The Secrets of Grown-Ups
Vera Caspary, the celebrated author of Laura, tells her own story in this captivating autobiography. With a career that spanned from the 1920s through 1970s, one that produced over twenty novels, in addition to her many credits for film and theater, Caspary centered her life around a passion for writing. From her early experiences at an advertisement agency-where she developed a correspondence school and invented its "famed" instructor-to the struggles of being gray-listed in the McCarthy Era, Caspary constantly found a way to turn her creative needs into viable work. Caspary recalls the rest of a full life, too, including her flirtation with communism, travels across Europe, and a marriage. Caspary's skillful writing makes her incredible depictions of people, and the times in which they lived, jump off the page."
Scandals. According to White’s advertisements the Black Bottom had been invented in Mr. Pierce’s dance studio. Mr. Oursler had forbidden the use of the dirty phrase in the pure white paper of the Dance. I quoted a fatuous press release that stated Black Bottom referred to the muddy shores of the Suwannee River. Mr. Oursler looked down his nose and said I knew very well that the words combined with the movements of the dance referred to a black behind. Mr. Pierce told me that Black Bottom was the
work in the MacFadden office he had left. It was two years before we met again over cocktails. A riotous night followed. Both deserted dinner dates to eat together, to walk, ride in cabs, listen to music and dance until two or three in the morning. This was the first of many memorable evenings in small, often shabby Russian, Romanian, Italian, Jewish and Spanish nightclubs; enchantment accompanied by balalaika, cymbalom, piano, mandolin, guitar; by phonographs in studios and living rooms; by
In an all-male play about war or sports, women are incidental, a topic of conversation, usually comic. In an all-female play, although unseen, men are dominant characters. Winnie and I hoped to overcome the flaw by creating extreme tension at the climax. Even after the unhappy night in Atlantic City, we believed we could liven dead spots, add suspense and make it a good show. All we asked was to be allowed to work unhindered. Every night Crosby Gaige’s friends, associates and enemies arrived to
the ballet in Leningrad, a single man in the adjoining seat questioned me in faintly comprehensible English, learning that I was American and traveling alone. “Isn’t that the ballet Sylvia by Delibes?” I asked. “Plis,” said the gentleman. I asked him to read the name of the composer, printed in Cyrillic letters on the program. So we were now intimates, and during the first intermission he invited me to stroll with him on the promenade where Russian princes once walked with ladies in sable and
intention of picketing theatres showing films that involved the work of anyone named by the House Un-American Activities Committee, California’s Tenney Committee and/or Red Channels. I have not been honored by the House Un-American Activities Committee, but the Tenney Committee has prepared a dossier. To rescue MGM from the dilemma I have only to answer the Tenney charges, one by one, in a letter to Nicholas Schenck, chairman of the board. Mr. Sidney hands me several mimeographed pages. I read