Chapter 4: Citizen Change
1940
“ I think all actors have a strange quirk about them. They're different than the usual run of people. They have a way of dramatizing things.”
Pure Gold on the airwaves
1940 Arrived with a bang. This was the year everything changed for me. My life going forward would begin to mold me into the dynamo that allowed me to become successful in every media field in the decades to come. Radio had been conquered. I was the most recognizable voice on the air. With the release of “Citizen Kane,” every person who had ever listened to me on the radio now had a face that went with the name. My first decade in Hollywood would see me win the American Film Critics Award and Oscar nominations and solidify my reign on the airwaves. A bevy of new work in radio would include some of the most memorable radio broadcasts in history. I had harnessed myself and began to scale the mountain of Hollywood to its pinnacle.
On the radio in New York, I continued my airwave domination. I appeared in “Cavalcade of America, The Adventures of Superman,” “Short Short Stories,” “Campbell Playhouse,” “Big Sister,” “Human Nature in Action,” and “The Orson Welles Show.” I was getting press coverage right and left. There were articles about my jewelry, clothing, hair, makeup tips, and being the best-dressed woman on the radio. By December of that year, I was recognized along with Jeanette Nolan as one of the most outstanding radio stars. It seemed like I couldn’t turn around without being recognized for something I had done on the radio. I was finally pure gold for the airwaves.
The Has Been Who Never Was
The newspapers did not discuss my life or relationship with Jack in 1940. There is no mention of Jack in most articles about me. This year would change the dynamics of our relationship even more because I would no longer be confined to radio. I was a star in my own right on the air, and now I would add Hollywood to the delicate equation of our marriage. Jack was worse than he has been; he had become a never-was. Jack was already drinking heavily in the late 1930s while randomly using me as a punching bag and watching me achieve everything he had once desired for himself. It cut him to the quick. It would never happen for Jack the way it did for me. By 1940, Jack looked worn out. He was losing his hair, and his face was aging prematurely because of alcohol. Jack could no longer be a leading man or even a dumb cowboy. He was often referred to as Mr. Agnes Moorehead. My name meant everything, and his meant nothing.
Agnes Goes To Hollywood
On September 28, 1940, the Mercury Players arrived in Hollywood to begin our work on “Citizen Kane.” In June, long before I departed for Hollywood, an article about Orson’s rise to fame appeared in newspapers. The article plainly states that I was responsible for it. It claims that my introduction of Orson to essential people aided his rise to the top and that I gave him pointers. Orson certainly paid me back with interest. In September, the news reported that I would play Charles Foster Kane’s mother. By September 24th, I had checked out of two shows and turned down a new serial just to go to Hollywood for four legendary minutes on film. By October, the newspapers claimed that I had given up six shows to film her four minutes in “Citizen Kane.” It was a huge gamble that initially paid off. By November, I claimed that she knew Orson as a six-year-old in Astoria, Long Island, and that I hadn’t recognized that I knew him until recently. I was as tied to Orson as I was to my career.
Author’s Observation: To Know Or Not To Know
Her claim of knowing him in Long Island as a six-year-old is ridiculous and impossible. Orson was born in 1915 when Agnes was only fourteen years old. Orson was six in 1921. Agnes was twenty going on twenty-one. She has never traveled to New York, Astoria, or Long Island. Agnes finished her first year of college in 1921, and her mother was in charge of her press. If Agnes had gone to New York at any time, it would have been big news in Reedsburg, Wisconsin, and St Louis, Missouri. Nowhere does any mention of a trip to New York occur. Even so, if she had gone, she wouldn’t have been in Astoria for any reason. This is another instance of Agnes revamping her past to make her present more critical. This would become a lifelong habit. In November, Agnes would again tie herself to Orson in the newspapers by counting him along with Helen Hayes among her best friends, who had known each other for a long time. Fifty percent of that statement is true. Agnes had known Helen Hayes since the early 1930s and worked with her on radio shows. But not so with Orson. That is not to say he wasn’t among her best friends; she had just not known him that long. Whatever the case may be, she used both of their names for the sake of good publicity.
Mother Moves To Reedsburg.
Mother made her permanent home in Reedsburg with Grace in 1940. They purchased a house together and continued their habit of traveling for entertainment. Mother also returned to her roots by singing. She became well known for her performances in the 1920s and had been on the radio multiple times to perform. Once she settled down in Reedsburg, she began to perform again. She also started being involved in every single thing she could in Reedsburg.
Reedsburg was Mother’s happy place. During her time there in the early 1920s, she fell in love with the place, and it held memories of a few of the best years of her life. Before Peggy’s problems began, Reedsburg had been a sort of little kingdom for Mama. Everybody knew her by name, and everyone thought the world of Pap. So, her choosing this place to retire to was done because of the good memories, and once again, she was somewhere she knew everyone, and they knew her. Mama also returned to her religious roots in Reedsburg in the same church where Papa had preached all those years ago. She joined the Missionary society as well. She would continue her religious recovery and ultimately gain a solid footing in a church she loved. In December, Mother left Reedsburg to join Jack and me in New York for Christmas.
Is There A Doctor In The Family
With my work on Citizen Kane complete, I returned to New York and began a bi-coastal life, returning to Hollywood for motion pictures until I picked up and moved in 1943. I continued dressing up my background by claiming things that weren’t exactly true but had a toe in the truth. I explained that my role in “Joyce Jordan Girl Intern” was aided by uncles, cousins, brothers, and in-laws in the medical field. I did have a sister who was a nurse and a cousin who was a Doctor. I like to call it my based on a true story explanation.
March 26, 1940
Belvidere Daily Republican
Tuesday
“Actress Agnes Moorehead “Joyce Jordan Girl Intern” Appropriately comes from a medical family with doctors galore among her Uncles, brothers, cousins, and in-laws. “
In the meantime, Jack was hanging around and not working while I took planes and trains back and forth to Hollywood for film projects. I was buying sable, jewelry, and clothing. I was considering moving to Hollywood full-time, but dragging Jack out of New York would not be easy nor desired. I would have if I could have found a way to leave him without paying for it.
Fluffing the Curriculum Vitae
I also began dressing up my education for the press. It was my way of making a point. I wanted people, especially young women, to know I had gone to college. It put me in a class above the average woman of the time. I had no problem saying things that were easily verifiable as untrue if it was of benefit and not too outlandish:
April 9, 1940
Belvidere Daily Republican
Tuesday
“Agnes Moorehead of “Joyce Jordan Girl Interne” is not only a college grad but has a Master’s Degree and thirty hours toward a doctorate at the University of Wisconsin.”
This entire statement from Doctorate to Master’s level classes and the entire thing about achieving a degree from the University of Wisconsin was a big fib. I did take library science classes there and a few other courses. I wanted everyone to understand my intelligence level, so I created quarter and half-truths to make the point. Papa would have disapproved, but my mother did the same thing daily.
Those dogs need insurance.
I also took time in 1940 to ensure that Lisele and Liebschen, my dachshunds, were protected against loss or injury. It was an extravagant purchase for anybody in 1940 to insure their dogs, but I did it with the money I earned making "Citizen Kane" and dropped that dime without a thought. My dogs were like children to me,; losing them was a large concern. It had happened to Mother and Father with my father's dog Kenmuir and he ended up in St. Louis! I wanted to make sure my little ones were safe and sound.
Morning To Midnight 1941
“Theater is constant, constant study and constant work. It's a morning-to-midnight profession.”
Author's Observation: Four Minutes
Four Minutes On The Screen
Whatever your opinion of the movie Citizen Kane, you cannot dispute that the four minutes Aggie spent on that screen as Charles Foster Kane’s mother were four of the most magnificent minutes ever filmed in Hollywood. She was pure platinum—so pure that her presence draws you into the film's gut.
“Citizen Kane” was released in April of 1941, and they were selling seats in advance. Agnes was beside herself with the publicity. It was new and different, which she liked, but as she would come to learn, it could be used as a weapon as well. “Citizen Kane” was a thinly veiled strike directed at William Randolph Hearst. The following report condemned Orson Welles, breaking his career into tiny pieces. He continued to make movies, but the damage he suffered from Hearst eventually destroyed his Hollywood career. Welles walked away from Hollywood, claiming he didn’t need them. He advised Agnes to stay put because she was an incredible actress, and Hollywood was lucky to have her and not to take a pittance but to ask for what she was worth.
Bringing Up Bulldog Drumond In The Inner Sanctum
Even though I had acted in a film, Agnes continued my career on the airwaves. 1941 brought me: “Bringing Up Father, Bulldog Drummond, Inner Sanctum, Joyce Jordan, Grand Central Station, The Man Who Came to Dinner, Cavalcade of America, Great Moments From Great Plays, Big Town, Blind Alley, Maggie and Jiggs, and The March of Time.
I barely had time to catch my breath. I was still living in New York at this point. That would change very soon. I was also the topic of fashion articles. They enthusiastically reported how excited I was that suits would be the thing this year and that ties would return this year for women. I was well on the way to being a fashion icon. I reveled in the attention. On March 1st, I participated in “Twelfth Night Revel” at the Hotel Pierre. At this point, I retold the story of meeting Orson Wells in a hotel lobby when he was five. I claimed I was not much older, as Orson recounted a concert he had just attended with his father. This tale is entirely made up and designed to attach me to Orson Wells. If it had happened, I would have been there in 1921; at that time, I was twenty and far older than I indicated. Newspapers of the time do not tell of any trip to New York at this point but it sound fabulous. You do not have to look far to determine that. By 1921, Orson Wells was in Chicago in the custody of his mother, not his father, and had been there for two years previous to this. I was taking the time to plant flowers in my past for the people in the present to look at. I continued to do for the rest of my life.
You Bit My Shoulder!
Before Orson left Hollywood, he made several films, including “The Magnificent Ambersons.” I was tapped for a part that Welles created just for me, Fanny Minaffer, or as she was known in the film “Aunt Fanny.” Welles crafted this part specifically to show off my acting abilities. He tailored it to me, and I became famous for one scene in the movie called “The Boiler” scene. Hollywood was blown away by the performance Orson had gotten out of me, as was the rest of the world. There is a painful secret tied to the Ambersons and it involves Orson and me. We filmed the funeral scene of Aunt Fanny's brother, and Orson wanted me to cry. After a long discussion, we decided to try it using glycerine, which was to be blown into my eyes. Orson hated it. It looked fake, according to him, and we needed real tears. There I stood, trying to figure out how to make myself cry enough for it to be believable but not hysterical. I could have used Pegg's death, but it did not feel right to do that to my sister, so I left the decision in Orson's hands. Just before we were to film the close-up of Aunt Fanny at the funeral, Orson walked over to me and bent down. I thought he would whisper some genius-level phrase to bring me to tears, but no, that isn't what he did. He bit me! He bit me so hard I burst into tears, and Orson shouted, "Action! Come on, Aggie, let me see those beautiful eyes filled with tears!" They were, and I had Orson's teeth imprinted on my shoulder. By the next day, I had a bruise a mile wide!
40 K Agnes and No Money, Jack
By December 18th, I had earned $40K a year for my radio parts, making me one of the highest-paid radio actors. Content with the money I was earning from her radio work, I purchased another six hundred-acre farm in Ohio with the idea that Jack would run the farms and we would eventually retire to them. I no more wanted to retire with him than the man in the moon, but marriage is an obligation. One I very much wanted to be rid of.
Jack, the Farm, and the Drunken Joyride
The concept of Jack alone didn’t bother me at first. In September, I spent time at the farm with Jack, running around in overalls and picking tomatoes while wearing a straw hat and I knew he was capable of managing the place.. Then, I returned to New York four days after Jack so I could have a vacation from my vacation. Mother and Grace had been in New York with me and a short stint with Jack leaving just before I went to the farm. 1941 was not a stellar year for Jack. He found himself riding my tailcoat to fame. On September 15, 1941, Jack was arrested along with two passengers at 3:45 pm for driving on the wrong side of the road in Cambridge, Ohio. He was fined and released. I was livid. He had single handedly embarassed me in my Father's hometown and I wanted to just throttle him. The public no knew that Jack had a problem. I was back at the farm by September 24th, and after that, I headed to Hollywood with Jack. I was never going to leave him alone like that again. Untrustworthy man that he was! Jack was being grounded and punished for soiling my family name. By December, we were in a rented home in Hollywood, and Mother came to spend Christmas with us.
I Wouldn’t Mind If It Burned Me, George! 1942
“Patience is power. Patience is not an absence of action; rather, it is timing.”
Agnes Moorehead
He Lived Off Me. Full stop.
By the beginning of 1942, I was in Hollywood with Jack in tow. On Friday, January 9th, we visited Jack’s Aunt Mary Lee Barnhart in Visalia, California. Mother and Grace came along so I wouldn't have to be alone with Jack. We left Visalia on the morning of the 9th of January to head to San Francisco, where we visited Jack’s mother. I came up with a missive that claimed that Jack was a radio producer and director. Jack, by this point, is not a success at anything. He lived off me, full stop. The stop-motion breakdown of our marriage had begun years ago and was progressing at the speed of a snapping turtle. Jack must was embarrassed at having been made an impromptu radio director and product.
On the other hand, he Jack no financial issues since I was successful in radio and was looking to do the same in motion pictures. Jack was content to ride my coattails and wholly emasculated. There are a million articles like the one below discussing the trip in the newspapers. Jackwas purely arm candy in Hollywood, and the press treated him that way. Their primary focus was his me, a thing that ate at Jack every time it happened, but it only happened because he allowed it to. He hadn’t done anything of note in so long that he was probably convinced he would never have the opportunity, so why bother?
Visiting fam
January 9, 1942
Visalia Times-Delta
Friday
Mr. and Mrs. D.L. Barnhart have had as their guests for the past few days Jack Lee of Hollywood and New York, a nephew of Mrs. Barnhart; his mother-in-law Mrs. John Moorehead and Grace Conklin, both of Reedsburg, Wisconsin. They left Visalia this morning for San Francisco. Lee is a radio producer and director; his wife, daughter of Mrs. Moorehead, is Agnes Moorehead, star of Cavalcade of America. She is prominent in radio dramatics and is starting a motion picture career, having appeared in the picture “Citizen Kane.”
My farm, the hobby
By March, Agnes was beginning to appear in the newspaper regularly. The Hollywood publicity machine cranked out all American articles like the one below. They went on and on about the farm in Ohio called Kitchen Middens and her connection to her grandparents, who had deeded the land by President Monroe. Agnes was red, white, and blue American. The publicity machine used all of this to their advantage. They called the farm a hobby. A 320-acre farm is as far from hobby farming as you can get. It’s hard work for very little profit; when you aren’t there to run it, you get to pay people to do it. Thus, the idea that farming is a part-time hobby is ludicrous. This farm ate money. Every farm does. The expense of playing farmer would catch up with Agnes in due time. Still, in the meantime, it was great publicity given the war and the idea that every American should do their part to support themselves and their country—excellent public relations fodder.
March 15, 1942
Oakland Tribune
Sunday
The hobby of Agnes Moorehead, character actress, is a 320-acre Ohio farm called Kitchen Middens. It was deeded to her grandparents by President Monroe.
By June, the PR machine was operating at warp speed. A fairly lengthy article enters the St Louis Globe-Democrat on Saturday, June 6th. This article talks about Papa being responsible for my memory training because he punished me when I was naughty by making me sit on a hard surface with a Psalm to memorize from start to finish. I had to sit there until I could recite the entire Psalm. It made me think before being naughty again, but the truth is this was not a one-off incident. I was forever getting into mischief. You don’t get amazingly good at remembering anything if you only have to do it once. So, was it child abuse or not? It certainly was extreme but they were different times then, and the sensibilities of raising a child were strictly Victorian. Spare the rod and spoil the child.
I can’t sell myself
I have to admit I can’t sell myself and was scared to ask anyone for a part. I had attended the Academy, hoping to be seen and given an opportunity. I have to admit that the only time an education in theatre would guarantee you a job is never actually. Hard work and a willingness to advocate for yourself gets you roles. Furthering your education guarantees a decent job in most professions. It doesn’t work that way for actors. No acting scouts are attending theatre department productions, and there indeed weren’t then either. Iwas scared to ask for a part, but that fear evaporated once I got into radio. It did rear its head in Hollywood, to be sure, but again, I did go out and sell herself.
A prime example is “Mrs. Parkington.” I begged for an opportunity to do that role, and I won. There was an article saying that the depression drove me to radio, and I took the job for the same reason I went to the Academy. I was hoping to be seen and heard. Both things occurred, working to my great benefit.
Author's Observation: She Wasn't The Typical "Pretty Girl"
Agnes isn’t a pretty girl.
This deals with Agnes’ vision of herself. She agreed that she wasn’t pretty. “Agnes isn’t a pretty girl–and she is the first to admit it. She has high cheekbones and an irregular mouth but isn’t unattractive either.” “I never was pretty enough to play the heroine. I have no vanity…” Which is a load of codswallop. Agnes was striking, stunning. She wasn’t Jean Harlow or Rita Hayworth. Instead, she was so much more than them. She could stop conversation in a room when she walked in. She carried herself with a sense of royalty about her. She was never going to be an ingenue. If she had been, the chances are she would have never had the career in media that she had. She was daring and elegant. She is the epitome of grace. The sad thing is that she never saw herself that way at all.
June 6, 1942
St Louis Globe-Democrat
Saturday
“When I was naughty, he would sit me up on a shelf of the hardest encyclopedias you ever saw and give me a Psalm to memorize. There I sat until I could recite it. It was wonderful memory training. And it made me think before I’d do something wrong again.”
“Agnes went from Wisconsin to the American Academy in New York “because I can’t sell myself–I’m still scared to ask anyone for a part. If I were good at the Academy, someone would see me and give me a chance.”
“Someone did. Agnes was playing in “Candlelight” on Broadway when the Depression hit, and producers quit staging plays. She took a role in a mystery melodrama at NBC at $22.50 a week, hoping it would lead to something else. That did, too!”
“Agnes isn’t a pretty girl–and she is the first to admit it. She has high cheekbones and an irregular mouth but isn’t unattractive either.” “I never was pretty enough to play the heroine. I have no vanity…”
The Ambersons
By January 12, 1942, rehearsals for “The Magnificent Ambersons” had begun. I fell into the role of Fanny as if I were Fanny. These rehearsals would see me molded even more tightly into the role of Fanny by Orson. He pushed me until I thought I would break. He bit me to make her cry for the funeral scene. He rehearsed the boiler scene and did take after take until I was hysterical. Orson drove me like a mule team until he dragged Fanny out of me inch by inch. The movie might have been good without me, but it was incredible, stunning, and realistic with Fanny in the frame. You could no more cut meout of the film than you could cut Vivan Leigh out of “Gone With The Wind.” Orson cemented m arrival in Hollywood with a solid gold role that I sank my teeth into and blew everyone away.
Mayor of the Town
1942 was a stellar year for me. My movie career was underway, and her radio career was on fire. I was in “Mayor of the Town” with Lionel Barrymore and began associating with the radio show “Suspense.”I would later be referred to as the First Lady of Suspense. I thrived on the juicy roles, leading me to become permanently associated with the show and ultimately with Lucille Fletcher’s “Sorry Wrong Number,” a piece written primarily for me. I loved radio because it meant that I could go any direction with a character I wanted to. Raadio demands the use of imagination. I knew what I was doing when it came to radio.
When “Mayor of the Town” first aired on the 7th of October 1942, I was described as a “brilliant Orson Welles discovery.” They weren’t wrong. I was where I was because of Orson. Iwas his creation, or so it seemed. I felt I had a talent in me that nobody had looked for before except for Orson. He knew I would blossom into an actress so far beyond Hollywood that they wouldn’t know what to do with me once I got my feet under me. Orson saw past my insecurities to the legendary performer that had once lain dormant except for myvoice, and he awakened the sleeping giant with the rolls he had cast me in.
The Biggest Street
By the 20th of April, Agnes had begun filming “The Big Street” at RKO. This was a role that catered to her comedic side. Presto Chango, the drama queen from “Citizen Kane” and “The Magnificent Ambersons” appeared in her first comedy film. Hollywood didn’t know what to do with her now. The breadth of her talent startled them, and they ended up standing there with their mouths hanging open. She could cry. She could laugh. She could be grief-stricken. She could be a straight man. She was the penultimate straight face and could mimic any living or dead woman. All of these abilities that she had at her fingertips were amazing, but Hollywood, being what it is, wanted her to fit neatly into a category. Unfortunately for Agnes, the category they nearly always chose was a hysterical spinster. She became a victim of typecasting, and when she realized it, she began to combat it in every way she could.
Fabricating with class
July 13, 1942
Monday
Page 16
Los Angeles Daily News
Harry Mines
Meet Agnes Moorehead
According to Agnes Moorehead, three factors stifled her career as an actress. She was born in Boston, her father was a Presbyterian minister, and her family is of stern Scotch origin.
Despite these formidables, Miss Moorehead carved a flourishing career in theater, radio, and films. Orson Welles introduced her to the latter when he gave her the role of his grim parent in “Citizen Kane” and later the icy-blooded Aunt Fanny in “The Magnificent Ambersons,” currently at RKO Hill Street and Pantages Hollywood.
Judge her by her appearances before the camera and one would think twice before attempting a conversation with Miss Moorehead. But the happy discovery is that she’s not as nasty as she looks.
“I’m no rubber-heeled ground gripper personality, ”the lady stoutly insists. “Boston people can be a lot of fun and you never met a more broadminded man than my father.
Miss Moorehead, unable to fight down the ambition to emote, did not walk but ran to the American Academy of Dramatic Arts upon graduation from Ohio’s Muskingum College, where she specialized in English and public speaking.
At the American Academy, she studied under Joseph Bell, who later was to give her an entry into radio. Her debt to Bell can’t be estimated as his sponsorship opened a world of one top air program after another. Of course, Miss Moorehead's ability counted plenty. But she doesn’t mention this.
She first met Welles when he was a youngster spending a yearly holiday with his guardian in New York. The meeting took place in the Waldorf lobby. Even then, Orson was practically bursting with ideas about the theater. \
Some years later, when Miss Moorehead joined the Mercury Players, she reminded Welles, now the guiding light of the group, of their long-ago acquaintanceship.
“I may forget a name but never a face, “ says the lady, tapping herself proudly on the back. “I knew the minute I looked at Orson that we had met before. Then I recollected where and when.”
Without the benefit of Orson, Miss Moorehead tackled another exciting cinematic characterization with Henry Fonda and Lucille Ball in “The Big Street.” It may lead to a term RKO-Radio contract.
That will be okeh by Miss Moorehead, but a clause must be inserted granting her plenty of time off to visit her 320-acre farm in Ohio. Her husband, Jack G. Lee, operates the place. In order to do so, he retired from the radio profession.
The Lees are pretty good farmers as Miss Moorehead, at the drop of a hat, stops talking shop and takes up the topic of soil conservation and vegetable growing.
Agnes was still killing it on the radio. In May, she did “Nobody’s Children,” and then in July, she did Armstrong Theatre. By October 1942, Agnes was on the radio in “Mayor of the Town” as a regular and “Abbott and Costello” as a guest. Agnes was proud of her radio accomplishments and had the right to be. She had become the most recognizable voice on radio and was recognized for her film appearances. In July, the Boiler Scene coaxed out of her by Orson was called breathtaking. She was rolling, and there would be no stopping that forward momentum.
On November 5th, an article regarding Orson snubbing Hollywood segues into Agnes, “a red-haired gal from St. Louis who used to be known as “The Girl Baritone.” The same article declared that at twelve, she became a dancer for the St Louis Municipal Opera. It intimated that Agnes had gone to college to become a librarian. It continued explaining that in 1926 while teaching dramatics, she decided to do it herself rather than teach. She went to New York, but “producers” scared her. She then went to AADA. Graduating at the beginning of the Great Depression, she found she could make an excellent living advertising soap and sadness. She did up to 8 shows a day. She also did all the screaming on Orson’s “War of the Worlds” broadcast. This article was the first large-scale revamping of her past. Yes, she was from St Louis at one point, and yes, she was a redhead. She had taken graduate-level classes in Library Science, one to be exact, but she had not gone to Muskingum to be a librarian. She coached dramatics and debate at Soldiers Grove, but her designation was that of an English teacher. She danced for the Muni but was sixteen, not twelve. As far as I know, she did not scream on “War of the Worlds.” Yes, she ends up on the radio, but not mostly selling soap and sadness; instead, she creates laughter and is a straight man for comedians and sells soap and sadness. If it didn’t fit her narrative of who she wanted to be, she simply enhanced it by dropping out some things and adding others. Agnes knew how to fabricate with class.
PK Exhibitionist!.
“I mean,” I said in October of 1942, “ that a minister's child is always on exhibition. That makes him an exhibitionist; the first thing he knows is he’s an actor.” This was my go-to statement about being an actor. I often considered herself an exhibitionist and plopped the blame into father's lap. Papa was a performer too as was Mother but of a completely different variety. I learned from them that we are always being watch. Everyone expects a certain type of behavior and anything beyond that is not discussed. This ideal is caused so much trouble for Pegg but I had always understood it and basically I was an exhibitionist so it never bothered me. Pegg lived in books, music, dance and in her head. She was an artist but an ethereal one. I'm the aloof one. There's a difference. It's like the difference between chiffon and wool. I was wool but Pegg was chiffon. I wear a great deal of wool.
A Means Toward An End
Agnes sought attention and was willing to go to outrageous lengths to do it. She constantly rewrote her narrative, adding ingredients that would satisfy the exhibitionist child who lived inside of her. Agnes used her newspaper articles with great success. She touted her farm still. She parked Jack there to get him out of her hair. An article in July says Jack has retired to the farm, and in August, Jack is living and working on the farm with two men as farm hands. Agnes says they plan to permanently live on the farm as soon as they can put it on a paying basis.”Acting is a means toward that end. The money I’m earning now is going into farm improvements. I’ll quit when I can.” The farm never got to a point where it paid for itself, and Agnes bore that burden for the rest of her life. The farm was a money pit. So effectively, Jack was in the pits.
I’m From Everywhere
Just as quickly as she identifies herself as being from St Louis, she identifies herself as being from Reedsburg, Ohio, and Boston. She seems as if she’s from everywhere. Newspapers ate up anything they could find to print about her. The papers talked about the farm, her husband and his relegation to the farm, and her mother, who taught Agnes everything she knew about bending the truth, her radio career, her motion picture career, her fashions, and her father. They peppered her with quips like, “Judge her by appearances before the camera, and one would think twice before attempting a conversation with Miss Moorehead. But they happily discover she’s not as nasty as she looks,” and “I’m no rubber-heeled ground gripper personality. Boston people can be a lot of fun, and you have never met a more broad-minded man than my father.”
Even the parties she attended were mentioned in the papers. In August, she attends a party at Gene Kelly’s home, and even that tiny tidbit made its way into the day's news. She even did a deadpan in print, and on 8 November, a blurb appeared regarding Charles Boyer’s difficulty finding a leading lady for his picture. Agnes quipped, “Which can’t he find—flesh or fantasy?”
As the end of 1942 approached, Agnes contributed to the war effort by appearing on Uncle Sam Presents. After the war ended, Agnes received several thank-you letters from the Department of Defense for her support of the military during this period. Most actors received them, and for good reason. Performers like Agnes had the ear of the nation, and she willingly used her voice and donated her time to support the troops during World War II.
What the Film Critics did
As the year ended, Jack made his way to Hollywood for Christmas. It was a quiet one thant heavens. But on December 30th, my career exploded like a powder keg when I received The New York Film Critics Award for my performance as Fanny Minifer. Talk about overdrive! It was a short walk from winning this award to the Academy Award, and the upcoming year would also see me nominated for that. Orson had handed me raw gold and I minted a giant coin with it. The 1940s were turning out to be the decade of Agnes Moorehead. I couldn't have asked for more if I had ordered it off a menu!
Life was changing so quickly I struggled to keep pace with it but I managed. I had been in Hollywood for nearly three years and I had already won the Film Critics Award. There are well known performers who've gone decades without winning it and I did it in three, almost three, years. I worked constantly between radio and film which granted me the added benefit of having to spend less time coping with Jack. In the back of my mind I had relegated him to "room-mate" and he was an awful one to boot.
The money and the radio clause
By the mid-1940s, I had signed a contract with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, negotiating a $6,000-a-week contract that allowed me to perform on radio. Typically, film actors were not permitted to have contracts like this. Radio was considered the competition. “MGM usually refuses to allow their actors to appear on radio, as "the actors didn't have the knowledge or the taste or the judgment to appear on the right sort of show." They did not have an issue with me doing it. I was the all-American type with a discerning taste that would prevent me from falling into anything untoward and I did not disappoint them.
“I'm not that interested in what people see in me—I'm more interested in what I see in them.” 1943
Agnes Moorehead
Author's Observation: Define Truth
An uncomfortable relationship with the truth
During Agnes’ lifetime, people would recount various stories about her childhood, career, family, and religious beliefs. Given her penchant for altering her past to suit her needs, it is often unwise to believe everything you read or that you have been told because somewhere in that story, the truth of the matter left home and has never been seen again. Agnes had an uncomfortable relationship with the truth for most but not all of her life. She was a creator of alternative facts. One of the articles printed in January and transcribed below is about her time with the St Louis Municipal Opera. It expounds on how she ended up in the chorus as a dancer and is one of the few not packed with alternative facts. I say primarily because, as with Agnes, the truth is there and not there. She claims to have spent four seasons with the Muni, and I will say she might have come from College to participate except for one little thing. A line toward the end of the article says she finished her stint at the Muni at the same time she graduated high school. That would mean she spent three years with the Muni, not four. The math doesn’t work out any other way. Often, she would slip these things into an interview, and the reporter would write precisely what they had been told. She relied on nobody fact-checking her. It worked.
An article in January also says Agnes was voted the year's best actress by the New York Film Critics. The article is more factual. She still fudges her age, admits she attended high school in St. Louis, and left elementary school in Hamilton, Ohio, to hide her age. 12-year-olds don’t participate in high school regularly; junior high, yes; high school, no. They should have picked up on it. Despite growing up in a very austere environment, she also wanted to be an actress as a child. She claims to have graduated from the University of Wisconsin but didn’t. She leaves her time as a teacher out and makes it look like she went from high school to college. She admits to attending Muskingum in the same paragraph where she says the University of Wiscon and then the American Academy. Remember that the article and the one above run in separate newspapers a few days apart. Agnes had a very uncomfortable partnership with facts.
Journey to Monte Mar Terrace
By 1943, Jack was living at least part-time in Hollywood. We had rented a house at 10268 Kincardine Avenue in Cheviot Hills. This home was about three-quarters of a mile from the home we would eventually buy at 2720 Monte Mar Terrace. The Kincardine home was a modest three-bedroom home, but at 2519 square feet, it dwarfed the apartments we had lived in while in New York and it felt like a mansion. It was an odd little hose with slender pillars on the front porch, similar to antebellum homes in the south, but then it has only one very odd big bay window on the front, which is a total departure from an antebellum home. It has a row of windows across the top reminiscent of a Cape Cod style and the stucco work of a Mediterranean-style home. As I said, it is odd. But it served its purpose as our first Hollywood home.
Heading To Hawaii For Fear
In January, Sam Goldwyn wanted me for “The North Star.” Filming began on March fourth. Soon after, the first article about my being type caste appeared. It claimed the studio casting directors only want me for old maid roles. They weren’t wrong. In February, I went to Hawaii to begin work on Orson’s “Journey Into Fear.” The role made my homely in a massive way. It wasn't glamorous or even striking. The character was hard looking with an enormous mole and Orson made me wear a feminine mustache. I wouldn't have agreed to that for anybody eles. Hawaii was lovely though. I wished I had looked into teaching in Honolulu I tell you!
Your marital cracks are showing.
At almost the same time, Jack “retires” to the farm. She sent him there again to get him out of her hair. The slow-moving wreck of a marriage was beginning to form more cracks. Agnes is the sole breadwinner for this pair. Jack has only lived off of his wife for at least ten years. Unbalanced marriages do not work.
Nearly every newspaper article this year mentions the farm in Ohio and prose speaking of her career and how it began. January saw two articles about how she got into performing and about the issue of her being typecast. The one below is an example of the peppering about her life. It includes mention of “her grand husband” and her farm. It has added to her success in “The Magnificent Ambersons” and mentions her upcoming role in “Jane Eyre.” Agnes was solid newspaper fodder. People wanted to know as much as they could about her, which gave her an upper hand in deciding what she would tell them. She was judicial about it. She focused on her past as opposed to her present. She mentioned Jack in terms of a group of words and nothing more. She gave way on real estate transfers if they had something to do with the farm. She added one hundred and fifty-five more acres to the ponderous nonprofit-making farm. Agnes was in the information on her life in the driver's seat, assuming total control of her press.
Dancing barefoot on the lawn 1943
January 10, 1943
St. Louis Globe-Democrat
Sunday
By Nick Carter
Agnes Moorehead, who started her public career with a barefoot dance on the lawn of Central High School in St. Louis and who received the New York Film Critics Award as the best motion picture actress of 1942 for her performance in the “Magnificent Ambersons,” now has blossomed into Hollywood’s number 1 problem child.
The word blossomed is used very correctly, in as much as becoming a problem child in this instance is highly to Miss Moorehead’s credit and somewhat derogatory to the masterminds of Filmtown.
“What to do with Agnes Moorehead? That’s the problem: simple once, now complicated. Every major studio wants the services of this exceptional woman, but no studio knows what to do with her. In just four pictures, she glides through the hardest roles with such graceful and brilliant assurance that movie producers are quite upset by it all. They don’t know whether she’s the greatest character actress of the past decade or just a flash in the pan….”
“It’s all very confusing and disturbing to everyone save the little storm center herself. She goes placidly on her way; she has money in the bank; she has a prosperous farm in Ohio; she has a grand husband; she has a juicy movie role in Jane Eyre.”
January 14, 1943
The Zanesville Signal
Thursday
Real Estate Transfers
Marcus H. Moorehead to Agnes Moorehead Lee 155.40 acres in Rich Hill and Union Townships.
February 14, 1943
Sunday
The Los Angeles Times
Page 45
Yoo-hoo, Teacher!
You are not too surprised, though, when she tells you she once taught high school. It was a Wisconsin High School, and Miss M. was head of the Department of English and Public Speaking. Her purpose, besides impressing her pupils with the evils of overdoing elocution, was to raise enough money to enter the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York. After a year, she made it. One of her classmates was Rosalind Russell.
She graduated to Broadway plays, doing six, the last of which was “Candlelight” with Gertrude Lawrence. She was debating going on the road with Eugenie Leontovich in the same piece–” standing on a street corner,” she says–one of her ex-academy professors came along. To her astonishment, he confided that he had become a producer for NBC and advised her to waste no time getting into radio.
So she did–” American School of the Air,” “March of Time (seven years), Phil Baker (three years), and practically every major program you recall. In broadcasting, she met Orson Welles, and with Welles, Joe Cotten and Ray Collins formed the nucleus of The Mercury Theater. Their devotion to one another, and to Welles especially, is already proverbial. Together, they have stormed the three citadels of entertainment: radio, stage, and screen. It is characteristic that Miss Moorehead gives Orson all the credit for the curdling effectiveness of her hysteria scenes in “Ambersons”--those same scenes helped her win that award. She hasn’t gotten over it yet. (The award, of course, is not the hysteria).
The Money Keeps Rolling In
By March that everyone was saying that I would undoubtedly win the Oscar for my role as Fanny in “The Magnificent Ambersons.” Words like cinch are written in newspaper bits of the day, and these articles feel spot on. I refused to be swayed by it and did what I had always done: threw myself into my work. In March, I did a radio piece playing a woman who directs the activities of the air transport command. This title has been lost to time and my memory, but when you consider when it was broadcast, I’d call it a feminist program with me at the wheel. I also continues with Lionel Barrymore in “Mayor of the Town.” Then, I kicked up a little feminist dust by doing a radio piece on all of the wartime work being done by women. In June, I joined the cast of “Conflict” with Humphrey Bogart. The next day, an article appears about the two contracts being dangled in front of me and my sound decision to wait for the proper role before considering either. In July, I signed up to appear in “Government Girl” after the departure of Gladys George. They made a huge deal about it and even talked about Eve March, who was a stand-in for Kate Hepburn and me. The PR machine was running at full speed for me right now. I never gave up my radio work. I hammered out “Uncle Henry’s Rose Bush” and a radio version of “The Magnificent Ambersons.” No matter what, I always had money coming in.
Author's Observation: Come In Orson!
The Ultimate Radio Performance
Orson strolls back into her world in November, wiring her to ask her to join “War and Peace” for him. She agrees but says she cannot make it until her filming is finished for “Since You Went Away.” Going on with her radio work, she appears on “Dr. Christian” and “ The Gumps.” This year, we will see the radio performance that would completely solidify her prominence on the radio, “Sorry Wrong Number.” This piece was written by Lucille Fletcher specifically for Agnes. American radio listeners lost their collective minds over how riveting this program was. This program was Agnes’ ultimate radio performance. She had people believing everything she said. One man allegedly wrecked his car because he was so captivated by her performance. Even Agnes admitted that the piece rattled her to the point of ensuring all her doors and windows were locked. It became her go-to piece, and she would repeat it many times throughout the rest of her life. It was work she was incredibly proud of. Agnes garnered her crown as “The First Lady of Suspense” with this work. She drove that program, and the radio executives were happy to give her the title. She made them money.
Meanwhile, Back in Wisconsin
Back in Wisconsin, Mother was returning to her Presbyterian roots. She was involved with the Presbyterian Missionary Society and sang as much as possible. She spent two weeks in late August with grand ma and Grace in Dayton. Mother had rejoined the Women’s Missionary Society too. Mama's life had rolled into a comfortable one. She shared a home with Grace in Reedsburg. Having Grace afforded Mama the ability to travel with a companion. It was a version of a “Boston Marriage” because they made a home with each other and would continue to do so until Grace died in 1967. Nobody batted an eyelash at it.
A Christmas Special
On December 23rd,I was heard on “The Bob Burns Show.” Together with Bob and the guests, we cooked up a Christmas Special that would be broadcast that evening. I had just done the film “The Youngest Profession” earlier, and it was on the silver screen on December 24th. Earlier in the month, on my birthday, Agnes had been on the air with Penny Singleton playing Cora Dithers on the serial “Blondie.” December was quiet. Very quiet. There was no mention of either Mother or myself traveling anywhere for Christmas. Everybody stayed home, and peace was the word of the month. Or was it?
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