Zeppo, p.19
Zeppo, page 19
It was not lost on Zeppo that had it not been for show business he might very well have been dead. Zeppo’s boyhood friend Joey Bass eventually found his way to Los Angeles after his discharge from San Quentin. Bass was impressed by how far Buster Marx had come since he last saw him in Chicago almost twenty years earlier. His old friend was rich, well connected and had never spent a day in prison. Bass got out of San Quentin in October 1936. After a brief time in Portland, where he got married and had a daughter, Joey moved to the upscale Hancock Park section of Los Angeles. In prison he’d learned to make electrical signs and briefly worked at an honest trade for the first time in his life—as a condition of his parole, not necessarily out of any desire to go straight. Exconvict sign makers did not live in fancy apartment buildings with live-in maids, but somehow Joey Bass did.
Sharon McKibben, Bass’s daughter, recalls her father operating a nightclub during their time in Los Angeles. (In his later years Bass proudly told her that he hired Nat “King” Cole to play piano at the club years before anyone had ever heard of him.) She also remembers her childhood playmate, Margaret O’Brien. These recollections and Joey Bass’s sudden lifestyle improvements point directly to the Orsatti brothers—and his shared time at San Quentin with Jesse Orsatti. The Orsatti Agency signed five-and-a-half-year-old Margaret O’Brien to a contract with MGM in 1942. Her agent was Vic Orsatti. The Club Royale changed ownership when Jesse Orsatti went to prison, but Frank Orsatti had an interest in several other Los Angeles nightclubs and Joey Bass probably worked at one of them. It isn’t known to what extent Zeppo was involved with Joey Bass at this time, but he certainly knew he was in town. They probably connected—their mutual associations with the Orsatti brothers making it unlikely that they didn’t. Zeppo’s later recollection of running into Bass in Las Vegas may simply be misplaced. But whether in Las Vegas or Los Angeles, at some point Zeppo learned the fate of Joey’s older brother Louis, the boy he so admired for being tough and carrying a gun when they were kids in Chicago.
Louis Bass had been in California running numerous swindles involving oil leases and real estate up and down the coast. In December 1939 he was a fugitive wanted in twenty-one California counties on a variety of charges. He was hiding out in a San Francisco boarding house and contacted his landlord in Los Angeles to have his holiday cards forwarded. The landlord gave detectives the San Francisco address. When the police entered his room on January 3, 1940, with guns drawn, Louis shot himself in the head. Zeppo would mention the Bass brothers in later interviews, saying that his life could have turned out much like theirs had Minnie not called on him to join the Four Marx Brothers.
Running a nightclub apparently left Joey Bass with plenty of time for other activities. On December 1, 1944, he was convicted of criminal conspiracy to commit grand theft for selling phony oil leases. Zeppo’s reunion with his childhood friend would be relatively brief. Joey returned to San Quentin before serving most of his sentence at Folsom State Prison, where he would remain until February 1950.2
Zeppo seemed to have an affinity for undesirable people. He moved freely between the social circles of the underworld and the movie business—both of which had their fair share of pariahs and frequently intersected. As if to take pride in his willingness to associate with Hollywood’s most vilified outcasts, Zeppo not only represented the blacklisted radical Upton Sinclair, but he joked about it on stage at an event with perhaps the most detested entertainer in the business.
Zeppo first crossed paths with Frank Fay in vaudeville when Fay was at the height of his success as a comedian and master of ceremonies. Apart from being outspokenly anti-Semitic, Fay seems to have gone down in the annals of show business without anyone ever having a kind word to say about him. Fay was an ardent Republican who hated president Franklin D. Roosevelt almost as much as he hated Jews. It wasn’t surprising to find Fay on stage at a banquet honoring governor Frank Merriam, the anti-Roosevelt Republican who had defeated Upton Sinclair in a close election months before. But Fay did a little routine at the event with Zeppo—who didn’t let his admiration and support for FDR stop him from appearing on behalf of Merriam. And there certainly weren’t many Jews lining up to make jokes with Frank Fay.
Based on the account in the Visalia Times-Delta on July 15, 1935, Zeppo was once again a straight man, this time setting up lines for Fay.
At a recent “mutual admiration” banquet of members of Governor Merriam’s official family and friends, the most popular “joke” was staged by Frank Fay and Zeppo Marx of the stage and screen. It went like this:
Marx: What’s that button you’re wearing, Frank?
Fay: That’s a “Merriam-for-governor” badge.
Marx: Yes, but Merriam has already been elected governor.
Fay: Sure, but I’m having the button changed to read “Merriam for president.”
Zeppo wasn’t about to support Frank Merriam—or any Republican—against FDR in 1936 or 1940, but the appearance at the Merriam event and his attempt to help Upton Sinclair made clear that Zeppo did not cling to any ideology that might interfere with business. The strange upside to Zeppo’s association with Sinclair was that a lot of actors secretly agreed with Sinclair’s position that wealthy people and big businesses—like movie studios—should pay more taxes to eliminate poverty.
Many actors, writers, and directors quietly seethed as their beliefs had to remain unspoken because they did not match those of Louis B. Mayer, Irving Thalberg, Jack Warner, or Darryl F. Zanuck. Taking on Upton Sinclair as a client—albeit unsuccessfully—was an unintentional signal to the left-leaning people working in Hollywood that Zeppo Marx might potentially be a good agent for them. Zeppo was a registered Democrat and supported FDR, but like many he opposed FDR running for a fourth term in 1944 and declined to state his party affiliation on his voter registration that year. He eventually changed his affiliation and became a registered Republican. But he was a solid Democrat when he represented Upton Sinclair and simultaneously appeared with Frank Fay at a Republican Merriam event.
Frank Fay and Zeppo were not especially friendly, but they had many mutual friends in the Hollywood gambling community. Both were frequent patrons of the Clover Club at 8477 Sunset Boulevard, near the Chateau Mar-mont just north of the Sunset Strip. The Clover catered to Hollywood’s high rollers; and whenever the Los Angeles vice squad randomly decided to crack down on illegal gambling, the Clover was immune to any trouble by virtue of the hefty payoffs the owners made to the police department. The Hollywood Citizen-News reported on a series of raids in December 1933 and noted that the Clover Club was “given a clean bill of fare by deputy sheriffs who visited . . . but reported no signs of gambling.” It was that sort of press that drew Hollywood’s biggest gamblers to the Clover, which was managed by Eddy Nealis, a Mexican American gangster with several less impressive gambling joints around Los Angeles. The silent partner in the Clover was Zeppo’s friend Milton “Farmer” Page, one of the most notorious gangster-gamblers in town. Page had been running gambling houses in Los Angeles since he was a boy, and he would eventually rise to a position of great power in “the Combination”—the mysterious entity that controlled the Los Angeles underworld. Zeppo knew a lot of people with very good connections.
The local high stakes action on sports betting kept Zeppo in regular contact with many notorious figures. Boxing matches in Los Angeles tended to bring out gamblers and movie stars in great numbers. It was only months after the Marx Brothers arrived in Los Angeles that Zeppo and Marion attended the light welterweight championship fight between Tony Canzoneri and Cecil Payne on July 13, 1931, at Wrigley Field. Also in attendance were Frank Fay and his wife Barbara Stanwyck. It is the earliest known documentation of Zeppo and the movie star who would become his most high-profile agency client being together. At this point Stanwyck had an agent and Zeppo probably hadn’t yet considered becoming one. But Zeppo and Marion became friendly with Fay and Stanwyck—largely due to Stanwyck and Marion hitting it off. Zeppo—like almost everyone else who ever met him—had little use for Frank Fay unless he was beating him in a card game.
The Stanwyck-Fay marriage was already in trouble by the time the couple crossed paths with Zeppo and Marion. Fay’s career was fading and Stanwyck’s was on the rise. It would later become an open secret in Hollywood that they were at least the partial inspiration for the tragic couple in the 1937 film A Star Is Born. Director William Wellman, who won an Academy Award as the coauthor of the original story, was a close friend of Stanwyck’s. As the director of three of her early 1930s films, Wellman had an intimate knowledge of the abuse she suffered at the hands of Frank Fay.
Stanwyck remained loyal to her alcoholic husband, who had become violent as his career floundered. She used her growing star power to create opportunities for Fay, but he just got worse. They adopted a son, Dion, in 1932, hoping it would save the marriage. Ultimately life with Frank Fay proved to be too much for Barbara Stanwyck, and she left him in 1935. She and her son moved into Zeppo and Marion’s house shortly after Zeppo and Fay appeared together at the Merriam event.
Marion wrote about her friendship with Stanwyck in the April 1942 issue of Motion Picture:
Most friendships start with mutual interests. Ours grew out of simple appreciation of each other’s honesty. The mutual interests came later—after she and her little boy, Dion, came to our house to live. At that time, Barbara was desperately unhappy, hardly interested in living. Her whole world seemed to have gone to pieces. She had no faith in the future. No confidence in herself.
One thing that put Stanwyck’s mind at ease was that Frank Fay was not likely to show up at the house looking for trouble. He knew about Zeppo’s quick temper and that he was very good with his fists. Marion offered friendship and support at a terrible time, and Stanwyck slowly bounced back. Zeppo also began advising her about career matters.
Stanwyck’s longtime agent had been Zeppo’s nemesis, Arthur Lyons. After the Fred MacMurray debacle, the growing friendship of Zeppo Marx and another of Lyons’s high-profile clients might have seemed like a conspiracy to Lyons. Stanwyck felt Lyons had not done a good job for her and was unhappy with the deals he was working on.
Zeppo advised her at first without acting as her agent. When he learned that Cliff Reid at RKO was developing a biographical film about legendary sharpshooter Annie Oakley to be directed by George Stevens, Zeppo recommended Stanwyck for the lead role. Originally in development as Shooting Star, the film was eventually retitled Annie Oakley. It isn’t a particularly important film in the Stanwyck canon, but she was well paid and treated nicely. And Arthur Lyons had nothing to do with getting it for her.
In February 1936—shortly after his lawsuit against Zeppo was settled—Lyons sued Stanwyck over an unpaid commission on a contract. In court Lyons presented a handwritten note signed by Frank Fay as evidence of the agreement. The validity of an agreement scribbled by her bitter former husband became a moot point when Stanwyck appeared in court and testified that the deal was never consummated because the studio was unable to acquire the story rights for the canceled project. She was never paid and therefore no commission was due. Stanwyck prevailed in the case, fired Lyons, and announced that Zeppo was her new agent.
With Zeppo handling Barbara’s business affairs, Marion became more involved in her personal life. After her divorce from Frank Fay became final in December 1935, Stanwyck mostly stayed home with her now four-year-old son, Dion. She offered a small glimpse into her life in a September 1936 interview in Picture Play.
“What do I do for fun?” she mused. “Oh, I’m a regular nighthawk nowadays. Sometimes, when I’m not working, I’ll go out to some of the night spots as often as a couple of times a week. I like to go to the previews. Whenever there’s a good play in town, I take it in. I play tennis—or I did until I sprained my wrist reaching after a high one that would have been out, anyhow. I ride horseback occasionally. Most of the time during the day, unless I have appointments, Marion Marx—Zeppo’s wife—and I just bum around together. She helped me decorate my house.” She paused a second and then, “I suppose as long as I’m giving her billing I might as well tell the truth and shame the devil by admitting that she decorated it. She has marvelous taste in house furnishings.”
It was Marion with whom Stanwyck played tennis and rode horses. They were together constantly. A story in the December 1939 issue of Modern Screen said, “They are oddly alike. They have the same easy manner, the same dramatic trick of lowering the eyes. Both are difficult conversationalists. It’s hard work drawing copy from either of them. They are very quiet. In small towns, Marion and Barbara would be labeled ‘still waters.’” Marion and Zeppo got Stanwyck out to nightclubs and parties. Otherwise, she would have hardly gone out. They became a frequently seen threesome at Hollywood nightspots. The tension of being a foursome with Frank Fay was gone, but Marion encouraged Barbara to look for a relationship.
For a night out at the Trocadero in February 1936, Walter Kane—who had been working with Zeppo almost since the inception of the agency and was involved in Stanwyck’s contract negotiations—was Barbara’s escort for dinner with Zeppo and Marion. The twice-divorced Kane was tall and attractive and was frequently seen in nightclubs and restaurants with clients and starlets of varying degrees of fame. No one mistook Kane—who would later marry actress Lynn Bari—for Barbara Stanwyck’s new boyfriend. It was strictly a professional evening and Stanwyck was dining with her agents.
That night at the Trocadero may have been orchestrated by Marion and if she knew rising young star Robert Taylor would be there, it was a brilliant stroke. Stanwyck and Taylor hit it off and expressed admiration for each other’s work. They began dating—quietly at first, but soon enough their romance became public. Zeppo, Marion, Stanwyck, and Taylor became Hollywood’s newest foursome. The version of Stanwyck’s introduction to Taylor as told in the September 1946 issue of Movieland suggests the meeting was in no way accidental.
Mrs. Zeppo Marx, wife of Barbara’s business agent, was lecturing Barbara: “You never take time off to have fun,” Mrs. M accused her. “You’re just like Robert Taylor—always working too hard, never going dancing. Come to think of it, I believe you two will hit it off.” Whereupon the indignant lady introduced Barbara to Bob.
Once Stanwyck’s relationship with Taylor became public, Marion’s physical resemblance to Stanwyck resulted in an amusing item in Louella Parsons’s syndicated column in July 1938: “Zeppo Marx and Bob Taylor getting a big kick when The Crowd Roars preview fans chased Marion Marx for blocks, mistaking her for Barbara Stanwyck.”
As Stanwyck’s new agent Zeppo had an immediate impact on her career. By January 1937 Samuel Goldwyn had reportedly tested forty-seven actresses for the much sought-after title role in Stella Dallas. Zeppo’s friendship with Goldwyn and a strong screen test won Stanwyck the role that made her one of Hollywood’s biggest stars. This was the type of role she never seemed to get with Arthur Lyons as her agent. On May 16, late in the filming of Stella Dallas, Stanwyck and Robert Taylor spent Sunday morning horseback riding with Zeppo and Marion. Barbara’s horse stepped in a gopher hole and rolled over on her, badly injuring her knee. But she returned to the set on crutches to finish the picture a couple of days later. Zeppo saw great leverage in Stanwyck’s success in Stella Dallas, for which she had been loaned out to Goldwyn from RKO. She would earn an Academy Award nomination for her work in the film.
When Stanwyck turned down the lead role in RKO’s production Distant Fields in January 1938, the studio suspended her. Zeppo issued a statement to the press: “Miss Stanwyck felt the role assigned to her was not suited to her talents, particularly after her casting in Stella Dallas for Sam Goldwyn. She is not taking an arbitrary attitude and has asked that she be assigned to a role more suited to her in another picture.” Stanwyck eventually returned to work but was deprived of several pay checks as punishment for her independence. Her stand was particularly courageous when considering she took it after Bette Davis had lost a similar battle with Warner Bros. Agents were becoming more powerful, and studios were beginning to see a future where they would not have autonomous control of their stars. But Barbara Stanwyck, with the solid support of Zeppo, took her stand six years before Olivia de Havilland successfully sued Warner Bros. over Jack Warner suspending her for turning down roles she didn’t like.3
Zeppo had recently purchased a lot in Beverly Hills and was planning to build a new house close to where Groucho and Harpo had their homes. Harpo had married his longtime girlfriend, actress Susan Fleming, and they had just moved into a new house. Susan and Marion had become close and were spending a lot of time together. But Zeppo abandoned his plan to build near Harpo and Groucho. Barbara Stanwyck was also contemplating new living arrangements.
Marion had always dreamed of living on a ranch and breeding horses and suggested to Zeppo that they investigate San Fernando Valley real estate with an eye on property suitable for a ranch. As with any of his ventures, Zeppo went all in. He brought in well-known breeder Harry S. Hart, who had managed the LeMar Stock Farm and the Swing Along Stables in Lexington, Kentucky. The land they were looking at was a portion of the Benjamin F. Porter Ranch, which had been purchased by Porter as part of a 57,000-acre piece of property in partnership with his cousin George and a group of other investors in 1847. Benjamin F. Porter, who died in 1868, had owned twenty thousand acres in the northwestern corner of the property, which was the least desirable section because it was a great distance from the railroad line. It remained mostly undeveloped. But Harry Hart determined that it was a perfect location for horse breeding, and Barbara came into the venture as a partner.
