回复：【长篇阅读】公子的传记

October 15,1962
Dear Dismal—
Your duffle arrived in good shape day before yesterday and I unpacked ‘er yesterday and put it down in your “digs” nexta the chicken coop! I had sent all my horse blankets out to be cleaned so I’m usin’ yer “longies” on one of the animals until you get here. OK? He’s a nice and clean horse tho, so I don’t reckon you’ll have to wash ’em until sometime next season.
Ole Dale “Wells Fargo” Robertson had a party out at his place last nite and Mama kept me up until 2 this AM. I guess I better stretch out on the floor and get a little extra sack time before I takeTerry to Sunday School.
See y’all on the 27 th—
Dilly

Taylor’s referring to taking a nap on the floor was typical of him. Not only did he always stretch out on the floor, but he sat on the floor wherever he was. He was asked once if he had any Japanese blood in him because he liked to squat next to the coffee table and eat.
When Tom and his wife, Vi, arrived at the Ursulor Rancho, they slept in a large room in the stable area. It was furnished nicely, like a hotel room, complete with stereo.
They all packed their fishing equipment and flew to the Baja Peninsula in Mexico for a few days. They were guests of the son of former President Rodriguez of Mexico.
The Purvis family left for home and Taylor wrote that he wasn’t much at being or having house guests, but, “. . . the horses enjoyed your company and the next time you come out I’m afraid you’re gonna have to use that same stall again or hurt the hosses’ feelings!”
“You and Vi got out of here just in time,Curly. You mighta gotten your toupee signed a little. It’s really been a bitch!”
Taylor described the disastrous fire that swept through the canyon area vividly in his letter:

On Monday morning we got Terry on the bus to school around 7:45. Art called around 8:30 to ask if we’d heard anything on the radio about a brush fire. I hot-footed it out front and you could already see the column of smoke rising hundreds of feet in the air in a northeasterly direction.
The fire spread just like one of the old prairie fires back in the Midwest when I was a kid. By 11:00 Terry’s school had been evacuated and a Public School near it had burned to the ground. By 3:00 a police car screamed up the dirve here and said to get the hell out in a hurry—the fire was coming fast!
I had already had Mutti [Urusla] pack a bag for the kids and herself and she took off down the canyon for Ronnie Reagan’s place with the two small frys. Two guys from UCLA who had done odd jobs for us, plus another youngster from the Valley, showed up to help. I loaded two of the dogs in the station wagon, Art drove up on the hill to get the two mares down, and I sure as hell never figured he’d get them out. I drove to the Reagans to be with Mutti and the kids. While there we watched the progress of the thing onTV and through glasses, and by golly I wouldn’t have given you 5￠for our chances of saving a thing.

However, Art, with the help of the guys, herded all the horses down the canyon, took the rest of the dogs and put them all up with about 100 other horses out of the canyon in that playing field at the school on the corner of Mandeville Road field and Sunset Boulevard.
At 11:00 that night the policeman at the foot of the canyon told me Ursula and I could make it back up if we wanted to come so we went back up in the station wagon. You never saw such a mess! I’ll bet there were 150 fire engines in the canyon, all fighting blazes which were burning on both sides, and really having a helluva time. However, the fire had crossed the canyon below our place about 1/4 mile and from there on up it wasn’t too bad. We stayed up all nite with the sprinklers on the roof going and other sprinklers going in places where they’d do the most good. Art stayed down with the horses at the school.
The fire almost completely encircled the old Dick Powell house, burned out some of their fences but they saved the place. For a while there it looked like it was coming right across the street but we were just lucky I guess.
Around mid-morning on Tuesday, Ursula drove back down to the motel where we had put the kids and when she tried to come back up, they had closed the canyon. The fire was breaking out again all over the place, So . . . my “little hamburger,” not to be stopped, went over to the playing field, saddled up “Old Bobby” and came riding in here around noon.

The police came roarin’ in telling us to evacuate—that the fire wasn’t five minutes below us and coming this way. However, this time we were mad and said, “the hell with it—we’ll stay!” We had everything on, including the well, and things were fairly well wet down and we figured we could at least save the house and other buildings.
However, again we were lucky and the wind shifted back to the northeast. As a result I don’t think we lost a blade of grass on the entire property and everything looks normal. The canyon below is a mess, though, and it isn’t as bad as the area north of Bel Air Country Club.That really took a beating. At the present count 457 homes were completely burned out, to say nothing of those that were partially destroyed.
The fire companies and the guys flying the old B-17 bombers with borate solutions were really great. For a while things got so hot here in the canyon that it was like World War 2—those damned bombers’d come over here at treetop level, drop a wet load of that stuff and pull straight over the hills. It was exciting but just a shade scary too.
All the horses and dogs are back now and things are settling down again . . . except the private school Terry goes to was burned to the ground, with the exception of the little first-grade building. I guess he’ll go back there next week and they’ll have to start on a new building.
He seems to be enjoying the vacation.Puss-Puss [Tessa] is just fine and thoroughly enjoyed her two day stay in the motel. I guess eating out in a restaurant pleased both of them.”

Taylor’s remark about his children “eating out” typifies his method of bringing them up. Tessa and Terry knew only the simple things of life and their father did everything he could to keep it that way.
Before they went to school in the mornings, they had to earn their allowances by cleaning out the dog pens and gathering eggs. Their rooms were always in order.
Taylor was a remote father. Neither child wanted to make him angry and often Taylor would play the game of being peeved to frighten them before they went too far. He was completely in awe of Tessa and loved to tickle her and romp with her. She had her mother’s temperament –quiet and gentle. When she wasn’t doing her homework, she liked to do needlework and sew. She also saved every penny of her allowance.
On the other hand, Terry was short-tempered like Taylor. He resembled his father when he was a boy—tall and lanky. And he spent every cent of his allowance and would hint to his dad that he was broke all the time. Old Dad, however, never loaned him any money. “If you need a few bucks, find something extra to do around the farm.”

One evening Terry decided his sister needed a haircut because her curls were always getting into her eyes, so he took a pair of scissors and gave her a slight bob. The following day Taylor told Art, “OldTerr’s sittin’ a shade on the bias today. I warped his ass pretty good. In any case he still seems to think I’m a nice guy.”
He said the toughest thing he had to do was tell Terry “the facts of life,” and as usual he turned to Purvis. This time, rather than put his problem on paper, he sent Tom a tape. “How come your two kids are so God damn smart. I can’t figure it out. Guess the human race doesn’t run any more true to form in the breeding category than do horses or dogs. You’re such a dismal bastard, Curly, and wind up with two bright kids! Me—with my absolutely brilliant mind, who could easily solve this whole “space” problem if I wanted to get into it—and my two younguns can’t now, and probably never will be able to, spell pussy. Not CAT—PUSSY. On second thought Terry might. He’s gettin’ that look in his eyes! How the devil did you tell Johnny about ‘IT’?”
Tom responded but as usual rather than get seriously involved told Bob to “say it outright,” but to wait for the right time: “When Terry says something sexy ask him what he’s talkin’ about. The kid probably won’t know and then you explain it to him.”

A few weeks later Taylor had that talk with his son but said it was “real rough” and that “Ol Terr knew more than I did!”
A House is Not a Home starred Shelley Winters as the famous madame, Polly Adler, and Taylor the racketeer who backs her. Though one critic said, “Robert Taylor gives a professional touch to an underworld character,” another review was highly amusing:
“Something was missing in this picture and to be blunt about it, the missing ingredient is sex! There is hardly a suggestion of it. It may or may not discourage impressionable young girls from a life of sin, but it certainly is enough to keep anyone away from the movie!”

A House is Not a Home was degrading to bothTaylor and Miss Winters. The book had been a best seller and the story a truthful and sensational one—until however it reached the motion picture screen. Taylor thought the role of gangster Frank Costigan would be as strong and heavy as Johnny Eager, but it wasn’t. Of course it was 1964, before sex movies were readily accepted, and long before the film was released the public was waiting in line to see Polly Adler’s life story.
Taylor might not have done the picture if it hadn’t been for money and if the movie script had followed the revealing book accurately. He admitted he wasn’t proud any more and would do almost anything to earn a living, but he stuck to his guns that his image was important. Had he been asked to portray a “real” Frank Costigan and Miss Winters the “real” Polly Adler, he would have turned it down.
He appeared on The Mike Douglas Show as co-host, sang a few songs and even danced a little. Douglas surprised him by having two of Bob’s old friends from Beatrice, Nebraska, who used to sing with him in high school, on the program. The whole show was a practical joke becauseTaylor could not carry a tune and hated to dance. Purvis taped the shows and sent them to Bob, who wasn’t the slightest bit amused. He told Tom, “It might have made YOU laugh, but I was lowering myself. You have enjoyed your life much more than I have, Old Bud. These days I’m doin’ things that I never thought I’d have to do.”
Purvis said Taylor cried “poor mouth” too often and worried about everything. “Why, if Bob didn’t have something to worry about, he’d go out and find something!”
Taylor also remained adamant against anything or anybody who was anti-American. He was quietly active in politics and supported his candidate. He usually was the first one in line at the polls, and believed in “my country, right or wrong.”

When his hometown newspaper announced that he was going into politics he wrote to the editor:
Dear Bob,
The item which appeared in your UPPER ROOM column—the one speculating upon my intentions toward a political career—handed me a mighty pleasant chuckle. Many years ago I learned that it was professionally unwise to take issue with, or try to refute anything which Walter Winchell printed as fact. However, in this particular case, and since I’m the guy who should know, I feel safe in assuring you that I have NO ambitions, present or future, in that particular direction. Politics are something about which I know very little, other, of course, than that which is known by any citizen who takes his right to vote seriously.
Mind you, I see no reason why an actor shouldn’t go into politics. It seems to me that honesty, intelligence, a firm belief that America is one of the finest countries in the world and that our political philosophy is the best in the world should be all the requirements that anyone should need. I believe that we need fewer professional “politicians” and more just plain good people in politics. So much for that. Before I sound like I’m making a campaign pitch, perhaps I’d better sign off. If you happen to see any of my old Beatrice friends, please give ‘em my best.
As ever,
Bob

One friend described Taylor as a guy who wanted to fight in active duty during the war but was too old; a guy who wanted to look like Humphrey Bogart because the public would concentrate on his wrinkles rather than the perfection of his face; a guy who would have been truly satisfied to be a rancher all his life and was amazed if a woman looked at him twice; a guy who would have carried the American flag in every parade in the country or downtown Moscow; a guy who really wanted to be Billy the Kid or the Sergeant in Bataan; a guy who lived Waterloo Bridge all of his life.
Judging from his other characteristics, it was no surprise that he remained loyal to Nebraska. In October, 1963, he and Ursula went to a fund-raising drive at Doane College in Crete. He made the front page of The Beatrice Sun “DOC BRUGH VISITS ALMA MATER TO TOUCH OFF BIG DOANE DRIVE!”
Doane College conferred on Taylor an Honorary Doctor of Humane Letters. ("If I had to talk, I'd be a nervous wreck!")
Mrs. Mary Ellen Farries, his drama coach at Doane in 1933, helped him into his gown and said, “Spangler—oh!—should I call you Robert Taylor or Bob?
“Just call me what comes naturally!”
He headlined a student gab session, took in a pair of one-act plays and attended a “those who knew him when ” luncheon. A brief campus tour provoked a comment. “It looks wonderful—unlike California’s government-sponsored schools with brick and glass all over the place!”

He attended the Nebraska-Colorado football game and was given a standing ovation. At a press conference afterward he cautioned that any dramatist Hollywood–bound today “better take along a lot of luck.” He said it wasn’t as easy to get a start as it was when he headed West and that many of today’s movies go too far into controversial areas, forgetting that their purpose is to entertain. He concluded by saying, “Beatrice was and is my hometown!”
Taylor drove off alone for a few hours to Filley, twelve miles east of Beatrice; population 149; birthplace of Spangler Arlington Brugh fifty-two years ago.
He walked down one-block-long Main Street and looked in every shop window, smiling at anyone who passed. He wasn’t recognized. Later he sat in his car to meditate.
When he received a copy of the Beatrice newspaper he wrote to the editor to thank him: “The things said therein really gave me a lump right where it’s hardest to swallow. It may seem strange to a lot of people but what the ‘people back home’ think has always been very important to me—and many a time a decision on my part has been influenced largely by what I figured my old friends and associates back in Nebraska would think of it.
“This may be partly selfish, but primarily I think it’s because I’ve always felt that the best people in the country either lived in or came from that part of the USA. The nice things you said meant more to me than a laudatory review in Time or Life or Look. (And that’s good, I guess, on accounta those magazines have never been too complimentary anyhow!)

“The whole damned Nebraska trip this time was a real thrill right from the little luncheon in Crete plumb thru the game, dinner with Spiv and Abbie, coffee and cinnamon rolls with the Shirerdas in Wilbur on Sunday and the drive through the western part of the state on our way to Wyoming. I saw a lot of old friends and my only regret was that I had so little time to spend in getting reacquainted with most of them.
“When you have a spare minute, please enter me on your list of subscribers and have the Sun mailed to me here in California. It need not come via air—just regular mail—and leave me know the rate for everything so’s I can send you a check, rubber or otherwise. Thanks again for everything.”
On the way from Nebraska to Wyoming he told Ursula, “I should fly into Nebraska more often and spend time with my old buddies before it gets too late. It makes me feel awful old, but I might as well get used to that! It’s a fact so why not face it, right?’
When they arrived in their cabin in Buffalo, Wyoming, the Taylors found out that the property on which it was located had been sold. They spent a week there packing and putting their furniture into storage, hoping to find another place close by.
It was depressing for Bob to close up his little cabin in Buffalo, but he had always known that as much as the children loved it there, Ursula preferred warm weather and had gone along with buying it in the first place to please him.

When they returned to Hollywood, more bad news was waiting for them. Michael Thiess had made headlines:
ROBERT TAYLOR STEPSON ARRESTED IN POLSONING OF DAD IN GERMANY
December 23, 1963: Munich,Germany
Michael Thiess, stepson of Hollywood star Robert Taylor, has been arrested on suspicion of attempted murder. Police said the youth is suspected of having served poisoned tea to his father, Munich film producer George Thiess.
Formal charges have not yet been filed against the boy. Under German law, he can be held during investigation by the state prosecutor. Police said Michael had moved in with his father and the two had a series of arguments last February.
At this point, police said, Thiess advised them he suspected his son had attempted to kill him with insecticide in histea.
Michael served a year in prison for attempted murder, was sent back to the United States and put under psychiatric care. Both he and Manuela spent time in sanitariums off and on, and Ursula always blamed their problems on the hardships they suffered during their childhoods in war-torn Germany..

Taylor paid the bills for all their additional care. His fixed overhead which was ＄3,000 a month was too high. Next Ruth had to be put into a nursing home because of her peculiar behavior. She was no longer able to function mentally, and expect for the fact that she could only repeat, “I am Robert Taylor’s mother” when she was found roaming the streets, she didn’t know who she was or where she was most of the time.
Ruth was placed in a nursing home that cost Taylor ＄1,000 a month, but no matter how expensive, it was a relief for him to know she was safe. He had not failed to call her every day or have someone else do it when he was out of town. It upset him to see her affecting Terry and Tessa when she did not know who they were or who Grandma was.
A few months later Art resigned to take a better job elsewhere and Taylor said this was the last straw in his run of bad luck. The two men talked it over and decided the offer was too good for Reeves to turn down. “I love ya, Art, and the kids won’t know what to do without their Uncle Art around. God damn, they spend almost as much time with you and Barbara as they do at home. Well, I’ll tell ya one thing—maybe now I can find a guy who’ll keep my tool shed the way Ilike it!”
Art asked Bob for a letter of recommendation, saying, “Just don’t mention that gosh darn tool shed.”