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“The trail may be cold, but the stories are hot!”

By ivi blog Guest Contributor Dr. Rob Moore

Part 3 of a series of two 3 posts.
This is the last in a series of three articles (see numbers one and two) that speak of happenings at the Garden of Allah, a hotel situated on the then outskirts of Hollywood at the far end of Sunset Boulevard. The original Garden of Alla (without the ending “h,” was built in the 1920’s as  home to Alla Nazimova at the height of her silent film career.

After Nazimova’s career began to fade, she converted her home to a hotel by adding 25 bungalows on the property, and renovating the main house with a bar and restaurant, which, in turn, became a sort of social vortex for the film colony.

The Garden was residence to many of cinema’s most interesting personalities (acting, writing and producing) during the 1930s and 1940s, at times when  stars-to-be were just beginning their careers (Jackie Gleason, Errol Flynn) or when their  personal lives needed airing (Humphrey Bogart, Robert Benchley). The Garden was also a favorite for artists on sabbatical or retreat from the New York stage or for those simply trying their hand at “something”  Hollywood. For example, literary giants like Faulkner and Fitzgerald were to be found often at the restaurant or bar, the latter being the better bet.

Viewing the Garden of Allah as the historical stage it indeed was, in this piece, we are entertained by three random, true stories acted out by the glitterati, scenes that became part of the Garden of Allah’s rich legacy.

Scene one…

opens upon David Niven, Errol Flynn, and writer, Bill Lipscomb, lounging around the large Black Sea shaped swimming pool which serves as the central out-of-doors community gathering location at the Garden.

None of these gentlemen at this juncture in their careers earns the monthly $200-$400 needed to rent one of the Garden’s bungalows. Therefore, they are combining their resources, bunking together in one of the smaller units.

On this day, the total cash available to the three, reserved in preparation for the Garden bar’s Happy Hour, is seventeen dollars.  Other than that, the trio are reputedly without funds, better known in less refined circles as busted.

(Note: The Garden’s Happy Hour was actually several hours. The later patrons showed up, the more expensive drinks became. For example, at 4 o’clock PM, drinks cost 40 cents each. As of 5 PM, the prices were adjusted to 50 cents apiece. At 6 PM, 60 cents, and so on.  Therefore, Niven, Flynn and Lipscomb were feverishly watching their time pieces, all three desiring to enter the Garden bar no later than 4:01 PM. The current time on this day is 3:30 PM.)

There are many versions of what happened next. However, the favorite is the story as told by David Niven.

“Errol, Bill and I were sitting around the pool. The pool phone rang at 3:30.  It was Errol’s agent informing him he had been cast as lead in a film to be called Captain Blood. (As we will recall, Captain Blood was the film that launched Errol to stardom.)

After the conversation was completed, and Flynn told us the good news, we all congratulated Errol, and then continued absorbing the Southern California sun.

Ten minutes later, twenty minutes to Happy Hour, the phone rang again. This time it was Lipscomb’s agent, announcing that Bill had been selected to write the script for Clive of India, a major professional coup for Bill. Again, a round of congratulations.

As if on cue, at 3:55, just five minutes before we were going to head toward the Garden bar, the phone rang yet again.

This time, it was my agent.

I listened attentively, nodding and hmming into the mouthpiece.

When I placed the receiver back on its cradle, Errol and Bill could barely contain themselves, both shouting in unison, “Well, Well?”

I informed the two men that my agent had landed me a part in Barbary Coast for Goldwyn. In Barbary Coast, my principal duty was to allow myself to be thrown from a moving train.”

Scene Two…

opens upon a young, slender Orson Welles sitting with two other writers in his Garden bungalow, working on a screenplay.

When it came to screenplays, Orson considered himself one of the best in the world, and who could argue. However, on this day, he is about to go “too far,” even for Welles.

He reached a portion of the film where Orson himself was to recite the Lord’s Prayer. Orson began to rewrite it.

The two other writers were outraged. They said in unison, “Welles, you can’t rewrite the Lord’s Prayer. The public will burn the theaters down.”

Orson replied, “But, it’s so much better my way.”

The writers got up in a huff and began to leave.

Orson, not wanting to lose their talent on the project, but also not wanting to back down either, said, “Wait a minute, boys!”

Orson then proceeded to open the door of his bungalow. He stepped out in full view of his two assistants, closed his eyes, and slowly turned his big head toward the sky. After a solemn moment, Orson declared, “Boys, Forgive me.” Orson then closed the door, went back into the bungalow, and did it God’s way.

Scene Three…

opens with a very young, very thin, and very nervous Frankie Sinatra in the process of moving into the Garden of Allah.  It is 1941, and Frankie is fresh from the Paramount Theater appearance in New York where his agent, George Evans, had organized 500 young girls to scream for “Frankie, Frankie,” thus setting precedent for Elvis Presley and the Beatles.

“Frankie” owed George Evans big time. Evans not only thought of every publicity angle for his fidgety charge, but also made sure when a reporter of any stripe was willing to talk to the singer, “Frankie” was available and on time.

Frankie preferred to lead a quiet life at the Garden, staying in his bungalow in the evenings, rather than testing the Hollywood night life.

Following in the tradition of all true Italians, though, Sinatra employed a man name Michael whose principal duty was to make the finest spaghetti pie available anywhere in Hollywood.

Michael was so proud of his recipe, especially the sauce, that when the dish was at its peak on the four occasions per week he made the meal for Frankie, he, Michael, would call from the back door of the Sinatra bungalow for anyone who would like to see his masterpiece. There were several well known personalities who would respond to this call, including Bill Spier, the famed radio producer. Because of these dinner calls, Spier gave Sinatra his first dramatic acting opportunity opposite Agnes Moorhead on a radio program called Suspense. (It is not clear from the record that Frankie and Michael ever shared the spaghetti pie with Spier….the eating part, that is.)

The spaghetti-inspired role on Suspense demonstrated Sinatra’s acting talent for  an impressed group of Columbia studios executives who were listening. This, in turn, set Sinatra up to be considered for the role of Maggio in From Here To Eternity, when Clark Gable recommended him for the part.

We might say that Frankie was saved from oblivion by trolling with a phenomenon that has both saved and served millions throughout the ages…the great Spaghetti Pie recipe.