in 1949 after Garland failed to lose fifteen pounds as directed by MGM. “But I can’t understand her attitude after all that has been done for her.”
Hedda Hopper was more caustic than Louella, but even she saw herself as a champion of Hollywood, as a promoter of its stars and its values. She liked to think she played the role of a stern—but loving—aunt. Hedda, for example, felt that she had practically discovered Elizabeth Taylor, and would privately advise the star on her wardrobe and her love life. When Taylor confided to Hedda that she was having an affair with Eddie Fisher, Hedda broke the story as though she had a moral obligation, not only to her readers but to Hollywood at large and the actress herself, to do so. “I had no regret,” she said. “Without a sense of integrity, you can’t sleep at nights.”
The two columnists’ truly vicious behavior usually involved their rivalry, their fights over scoops. For example, when ClarkGable and Carole Lombard got married in 1939, Louella banned them from her column for several months because they didn’t give her the story exclusively. Joan Crawford was careful not to make the same mistake; when she got married to Philip Terry in 1948, she notified Louella immediately. That, of course, infuriated Hedda. Upon reading Louella’s scoop, Hedda telephoned Crawford and declared: “I will ruin you!” When Crawford ran into Hedda at a Hollywood party, she stretched her arms toward the columnist and begged for forgiveness. Hedda abruptly walked away. So when Rock Hudson married Phyllis Gates in 1955, they played it smart. As soon as vows were exchanged, Rock got on the phone and called the story in to Louella Parsons while Phyllis was on the other line, giving it in to Hedda Hopper.
In the 1950s, when stars like Jimmy Stewart and Bette Davis began defecting from the studios and hiring independent agents, the studio system that had produced so many classic movies began to fall apart. New stars like Marlon Brando and James Dean held the system, and Hedda and Louella, in contempt and refused to cooperate with them. The columnists, for their part, continued writing about aging studio stars like Clark Gable—Louella invariably referred to him as “the king”—and ridiculed the new generation.
At the same time, many of the newspapers that carried their columns began to fold. In late 1962, a printers’ strike that lasted 114 days killed or seriously crippled a number of New York papers, including the New York
Mirror,
Winchell’s home base. Louella’s hometown outlet, the
Los Angeles Examiner,
folded in 1962. In 1966, the great
Herald Tribune
folded. In 1967, the
World Journal Telegram,
a conglomerate of papers hoping to join forces in an effort to stay alive, collapsed. Most towns were left with only one newspaper—usually the more established, upscale paper—and the tabloid wars that had characterized the pretelevision era disappeared. Editors in one-paper towns began to reevaluate the role of their publications. Without the need to use blaring headlines, scandal, and gossip in the old daily competition for circulation with other papers, they could afford to refine the definition of news, to distinguish it more sharply from entertainment, to make it more serious and more sober. Socially consciouseditors and reporters also became openly disdainful of Hollywood and celebrities. The once feared and revered Louella, in particular, became a source of ridicule, an aging and somewhat daffy relic. In one oft-repeated, perhaps apocryphal incident, some friends dropped by Parsons’s home to take her to a movie screening and the gossip diva answered the door buck naked except for red shoes and a matching hat and handbag. She then excused herself, went into the rest room and ten minutes later came out declaring, “Well that was the worst damn picture I ever saw!” John Barrymore called her “that old udder” and Marlon Brando referred to her as “The fat One.”
Hedda Hopper was more caustic than Louella, but even she saw herself as a champion of Hollywood, as a promoter of its stars and its values. She liked to think she played the role of a stern—but loving—aunt. Hedda, for example, felt that she had practically discovered Elizabeth Taylor, and would privately advise the star on her wardrobe and her love life. When Taylor confided to Hedda that she was having an affair with Eddie Fisher, Hedda broke the story as though she had a moral obligation, not only to her readers but to Hollywood at large and the actress herself, to do so. “I had no regret,” she said. “Without a sense of integrity, you can’t sleep at nights.”
The two columnists’ truly vicious behavior usually involved their rivalry, their fights over scoops. For example, when ClarkGable and Carole Lombard got married in 1939, Louella banned them from her column for several months because they didn’t give her the story exclusively. Joan Crawford was careful not to make the same mistake; when she got married to Philip Terry in 1948, she notified Louella immediately. That, of course, infuriated Hedda. Upon reading Louella’s scoop, Hedda telephoned Crawford and declared: “I will ruin you!” When Crawford ran into Hedda at a Hollywood party, she stretched her arms toward the columnist and begged for forgiveness. Hedda abruptly walked away. So when Rock Hudson married Phyllis Gates in 1955, they played it smart. As soon as vows were exchanged, Rock got on the phone and called the story in to Louella Parsons while Phyllis was on the other line, giving it in to Hedda Hopper.
In the 1950s, when stars like Jimmy Stewart and Bette Davis began defecting from the studios and hiring independent agents, the studio system that had produced so many classic movies began to fall apart. New stars like Marlon Brando and James Dean held the system, and Hedda and Louella, in contempt and refused to cooperate with them. The columnists, for their part, continued writing about aging studio stars like Clark Gable—Louella invariably referred to him as “the king”—and ridiculed the new generation.
At the same time, many of the newspapers that carried their columns began to fold. In late 1962, a printers’ strike that lasted 114 days killed or seriously crippled a number of New York papers, including the New York
Mirror,
Winchell’s home base. Louella’s hometown outlet, the
Los Angeles Examiner,
folded in 1962. In 1966, the great
Herald Tribune
folded. In 1967, the
World Journal Telegram,
a conglomerate of papers hoping to join forces in an effort to stay alive, collapsed. Most towns were left with only one newspaper—usually the more established, upscale paper—and the tabloid wars that had characterized the pretelevision era disappeared. Editors in one-paper towns began to reevaluate the role of their publications. Without the need to use blaring headlines, scandal, and gossip in the old daily competition for circulation with other papers, they could afford to refine the definition of news, to distinguish it more sharply from entertainment, to make it more serious and more sober. Socially consciouseditors and reporters also became openly disdainful of Hollywood and celebrities. The once feared and revered Louella, in particular, became a source of ridicule, an aging and somewhat daffy relic. In one oft-repeated, perhaps apocryphal incident, some friends dropped by Parsons’s home to take her to a movie screening and the gossip diva answered the door buck naked except for red shoes and a matching hat and handbag. She then excused herself, went into the rest room and ten minutes later came out declaring, “Well that was the worst damn picture I ever saw!” John Barrymore called her “that old udder” and Marlon Brando referred to her as “The fat One.”
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