James Burton Lenhart, Who Are You?
Recently, I came across a website discussing how Paul Gregory met Charles Laughton. It said, “Paul Gregory's life could have made an excellent movie, like the one by Frank Capra. A poor boy from Iowa, he became a successful Broadway and Hollywood producer through hard work and a little old-fashioned luck.” It sounds like a description of a Rockwell painting, unfortunately. It was not painted by Norman; it was painted by Benny, who is a complete figment of my imagination.
Like every Hollywood dream story, there’s glamor, and then there’s reality. Take these missives for example: “Born in 1920, he was the son of a part-Cherokee mother and a father who was often unreliable. Gregory's father "disappeared after he had spent my mother's Indian money," Gregory recently recalled, and then "showed up along the Mississippi towns as a roving preacher," going from one small Lutheran colony to another.” Sounds tragic, doesn’t it? But guess what? That's not true, except for the 'born in 1920 part. Paul Gregory isn’t even really Paul Gregory. His real name was James Burton Lenhart, and he was born on August 27, 1920. His unreliable father was James Clifford Lenhart, and his poor mother was Esther May Taylor. The truth in this is only his parent's names. His “unreliable” father saved Paul, his mother, and his siblings from a gas leak in their home in 1924. Paul’s father went in so many times carrying them out he was overcome with gas as well but recovered. Paul’s part-Cherokee mother isn’t part-Cherokee either.
The following section, as far as I can tell, is epic tomfoolery! I do not doubt that “Iowa was a tough place during the Depression.” It goes on to say, “It was tough, and with five children, Gregory's mother sent him to England to live with relatives. His uncle was a London solicitor, and the youth attended a school with embassy children.” If Iowa was so tough, where did the money to send Paul to England from Iowa? There is no record of Paul Gregory's passage under his birth name, and I can find no “uncle” who was a barrister in London—pure imaginative storytelling.
Furthermore, there were four children, and the unreliable father managed a Grocery business still in 1930 and owned their home. “Did I mention Paul? In true Hollywood fashion, Gregory underwent a sudden reversal of fortune. There were concerts, matinees, the ballet-- all the cultural riches London had to offer.” Also, a hard no. Paul studied dance in Des Moines, Iowa, and participated in at least two recitals. The first was in 1936, when he was 16, and the second was in 1941 when he was 20.
Then we get this: “Gregory returned home to finish high school. He picked up a newspaper route and came to the attention of the boss, Mike Cowles, who hired him to read the Sunday funnies on the family's radio station. Mike was impressed with the youngster's polished accent. After graduation, Gregory headed west to seek his fortune.” Paul never left home at all. I can find no record of radio work. Paul didn’t “head west” until 1942. Between graduation and going to California in 1942. In Los Angeles he found work as a “soda jerk” while he pursued acting.
The fantasy in this story is worthy of Disney. “As a boy, Gregory's Cherokee aunt told him, "Always put away half of what you make." Back at the soda fountain, he took her advice. It was not long before the money proved handy. One day, a dancer, Ruth St. Denis, whom he had seen perform in London, wandered into the drugstore with her manager. Miss St. Denis was one of the pioneers of modern dance but was then out of the limelight. One thing led to another, and Gregory and the manager split the cost, renting a Wilshire theater to put on a local performance. The two-day show sold out, and the young impresario had found his calling.” Paul Gregory NEVER saw Ruth St. Denis perform in London, but he read voraciously. He knew who she was, and he used his looks to get her attention. As for a two-day sold-out show, there’s no record of it.
If the story is to be believed, which I seriously doubt,” A customer to whom he showed the Denis program turned out to be the director of the Hollywood Choir. Gregory was soon booking the group, which featured MGM actor Dennis Morgan. Gregory's activities came to the attention of Lew Wasserman, the mighty head of MCA. "Who's this guy handling our clients?" the chairman asked a deputy. "Get a hold of him." The emissary located Gregory at the drugstore. Instead of taking legal action, the company hired Gregory and placed him in its New York office.” The rise of Paul Gregory began someplace in this pile of half-truths and untruths.
The story goes like this: “One snowy night, as Gregory was about to leave a Third Avenue restaurant, “a big fat man came on the Ed Sullivan show and began reading from the fiery Book of Daniel. It was Charles Laughton, the famous British-born actor who had been in The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Mutiniy On The Bounty. Gregory was mesmerized by the performance. “Oh, my god,” he remembers thinking. “I can sell this all over the country.” The young agent “dashed over to the Mansfield Theatre” and arrived as Laughton was leaving with a female companion.
"I would like to speak to you," Gregory told the distinguished actor.
"What about, old boy?" Laughton replied.
I'd like to speak with you about booking you.
"Speak to my agent," the actor responded, nodding to his companion.
"I said I want to speak to you, sir," Gregory persisted.
Laughton appeared uninterested, but the young agent was undeterred. "I knew this was my crown," Gregory notes, "and I was going to put stars in it."
He told Laughton, "You're throwing away a million dollars."
The rest, as they say, is history or at least somebody's version of history. Gregory would go on to work with Laughton, and the resulting shows, including “Don Juan In Hell,” changed the history of theatre. For that, Gregory deserves to be lauded; however, you’re only as good as your cast, and his cast for Don Juan was beyond dynamite. He and Laughton assembled a cast that is arguably the best cast ever to grace multiple stages, and they created a world so vivid with their words that every person who saw it was watching something that allowed their imagination to take flight. Nothing like it had been done before, right? Except it had. By Gregory and Laughton in April, May, June, July, August, and September 1950. April and May were solo Laughton performances. June was Laughton and Boyer doing a reading together. July was Laughton, and August was the preview of “Don Juan In Hell” with Agnes. Hume Cronyn even got in on the act. So, as much as we’d like to believe Don Juan was the start of readers' theatre, it wasn’t. The fact is that the work done by Laughton, first on his own and then with Gregory, carved a path that allowed “Don Juan In Hell” to become the huge hit it was.
Paul continued producing after Don Juan. He was a creative man and had an eye for what would fly and what wouldn’t. He went on to steer Robert Gist away from Agnes by casting him in “The Caine Mutiny.” That went well, not. It seems Paul steered Agnes away from the disaster that was quickly becoming her marriage to Robert Gist. He was possessive of her. I’ve held in my own hands a note from Paul to Agnes that arrived with flowers that said “I love you. Paul” Was he interested? You can interpret his communication with her in several ways, and yes, love is one reason for looking at them, but Paul was a confirmed bachelor. Code for maybe gay or maybe bi, who knows! Long story short, Paul was incredibly protective of Agnes, and at the same time, he was able to tell her precisely what he thought, whether she asked for it or not. The incredible thing is he got away with it and lived to tell the tale.
The Confidential Trial and All The Lawyers
While Paul was riding high on all of his productions, a few little things happened.
In June of 1954, Gregory was sued by Dick Powell for the outrageous, cough, act of removing Powell’s name as director for “The Caine Mutiny. Powell rejected an out-of-court settlement. The trial was scheduled for August. After that had come and gone, Gregory found himself at the center of another lawsuit, this time along with Charles Laughton, for breach of contract by a publicist named Russell Birdwell. Birdwell wanted $400,000 because Gregory and Laughton had failed to live up to the contracts they signed in 1952 for “The Caine Mutiny.” As if that wasn’t enough, Herman Wouck’s wife jumped into the suit demanding $75,000 in damages and 5 percent of the gross. Laughton’s portion was a mere $35,000. Everybody had their hands out. 1956 wasn’t one bit better, either.
Another suit was filed in April 1956 for $50,000, which Paul settled with Hal Gerard, and I’m sure he hoped he had put the whole sordid mess behind him. Life had other ideas, and it came in the form of a lawsuit, which was like a giant circus involving what seemed like most of Hollywood. It had to do with a magazine called “The Confidential” and oh my god, was it salacious! I’m not going to deliver every single detail because you can find it anywhere if you look, but what it did do was catch Paul Gregory in the wheels of justice, and so were Charles Laughton and Elsa Lanchester.
The magazine “The Confidential” routinely printed stories with zero grounding in reality when they couldn’t blackmail the subject of the said article into paying them to keep it out of the news. The problem was the victims began to fight back, and Gregory was one of them. Paul alleged that Mrs. Meaded told him it would cost $800 to $ 1,000 to keep a story out of the magazine that dealt with Paul’s client and friend, Charles Laughton, as well as Elsa Lanchester. Paul threw down the gauntly and joined with other performers to take “The Confidential” on in court. When Paul told the court that Meade had attempted to blackmail him, the defense brought up a judgment made against Paul by an unnamed widow for his having defrauded her after making love to her. I have searched through every single paper I could find using both Paul Gregory and his birth name, James Burton Lenhart; there is no judgment published anywhere, nor is there a record of any trial of any kind. Considering the source of this statement was Mrs. Meade and that many stars were successfully suing the magazine, I’m reasonably sure it never happened. The Confidential got slapped down and went under. Paul continued with his life, and then, in 1964, he made heads spin once again.
In 1964, Paul Gregory married Janet Gaynor in Las Vegas. It’s been called a lavender marriage, but in all honesty, I wasn’t there, so I cannot say that for sure. What I can say is that before marrying Gregory, Gaynor had been married to costume designer Adrian. The fact is that Adrian was openly gay. Hollywood knew it. Gaynor knew it, and yet they cared very much for each other. They even had a son. Nonetheless, this lends itself to the interpretation that Janet Gaynor was bisexual. The problem is that only the people who know the truth are dead and would never have told it publicly, even if they weren’t.
It’s worth noting that the only person Agnes saw before she boarded the train for what would be her final journey was Paul Gregory. She was honest with him and told him she would never see him again. Paul was deeply complex, but so was Agnes, and she trusted him with her career, her life, and her death. It says a lot about the man to me.