her and the family played along. One habit Ruth had was handing Bob money, on his birthday or for Christmas, money that he, of course, had given her. She made quite a production over the fact that she was giving money to her famous and wealthy son, and made sure everyone, friends included, were gathered round when she made her generous gesture.
But more than anything else, her disappearances bothered Taylor.He would receive telephone calls from drugstores, cab drivers or strangers on the street informing him there was a woman who claimed to be his mother. Somehow she was always found and brought home. What Taylor did to hush up these numerous incidents, no one knows.

. . . and now that my problems are solved for the time being anyway, let me tell you somethin’, Ol’ Bud, you’ve got troubles comin’ your way if you follow that map you whipped up for your next vacation! It’s slowly beginning to dawn on me why we darned near got lost on that flight we made from New Orleans to Dallas when you started callin’ me Dilly. It was YOUR lousy navigation!
When I looked at your map showing the Florida coast, the Dry Tortugas and Cuba, I ran like crazy to my Atlas and you sure didn’t do Castro justice. If Cuba runs North and South then Castro’s a Methodist Minister! Damned good thing the Rooskies didn’t shoot you up into that rocket. You’d probably gotten up there around 200miles, down to 180 and missed the whole damned earth! I just hope your navigation improves or Castro’ll have one old fat boy I know for dinner some nite! And I don’t mean as a guest!

Taylor went on to say that ABC had offered him a half-hour show for next year but that he had already made a deal with Walt Disney foe a picture in Europe starting June, 1962. “The money ain’t the best—leastwise it ain’t what I usedta get—but that figgers and I AIN’T PROUD NO MORE! I gotta keep workin’. My expenses seem to be goin’ up and up and up but the Disney picture sounds like a good one and at least Ursula and the kids will be able to go with me to Vienna.
“The yarn, incidentally, is called The Miracle of the White Stallions and has to do with saving of the Lippizan horses by the American Army when Patton went into Austria.
“I do not play a white stallion OR Patton!
“Maybe when I return we can do some huntin’. Seems like too damn many of my old buddies are departin’ me these days—’n I don’t like it atall! Jest don’t YOU get any fancy ideas of goin’ back into the Navy, now willya? They ain’t usin’ Stearmans no mo! And we ain’t checked out in them-thar Jets!”

Though Taylor had written to Tom, “I ain’t proud no more, ” he actually had been turning down one script after another. Most were not to his liking; those that were good required him to play a younger man. His answer to that was always, “No!” Or the role called for him to make love to a younger woman and the answer again was, “No!”
He said he didn’t want his photos retouched to make him look twenty-five years old again.
As Colonel Podhajsky in The Miracle of the White Stallions he was rewarded with excellent reviews. One newsman wrote, “Robert Taylor, weathering prettily with the years, seems more and more able to portray hard-bitten men. This, for an actor who used to be too beautiful for words, is high praise.”
Taylor was so pleased with this movie that he made rare public appearances on television talk shows and gave out interviews generously.

Gay Pauley wrote an article in the New York World Telegram about meeting Taylor.“I flew at the opportunity of meeting the ‘it boy’ of my teen years. The trouble with meeting one of my girlhood idols several years later is the shocking realization that not only is he older, but so am I.
“When asked if I wanted to meet him, I said I sure would. After all, in my youth I had spent quite a bit of my weekly allowance on the man, sighing with millions of other females as he made love on the screen. Why not see what my teen-age ‘thrill’ was like?”
“OK,” Taylor said to her, “I’m used to people like you who remember me when they were ‘little girls.’ I don’t mind at all. Teen-agers still have their idols, but now they worship Marlon Brando or Paul Newman or Tony Curtis . . . a different type of leading man.
“I don’t mind that I’m not playing the great lover any more. Changes in roles are inevitable if you are going to progress as an actor. Just as age is inevitable. “At the time I was enjoying (?) that fan hysteria, when autograph seekers mobbed us at hotel entrances, I was young enough to appreciate it. I don’t miss it today. Maturity has its rewards.
“Fans have changed, too. They’re blasé.Television has brought personalities right into their homes.”

Miss Pauley said Taylor laughed when she mentioned that he was neither gray nor balding. He said a crop of hair was inherited, and as for gray, well, he didn’t consider himself “old enough for that yet.’
She asked him how he had changed and he said, “Well, I don’t run up the stairs any more. I still weigh the same, but the sands have shifted!”
He told Miss Pauley his only professional ambition was to make just one more good picture. (Gay Pauley, New York World Telegram,1963.)

After he completed Cattle King, and was able to spend more time on the ranch, Taylor decided he needed a ranchhand. He interviewed several men, one of whom was Art Reeves, who had been employed by Wild Bill Elliot.
Art said the day Taylor had told him to come over for a chat, he found himself waiting with several other boys seeking employment on the Ursulor Rancho. “I saw this ‘Dude’ dressed up like a combination between Roy Rogers at a rodeo, and Liberace. He went in to talk to Taylor and I thought to myself, ‘Who the hell would hire a guy dressed like that? Why, his wardrobe was more expensive than Taylor’s!’”
“When Taylor got around to talking to me, I think he had already made up his mind on that ‘Dude’ and I was right. But a few weeks later he called and asked if I was interested in takin' the job. I wasn't going to make it too easy for him and said I would think it over. He was a little taken back and hung up the phone. Few days later he invited Wild Bill to dinner and Elliot said that Taylor wanted me to come along.
“This was his way of begging, though can’t say that is a good word to use. I made some comment about that ‘Dude’ andTaylor said the guy just didn’t work out. Then he offered me the job again and I accepted.”

Reeves was known as “Uncle Art” to the children and would remain on Ursulor Rancho to the end. He was a close confidante to Bob, and though they had their minor differences, they never had an argument.
Art was devoted to Taylor but admitted, “Bob would drive me nuts when he’d get his gander up about something—like the tool shed, for instance. I knew where everything was, but the place was a mess!
‘Bob was very neat and liked things in order. He’d come out of that tool shed when he couldn’t find what he wanted, hollerin’ like hell. One day I saw him looking over a broken fence and he walked over to me. ‘Ya know, Art, that fence has been that way for days. If I don’t get someone’—meaning me!—‘to fix it, I’ll have to do it myself.’
“Well, I was busy doing something more important, but he stood there waiting for me to take the hint. He made me so damn mad that I went into the tool shed and handed him a hammer. He looked at it—then at me –scowled—and fixed that fence himself. He was fussin’ and mumblin’ under his breath, giving those nails a good pounding, but he mended it better thanI could have.”

Taylor, being such a good correspondent, wrote many letters to Art when he and Ursula were away, but he never got a reply. “God damn it, Art, I’d like to know how things are on the farm when I’m not there. Just a note’s OK.”
Still no replies . . .
Taylor expressed his concern over the horses. Were the chickens laying eggs? Did the heavy rain in Los Angeles do any damage to the house? Any mail? Anycalls? Still no answer.
Finally out of desperation, Taylor enclosed self-ad-dressed cards with questions typed on them. All Art had to do was fill in yes or no.
Still no reply.
Taylor blew his stack! “All you have to do, for Christ’s sake, is drop the damn card in the mail box!”
“What, with no stamps on them!” Art replied.
The next time Bob put stamps on the self-addressed cards and he got a response.

Reeves and his wife, Barbara, became part of the family, and lived in the little cottage near the stables. They were, infact, married in Bob’s house and given a reception at Taylor’s invitation. Their cozy dwelling was off the dirt road entrance to the ranch, and one could get no further if he wasn’t known to Art, who could hear a car turning off Mandeville Canyon Road whenever he was in the house or corral. When he stepped into the driveway, you stopped! Softspoken, with little to say, he was a big muscular man with powerful hands that were usually buried in his pockets. He gave the right impression—no trespassing.
If you were a friend, he’d wave you on up the circular driveway to the rambling one-story house with kidney-shaped swimming pool on the left, a magnolia tree on the front lawn (a fifth-anniversary surprise from Bob to Ursula). A German Shepherd, Duchess, was always around if she heard anyone approaching. Her barking usually made the other animals on the grounds contribute to the conversation. These included horses, hunting dogs, and the wildlife somewhere in the surrounding mountains that engulfed the ranch closely on three sides.

Everyone’s favorite spot in the house was in front of the hearthstone fireplace; they sat around the thick heavy coffee table that had once been a collection table Bob found in an old church. He had the legs cut down and George Montgomery sanded and polished it.The markings, carvings and scratches underneath the polish gave the table a look of antique distinction—Western-style. It was the only piece of furniture Bob kept from his first marriage. He loved it and said he wouldn’t sell it for any price.
Every Christmas the house was decorated in a warm festive manner. There was a “healthy” wreath on the front door with a sign, THE TAYLORS WELCOME YOU.
Giant candles flickered near the fireplace and Christmas presents were scattered everywhere—on the mantle over the fireplace, on shelves, on chairs and bookcases.

Though Thanksgiving Day was for the family alone, which included Art and his wife, Christmas was open house to friends from 2:00 to 6:00. The Taylors celebrated their Christmas on the eve and the tree was trimmed by Ursula in the “tree room.” After dinner the door was opened and presents were there for the taking.
So many gifts were sent to Tessa and Terry that Taylor insisted most of them be shelved until a later date or given away. The children didn’t like this very much, but Ursula tried to pacify them by giving each a gift every day for two weeks before Christmas—a German custom.
“Daddy” played Santa Clause, sneaking off before Christmas dinner was finished. Ursula rang a tiny bell under the table announcing the arrival of Ol’ Saint Nick, and over the intercom, “Santa,” who was down in the running to the front door, where they would find Santa’s bag of little presents that Ursula had started buying during the previous summer.
When Terry got beyond the age of believing in Santa Claus, Bob let him assist in the “Ho, Ho, Ho” act for Tessa.

If it weren’t for Ursula, no Christmas cards would be sent. As much as Bob loved to write letters, he hated the idea of addressing hundreds of cards and very often they were eliminated entirely. Ursula liked to buy stationery with a gold wreath or some other Christmas emblem and drop a note to old friends. Some said Taylor disliked the “Christmas card bit” because he was afraid he would forget someone.
His presents to the children were inexpensive and practical. He loved to shop at Thrifty’s, a discount store chain in Los Angeles, and was almost as bargain conscious as Ursula. In turn, he was embarrassed and angry when he received an expensive gift from a friend. For days he’d complain about it, threatening to send it back, and then Ursula would convince him that it would be discourteous.
But when it came to breeding horses, motorcycles or a very special gift for a close friend, he was overly generous. Each member of the Taylor family owned a motorcycle, and when Terry showed little interest in horseback riding, Bob didn’t force the issue. But even the toughest of Bob’s buddies cringed when he took his son on motorcycle jumps. Terry would not admit his fear, but Art said, “When Bob got Terry on that ‘bike’ doin’ those jumps, even I shuddered!”
Other extravagances of Taylor’s were guns and camera equipment. Although he was a master with rifles, he could not get the hang of a a camera. On special occasions he would spend hours setting up his very expensive equipment and get everyone to pose just so, but few pictures ever turned out. If it hadn’t been for Ursula and her Brownie camera, there might never have been a family album.

Chapter ⅩⅢ
Taylor invited Purvis and his wife to the ranch in the fall of 1962. They also planned on doing some hunting in Oregonor fishing in Mexico.
September 12, 1962
Dear Slufoot:
Sorry to hear that yer pedal extremities are still on the fritz. Guess that must be what comes from not puttin’ on shoes early enuff in life. Anyhow, don’t worry about the care you’ll be able to get out here. We have a darned good blacksmith who comes over every month or so to take care of the horses and, if yer dogs start to give ya trouble , we can always take ya down to the barn and let him hammer out something kinda classy for ya!
In your letter you mention something about needing a “hat.” You sure as hell won’t need one, so ferget it –unless yer worried about your hair gettin’ mussed up! Your “digs” will be ready for ya on October 25 th and we’ll try to make ya comfortable. I’ll bring in a few extra bales of bedding from the barn just in case the bed ain’t big enuff for ya.
I also have my eyes on a few old milk cows which’ve been roamin’ the hills around here and hope to knock one down with a car on Mandeville Canyon one of these mornin’s. Gotta have somethin’ to BarBQ and the horses are too expensive. In any case, please don't worry--we'll eat, even if I have to trap a sackfull of these quail which come down and feed outside my window every mornin’. Take good care ole Bud—love to all of y’all from all of us—and if ya have any trouble finding a pair of kicks big enuff to accommodate those new insoles, just wait until ya get here. I’m sure I could talk Universal Studios out of a pair of those dandy shoes they useda use on ole Frankenstein!
As ever,
Dilly