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Errol Flynn & The Law – Books, Magazines, Press Photos!

22 Nov

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Check out this amazing Errol Flynn Auction on eBay!

This auction contains a collection of books, magazines, and press photos that pertain to Errol Flynn and his many dealings with the law.  All items are originals in great condition. WILL SHIP WORLDWIDE. Domestic shipping cost is listed, all other costs will be determined by destination after auction ends. PAYPAL preferred. E-mail me if you have any questions or would like to see a clearer/larger photo of any of the items.



Included in this collection are:
4 Books
1 – THE JERRY GIESLER STORY by Jerry Giesler
2 – MELVIN BELLI – MY LIFE ON TRIAL by Melvin Belli
3 – BELLI LOOKS AT LIFE AND LAW IN JAPAN by Melvin Belli (with foreword by ERROL FLYNN)

4 – WILLS: A DEAD GIVEAWAY by Millie Considine & Ruth Pool
 
3 Magazines & 1 Newspaper
 
November 3, 1942 The Daily Mirror Newspaper from Sydney, Australia
ERROL FLYNN FACES ACCUSER
 
October 1955 On The Q.T. Magazine
WHEN TEEN-AGERS CHARGED ERROL FLYNN WITH RAPE

 
September 1956 The Lowdown Magazine
WHY ERROL FLYNN’S FAVORITE SONG IS I GET A KICK OUT OF YOU!

 
September 1966 Modern Man Magazine
THE SEX SCANDALS OF HOLLYWOOD – FLYNN’S FLING!

 
7 B/W Press Photos (with reporter notes attached)
 
1 – Errol Flynn with lawyers Jerry Giesler & Robert Ford
2 – Errol Flynn & Jerry Giesler
3 – Deputy DA Thomas Cochrane questioning Betty Hansen
4 – Jerry Giesler questioning Peggy Satterlee
5 – Errol Flynn leaving police station after arrest
6 – Maura Fitzgibbon
7 – Errol’s girlfriend Beverly Aadland with lawyer Melvin Belli
 
** See below for more information on individual items**
(book descriptions, article excerpts, press photo notes)

 
THE JERRY GIESLER STORY (1960) – hard cover
by Jerry Giesler as told to Pete Martin
 
The famous trial lawyer's most fascinating cases over the past fifty years, in which he defended such celebrated clients as Clarence Darrow, Charles Chaplin, ERROL FLYNN, Benny (Bugsy) Siegel, Kid McCoy, Lili St. Cyr, Edward G. Robinson Jr., Robert Mitchum, Busby Berkeley, The Little Fellow In The Attic
 
MELVIN BELLI: MY LIFE ON TRIAL (1976) – hard cover
By Melvin M. Belli with Robert Blair Kaiser
 
For years, members of the press have enjoyed making Melvin Belli into one of the most celebrated lawyers of the twentieth century. What the press likes about Mel are his colorful ways and his colorful clients and the shows he directs in and out of court. He had a bruising battle in Dallas defending Jack Ruby for the murder of Lee Harvey Oswald. He had a string of bitter encounters almost everywhere defending himself against the onslaughts of establishment lawyers who didn't like his quick tongue—or maybe the flamboyant red lining of the suits he wore in court.  But Mel Belli didn't keep making the public print because of his famous clients or his attire. He did so because he was a darn good lawyer with heart and wit and originality, a man who developed demonstrative evidence in non-criminal cases, persuaded juries across the land to start giving adequate awards to those who had suffered injustice, and helped make new law that forced the powerful few to become accountable to the many who had been weak and helpless.  Now it's Mel Belli's turn to tell the whole story of his life, all the serious lawyering as well as all the rollicking good times. He does so here with warmth and fun and passion. He narrates his prank-filled school days, his journeys as a seaman, his first job—as a hobo—his gritty legal apprenticeship during the Depression (one day he lost his entire practice when two clients were hanged at San Quentin), his billowing career, HIS CAROUSING WITH THE LIKES OF AN ERROL FLYNN, and his eventual enthronement as the King of Torts. You will be charmed and moved and delighted.  Oliver Wendell Holmes once said that a man must share the passion and the action of his times—or run the risk of not having lived. Mel Belli has shared, he has lived, and he expects to keep on doing so for some time to come. He is a true original, and so is the story of his life.
 
BELLI LOOKS AT LIFE AND LAW IN JAPAN (1960) – hard cover
By Melvin M. Belli & Danny R. Jones, foreword by ERROL FLYNN
 
ERROL FLYNN, shortly before his death, sent on for this book a characteristically ebullient Foreword as a toast to his good friend Melvin Belli.
 
The tourist planning a holiday abroad rarely asks himself how much he knows of the laws of the country he is about to visit. Nor does it occur to him—until he gets into trouble—how little he understands of legal systems unlike our own. We tend to forget that three fourths of the civilized world has legal systems based on, or paying homage to, laws completely foreign to the American system. (Japan, for example, has no jury trials.)  The law of any country evolves “according to the nature of things”—de rerum natura. Law, in brief, is a complex, often baffling reflection of the political, economic and social backgrounds which engender it. The late Chief Justice Arthur T. Vanderbilt once pointed out: “The significance of a system of law cannot be grasped apart from the environment in which it functions.”  Belli Looks at Life and Law in Japan sets out to tell the story of what it is like to live under the customs and laws of a foreign culture. Belli and Jones present Japan as it is today in a fascinating combination of fact and anecdote. They visit and describe Japanese courts and prisons, department stores and temples, dens and palaces; they interview American and Japanese lawyers practicing in Tokyo. They report on a number of sensational trials—that of William Girard, the American soldier accused of murder and tried in a Japanese court under Japanese law, with the consent of our Supreme Court; the trial of the Rat Boy, a Japanese Robin Hood; the trial of surely the most audacious criminal on record, who represented himself in the early days of the Occupation as “MacArthur's sanitation expert” and forced employees of a Tokyo bank to drink strychnine as “stomach medicine.” And the trial of Tokyo Rose, accused of treason in the United States.  The intention of Belli and Jones is always to make clear how the forces of history, ethnology, religion, customs and folklore shape the development of the Japanese legal system.  Any factor which has influence upon Japanese legal practices is a matter for discussion and comment: the so-called MacArthur Constitution, the sayings of Confucius, medieval scholasticism, nineteenth-century continental law, Anglo-American export and import, and the past and present roles of the Japanese emperor, the courts, the lawyers and judges…  J. E. de Becker, of the Swiss legation in Tokyo, a member of the Society of Comparative Legislation, has written most aptly: “…many cases of discord and contention would be eliminated, not only between individuals but between nations, were people mutually better acquainted with the motives of their varying legal systems.”  Belli and Jones write for the lawyer and the layman, the tourist and the armchair traveler. Belli Looks at Life and Law in Japan is an introduction to the changing laws of a modern nation, to a colorful world where white is the color of mourning and the noodle a symbol of longevity.  Toshiro Irie, Justice of the Supreme Court of Japan, has contributed a succinct, enthusiastic preface.
 
WILLS: A DEAD GIVEAWAY (1974) – hard cover
By Millie Considine & Ruth Pool
 
An entertaining book about the amazing, amusing and interesting wills of: Marilyn Monroe, Adolf Hitler, W.C. Fields, Benjamin Franklin, Robert Ruark, William Shakespeare, Mother Cabrini, Joseph Valachi, The Woolworths, Mary Baker Eddy, Houdini, George Washington, Maurice Chevalier, John Barrymore and 200 others.  Where there's a will there's a way to write one — sometimes funny, sometimes sad, often outrageous, always entertaining — as evidenced by this array of wills of some of the world's most famous (and infamous) testators.  Here are the last wishes of everyone from Mother Cabrini and Mary Baker Eddy to Marilyn Monroe and ERROL FLYNN — from show business people like Billy Rose and John Shubert to two farmers, one of whom buried his millions in milk cans and the other who willed his properties to John D. Rockefeller.  We learn the intriguing story behind a will that unwittingly corrupted a town and divided a nation, and of another that enriched Boston and Philadelphia by millions of dollars.  We follow the sagas of the Woolworth dynasty and the unlucky Hope diamond.  In some wills there are the outlandish provisions that testators have made for their own funerals or the disposal of their remains. We learn that John Barrymore and the Marquis de Sade shared the fear of being buried alive, and made provisions to prevent that. In this amusing and fascinating book we see people expressing everything from love and gratitude to vengeance and a graveyard humor, as they call the shots for the last time.
 
THE DAILY MIRROR Newspaper, Sydney, Australia
Tuesday, November 3, 1942

 
ERROL FLYNN FACES ACCUSER: Women Crowd Into Courtroom: 17-YEAR-OLD GIRL'S STORY
By Daily Mirror World Cables and International News Service
 
HOLLYWOOD, Tuesday. — Grim-faced, Australian film star Errol Flynn sat in court here today and listened intently to evidence by sullen-eyed blonde Betty Hansen, 17-year-old girl, whom he is alleged to have raped during a party at the home of Fred McEvoy, wealthy British sportsman.  She described how, after a little “petting,” Flynn took her to an upstairs bedroom where she submitted to his advances.  “The door was locked. I don't know exactly what was said but I submitted,” she said….
 
Other Articles of Note:
Kokoda Captured As Allies Drive On – Landing Attempt At Buna Smashed
Australians Play Decisive Part In Eqypt Battle
Soviet Admits Fall Of Nalchik – Serious Turn In Caucasus
Alola Taken In Face Of Artillery Fire
Republicans May Gain Slightly At U.S. Poll
 
ON THE Q.T. Magazine – October 1955
 
WHEN TEEN-AGERS CHARGED ERROL FLYNN WITH RAPE
By CARSON L. THOMAS
 
THE eminent Dr. Alfred C. Kinsey has stated that each man's sexual norms are distinctive to himself, and to himself alone. There is no denying the distinctive pattern of millionaire movie actor Errol Flynn's norms, or “kicks” as they are known in the vernacular of Broadway.  Through the years, the handsome Irishman's teen-age lovemaking has cost him plenty of money because he has been forced to defend himself—albeit always successfully—against charges of rape brought by bobby-soxers.  The first time trouble developed was when Peggy Satterlee, a gorgeous showgirl, accused Flynn of man-handling her twice on his yacht when she was a demure lass of fifteen. Errol jumped into legal entanglements a second time when a bosomy 17-year-old waitress named Betty Hansen sat on his lap and kissed him at a cocktail party—a touching scene that had a courtroom finale with Betty giving the jury a play-by-play description of Flynn's alleged bedroom technique….
 
Other Articles of Note:
Ava Gardner's Hidden Secret is Revealed
Why Does Pepsi Hit The Spot For Joan Crawford?
The Benefactor Dean Martin & Jerry Lewis Forgot
Does Sugar Ray Robinson Want To Be President?
Will Ingrid Bergman Make Her Second Mistake?
 
THE LOWDOWN Magazine – September 1956
 
WHY ERROL FLYNN’S FAVORITE SONG IS I GET A KICK OUT OF YOU! Aging Errol's Just a Fun-Loving Broth of a Lad at Heart. The Cop He Booted Around Didn't Think So — And So Here's What Happened!
By JOHN PRENTICE
 
THESE tired old eyes have often dimmed over with melancholy at the sight of a skinny, lean-jawed lad, who weighs in the featherweight class, taking over two burly thugs and beating them to a pulp.  It is only in Hollywood, the land of enchantment, that an emaciated clothespin like Errol Flynn can let fly with a left, then a right, then a left and then a smasheroo in the midriff and K.O. the forces of evil. In the umpty-seven films he has made (he is now getting on in years), always but always he wins fair maiden with those two hefty fists that look like pink powder puffs. But in the dreamland that is Hollywood, anything can happen. In real life, it's quite another matter.  It is therefore quite a joy to report that Errol got his comeuppance one dark night at the tender hands of a New York cop. This cop, who might have been afraid of Flynn had he seen his films, handled the beautiful man as though The Great Flynn was a mischievous stripling with adolescent pimples….
 
Other Articles of Note:
U.S. Secretary of State John Foster Dulles' Sinister Client
La Strip Tease – The Startling French Way!
The Peas Under Marilyn Monroe's Mattress!
Behind Diana Barrymore's Binges
Salvador Dali: Self Portrait Of Perversion!
 
MODERN MAN Magazine – September 1966
 
THE SEX SCANDALS OF HOLLYWOOD – FLYNN’S FLING!
By I. G. EDMONDS
 
EDITOR'S NOTE: With this issue, MM begins a spectacular series of articles describing the most notorious scandals involving famous Hollywood celebrities. Appropriately, this series begins with the famous sex trials of Errol Flynn. Told with eye-opening frankness, the article digs into the sizzling courtroom testimony that made headline news.
 
A DETECTIVE, on the witness stand in Los Angeles County Superior court, testified that he and a companion went to the home of actor Errol Flynn on Mulholland Drive in Beverly Hills.  Alexander, the valet, admitted them and called his master. Flynn came down at once and seemed surprised to learn his visitors were police officers. But he was a perfect host. He invited them to join him in a drink. When they refused, Flynn poured one of his own.  “Just what do you want?” he asked.  “We are investigating a very serious charge,” the officer said in an authoritative voice.  “And what is it?” Flynn asked. Without waiting for an answer he took a deep swig from the glass.  “Statutory rape!” the officer said.  The actor choked on the liquor. When he stopped coughing, he burst out: “My God!”….
 
Other Articles of Note:
It Never Got This Hot In Camelot (California's Renaissance Pleasure Faire)
The Bloody Face Of War! (Vietnam War Prize-Winning Photos)
The Greatest Thrills In World Series History
plus many color & B/W nude spreads
 
PRESS PHOTOS

 
11/6/42 – LOS ANGELES: Errol Flynn and his attorneys Jerry Giesler (L) and Robert E. Ford (R) pause outside the L.A. courtroom before today's preliminary hearing. Giesler cross-examined Peggy Satterle's witness, Peter Stackpole, Life and Time photographer, who offered as evidence a photo allegedly taken of the dancer and Flynn on Flynn's yacht.
 
1-12-43 – LOS ANGELES: Errol with his attorney Jerry Giesler as they appeared in L.A. court yesterday, the first day of Flynn's trial on 3 counts of statutory rape. Today's session was devoted almost entirely to choosing the jury which will hear the case.
 
1-14-43 – LOS ANGELES: 17-yr.-old “movie-struck” waitress, Betty Hansen describes to Deputy D.A. Thomas W. Cochrane the arrangement of the rooms in the Bel-Air mansion where she claims Errol Flynn attacked her. She told in intimate detail all about the famous bedroom scene, but Flynn's attorney, in cross-examination, indicated that the little blonde from Lincoln, Neb. had just dreamed the whole thing.
 
1-21-43 – LOS ANGELES: At this moment in L.A. court, caught by an alert photographer, pretty Peggy Satterlee is being shown a photo of herself as she appeared during the preliminary hearing of the case against Flynn, when she wore a girlish dress and pigtails. As defense attorney Jerry Giesler shows her the photo, she laughingly averts her face.
 
10/20/57 – HOLLYWOOD: Actor Errol Flynn (right), arrested on a drunk charge, leaves the police station here, October 20th, after being released on bail. Flynn and actress Maura Fitzgibbon, 21, were arrested at a ball given by Hollywood press agents and publicists when the actor allegedly took a badge from an off-duty policeman and refused to return it.
 
10/20/57 – HOLLYWOOD: This is a photo from files of British actress Maura Fitzgibbon, 21, who was arrested, October 19th, with actor Errol Flynn at a ball given by Hollywood press agents and publicists. The arrest took place after Flynn allegedly took the badge of an off-duty police officer and refused to return it.
 
10/19/59 – SAN FRANCISCO: Beverly rested here 10/19 as funeral services for Errol Flynn were conducted in Hollywood. She is shown with her attorney, Melvin Belli. Belli said that Miss Aadland has received several offers for stories of her relationship with Flynn.

— David DeWitt

 

For the new Errol Flynn fan – start collecting today!

10 Nov

Ahoy!

This one is for the new fans. The rest of you may eavesdrop if you wish.

I've noticed that some of the Zaca's new members are also discovering Errol Flynn for the first time. For those of you who have been following recent posts you've already read about some of the photos I've posted over at Dave's website.

I don't have the best collection of Errol Flynn memorabilia, in fact, off the top of my head I can think of a good dozen people who have Flynn collections that are much better than mine (collections that make my pulse race), including members of this group. But Ihave a lot and I like to share it, especially the stills. My collection began in the early 1970s when I began purchasing stills and lobby cards.

So for those of you interested in starting a collection I offer the following advice:

Create a monthly budget and decide precisely how much money you can afford to spend for twelve months. I say twelve months because you'll need one good year to get a feel for what you are doing.

There are numerous archival photography businesses, such as Movie Market, Corbis, and others that sell Flynn photographs, but I'm big on e-bay.

Why e-bay? Because the variety is better and it's possible to purchase scene stills at discount prices, at least sometimes. Also, e-bay is, in my opinion, a gold-mine for the Flynn fan. A week does not go by where I don't see some rare item or rare still. I seestills every week on e-bay that I don't have, and I have a lot.

Next, I recommend you pick one of two of your favorite Flynn films to start and concentrate on collecting stills from those films. In other words, remain focused. Start by purchasing general stills from your favorite film. After that you can branch out into other areas.

I can't tell you exactly how to proceed, but I can share with you how I do it. For example, I use the great book THE FILMS OF ERROL FLYNN by Tony Thomas, Rudy Behlmer and Clifford McCarty as a type of measuring stick. Pick a film from that book and look at the stills. Try collecting those. For example, the entry for DIVE BOMBER has five stills. I have two of those five stills. The one I really want is the one at the top of page 105 where he's running across the aircraft carrier deck. I've never found a glossy of that one. I have many other great stills from that movie, so I can't complain, but I never found that one on page 105.

Once you get into it you'll discover that some stills are very common and easy to obtain. You'll see the same photos from ROBIN HOOD, THE SEA HAWK and others. It's a good idea to buy those up and get it out of the way. After all, you're a collector now! Back to THE FILMS OF ERROL FLYNN, my friend Rick Dodd and I were talking by telephone once how easy it is to flip through that book and spot stills that we DON'T own. It's amazing! It's uncanny how some stills are so elusive. But e-bay has changed all of that and in recent years I've filled in some gaps. Yet I'm always on the prowl for that VIRGINIA CITY still at the top of page 90, that SANTA FE TRAIL still at the top of page 100, that SILVER RIVER still at the bottom of page 151. The list is endless.

But after a few months you'll accumulate some nice photos. Once you collect a reasonable amount from a specific film you'll start looking for candid and other shots not commonly available. I have plenty of stills from THEY DIED WITH THEIR BOOTS ON but I am always looking for anything from the final scenes at the Little Big Horn that I don't have. Warner Brothers created hundreds of publicity photos for their films and occasionally something will surface. That's when your e-bay budget might suffer a bit. Don't be discouraged if you don't find everything that you want. Half the fun
is in the game itself.

Now I'd like to make an offer to Zaca members (as of this date). If you publicly post your favorite Flynn film on this group's site I'll post a (one) photo (or image) related to that film over at Dave's web-site: rememberingerrol.blogplugs.com…. The main website page is at: coffeewithdavid.com… Then you can save it to your hard-drive for printing on photo paper. I've had a great many people help me over the years and I'd like to return the favor. So how about it? I'm particularly interested in assisting the new fans.

Post your favorite film here and I'll post a photo for you at Dave's place. Duplicates are ok. For example if Mary, George and Bertha all like Robin Hood then I'll post three different Robin Hood images at Dave's place.

A few rules do apply: Please post at least your first name, and all requests should be posted by Sunday noon (Sunday November 18th). A time limit is necessary unfortunately. Other than that, no strings attached. Have fun and happy collecting!

PS- Note that I do NOT have stills from anything prior to CAPTAIN BLOOD other than one still from IN THE WAKE OF THE BOUNTY. Some films are also in short supply but I do have something from everything after that except, of course, HELLO GOD. It may take me a good number of days to comply if there are numerous requests so expect delays. And requests from illiterates will be ignored. Private e-mails to me on this topic will be deleted.

NOTE: Don't forget to help support Dave's Errol Flynn blog by
linking to e-bay or Amazon through his site.

Keep rockin.'

— Shamrock

 

Another Robin Hood still

23 Sep

Photo taken in Chico, CA, (I think) but I don't recall the man's name on the left. Once, in the distant past of my youth, I knew who that was.

— Shamrock

 

From the Front…

19 Sep

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Good morning!

 

Higham’s been showing up a lot, seemingly at my every turn, of late.  A short description of recent encounters, from the past two weeks:

 

1)      My new co-worker came into my office gushing about an “absolutely lovely costume drama” she had recently seen.  As she continued to describe the movie (she had missed the opening credits), I realized she had seen Captain Blood.  She wanted to know who the “gorgeous star” was, and when I told her that it was Errol Flynn, she turned the cutest shade of pink.  She then spluttered “But wasn’t he a Nazi and a rapist?”  I tried to set her straight, and she is now happily enjoying both MWWW and the first volume of the boxed set.  We have a new convert.  Hooray!

2)      I dropped in at a new Goodwill store in the local area last Friday night to kill time while waiting to meet some friends for a night out on the town.  While browsing the 3 for $1.00 book racks, I discovered Higham’s The Duchess of Windsor, marked down even further to half-off.  Part of me was tempted to purchase it, simply so I could immediately go and destroy it.  That being said, I’m not a big fan of destroying books, so I hemmed and hawed.  While I was debating with myself, an elderly woman came up, noticed I was looking at the book, saw the author, asked me if I was seriously going to buy the book, and then proceeded to explain to me how Higham was “scurrilous.”  As we chatted further, I learned that she too was a Flynn fan! 

3)      The strangest encounter, however, has been in a film class I’m taking this semester.  One of the essays included in our textbook is written by Higham and Greenberg.  I realize that he has been quite active in academia, but it was just a bit startling to see his name listed there. 

 

I hope everyone has been doing well.  I recently (FINALLY!) purchased the second boxed set and also finally sat down and watched the brilliant additional materials DVD from the first set.  It was wonderful to see so many familiar names.  These groups are filled with some truly kind and amazing people. 

 

I must confess that I’m still confused as to why Dive Bomber made it into the collections.  I think it’s the weakest entry so far.  I hope a third set is released soon! 

— Becky

 

Lea Hulse Harth's new book has been published!

23 Aug

Fellow Flynn-o-philes! The Errol Flynn Blog is pleased to announce the publication of Lea Hulse Harth's new book: “Her Rambling Heart: A Journey Through Love” available at Amazon.com…, via Lea's website (you can order an AUTOGRAPHED copy on her website!) or by ordering a copy from your local bookstore!

If the name sounds familiar, our own C.Ernst Harth of Peter's E.F. Club is Lea's husband! There is a lot of TALENT in their family!

 

         Check it out on Amazon!

         Lea Hulse Harth

 

— David DeWitt

 
 

Confessions of an Errol Flynn Fan, Part One

09 Jul

Why do we sometimes love movies that we know are bad? I’m talking about bad films like Plan 9 from Outer Space. It’s horrid; a piece of claptrap with bad acting, lousy special effects, an even lousier script. Plan 9 from Outer Space defines the phrase “bad movie.” It’s director, Ed Wood, has become a cult figure decades after his death because he made a whole bunch of really bad films, and maybe because he also liked to wear women’s clothing now and again. It’s star, Bela Lugosi, would die before filming was completed. He was replaced by Tom Mason, a chiropractor with no previous acting experience. Mason also didn’t look anything like Bela Lugosi. The other cast members walk about as if they’ve all just realized they had a lobotomy and boy did it hurt! But Plan 9 from Outer Space isn’t the worst film ever made, in fact, I would go so far as to say it’s not the worst bad film in a list of the world’s two hundred lousiest films ever made, although it’s certainly on the list, somewhere in the middle.

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Cuban Rebel Girls is on that list, too, somewhere near the top. The Adventures of Captain Fabian is on that list, but just barely. When people use the phrase “bad film” I think of Plan 9 from Outer Space and Cuban Rebel Girls, among others.

 

Filmmakers don’t set out to intentionally make bad movies, but they happen all the same. I recently watched an Alan Ladd film, One Foot in Hell, an early sixties oater with a literate script by Aaron Spelling, but the movie was awful. What went wrong? The film has two problems: First, Alan Ladd looks idiotic in this film. Age and alcoholism had given him a round, chubby appearance. And for some reason they have Ladd wearing a lopsided little hat rather than the traditional Stetson. His appearance is comical. Secondly, the direction, pacing, and even some of the acting is uninspired. This is one of those movies where the hero throws a punch and you can see it sweep past without touching the villain’s chin. And when people get shot in One Foot in Hell they clutch their chests and say “Aaahh” before falling down.

 

I think there are several elements that qualify a film for the distinction of being bad: hammy acting, or worse, people who can’t act but wish they could act and who end up just speaking their lines. Such was the case with Plan 9 from Outer Space. Other requisite elements include a lackluster screenplay and a lackluster director. Poor writing and a director who spends too much time fussing over his angora sweaters is a recipe for disaster. In the case of Cuban Rebel Girls it was several of these elements plus the fact that the male lead, Errol Flynn, who could indeed act was just too sloshed to act on the days they happened to film his scenes. However, even if Flynn had been awake Cuban Rebel Girls would still qualify as a “bad film.”

 

I think sometimes we enjoy watching bad movies because there’s a little bit of the voyeur in all of us. That, and the fact that sometimes it’s fun to watch a film self-destruct. But perhaps I should leave the arm-chair “psychological theories” to the “experts” in the audience. God knows, there’s enough of you…

 

Elsewhere along the cyber highway and across the digital sea and aboard a ghost ship I have expounded less than eloquently on Dive Bomber. Some folks just don’t like it. They think it’s a “bad film.” Not enjoying a film is not necessarily justification for calling it a “bad movie.” Take Million Dollar Baby directed by Clint Eastwood. The ending outraged many. It involved a character’s moral, personal decision to take a life. Holy Rollers of all manner attacked Eastwood, forgetting that films are works of fiction. Eastwood was telling a story, and just because you don’t agree with a character’s actions doesn’t mean it’s a bad film.

 

A great many Errol Flynn fans don’t like Never Say Goodbye. They tell me “It’s a bad movie.” I tell them to get a life. Never Say Goodbye is neither bad nor great which makes it good at some nominal level.

 

This doesn’t mean the film doesn’t have its share of problems, because it certainly does. For example, something about Flynn’s physical appearance in this film has always bothered me. He doesn’t look quite right which is either the result of lackluster cinematography or he was handled improperly by the make-up staff. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s evident in the stills, too. Maybe it’s his nose. Did Flynn have his nose broken and then skillfully reassembled by a plastic surgeon? I’m speculating because his profile looks out of kilter in some subtle way.

 

But there are many elements in Never Say Goodbye that work effectively. Flynn is good at playing a commercial artist. My guess is that Flynn could relate to his character’s artistic temperament, and a modern romantic comedy clearly appealed to him. Eleanor Parker is excellent as his wife and the modern setting is refreshing after seeing Flynn in so many period films. And I think that’s the problem Flynn fans have – they want the eternal champion, not a businessman with marital problems.

 

Never Say Goodbye isn’t a life-changing film, but it’s not the “bad movie” some would have you believe. It is one of several Flynn films that I believe is too easily dismissed. I also like Mara Maru and The Big Boodle. You see, the thing is this – I’m an Errol Flynn “fan” and not an Errol Flynn “critic.” This means that it’s likely that my brains are oozing from my ears.

 

No matter, later I’m going to tell you why <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Montana shouldn’t be missed…

 

That’s my rant on that topic.

Keep rockin’ and best wishes always.

— Shamrock

 

AFI dunderheads and one visionary at Entertainment Weekly…

25 Jun

The American Film Institute squandered another opportunity to list one of Errol Flynn’s films on their latest “Greatest Films of All Time” list. I wasn’t surprised to see that such classics as CAPTAIN BLOOD, THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE, THE ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD or THE SEA HAWK (to name a few) are missing because it’s been obvious to me for many years that certain “influences” involved with the AFI harbor anti-Errol Flynn sentiments. This is something the powers-to-be over at the AFI will undoubtedly publicly deny.

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Screw ‘em.

 

However, the June 22nd cover dated “Entertainment Weekly” magazine features an article by Marc Bernardin titled “the Greatest Action Films of all Time” and Bernardin lists THE ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD as # 18.

 

Kudos to Bernardin for including an Errol Flynn film.

 

In general, I agreed with most of the films on Bernardin’s list, although someone needs to finally tell the world’s critics that while Akira Kurosawa’s THE SEVEN SAMURAI is indeed a good film, it pales in comparison to the film it inspired, a Western called THE MAGNIFICIENT SEVEN. But placing Kurosawa’s name on a list is really chic amongst film critics and film writers, but I always laugh out loud when I see all the print devoted to THE SEVEN SAMURAI. Give it a rest, boys. THE MAGNIFICIENT SEVEN is the one that matters.

 

Anyway, since Marc Bernardin is one of the few film writers out there in la-la land willing to cite Flynn’s influence (“Errol Flynn is the king, nay, the Pope of derring-do”) that I’m willing to forgive him for jumping on Kurosawa’s over-rated bandwagon.

 

End of mini-rant.

Coffee courtesy of Dave.

No animals were killed or injured during the composition of this rant although I mangled a VHS copy of THE SEVEN SAMURAI.

— Shamrock

 
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The Greatest Film Ever Made

19 May

“So what is your favorite film?”

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That’s a fair question that I’ve been asked many times. Motion pictures are difficult to ignore in any culture and film stars are often revered as royalty. In fact, I would argue that for many of us movie stars are the equivalent of the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />United Kingdom’s Royal family. We love them, we hate them, we ridicule them, we shower them with praise. Celebrities and their all too public lives provide us with voyeuristic opportunities as they either self-destruct or in some way manage to distinguish themselves as the world’s most famous imbeciles. Just ask Tom Cruise or Mel Gibson.

 

Ah, but the movies themselves are so often magical. I hold steadfast to my belief that Hollywood’s best films were made in the 1930 and 1940s. Of course, every decade has its classics. In recent years I’ve enjoyed THE LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy. That’s a classic series, to be sure. And NATIONAL TREASURE starring Nicholas Cage was a nifty albeit traditional adventure film. I loved CAST AWAY starring Tom Hanks and The two KILL BILL films. BEFORE SUNSET and its sequel BEFORE SUNRISE directed by Richard Linklater and starring Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy reaffirmed my belief that screenwriters could still write meaningful dialogue. Yes, there are some great films out there. But the greatest film ever made? What would that one be?

 

I decided to ask around and you shouldn’t be surprised to learn that the responses were as varied as the personalities that I spoke with. It should be noted that I intentionally avoided asking film critics this question and whenever possible I shied away from what I call “The artsy-fartsy” crowd. I already know what they’ll say: CITIZEN KANE, LA DOLCE VITA, THE BICYCLE THIEF, LA STRADA, BLOW UP, etc. And those sage minds over at The American Film Institute have their own ideas on which films belong on a list titled “The Greatest Films of All Time.”

 

One fellow told me he loves DIE HARD. A few women mentioned PRETTY WOMAN as their favorite. TITANIC is still fresh in everyone’s mind as a modern masterpiece. Men that love Westerns as I do all said RIO BRAVO is their favorite. Now there’s a classic that’s on my “Top Ten” list. In fact, nobody I spoke with about Westerns mentioned HIGH NOON, but all of them mentioned THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN and THE SEARCHERS. Several mentioned TOMBSTONE. These films are all great and I would certainly include them on a longer list. But I’m still talking about just one film.

 

THE ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD starring Errol Flynn is the greatest film ever made. It’s the perfect movie. A great cast, superb script, stunning Technicolor photography, outstanding costumes, inspiring music, and Errol Flynn at the top of his form. What more do you want from a movie?

 

This is not meant to disparage any of Flynn’s other films, so since I’m on the topic let’s not forget that CAPTAIN BLOOD, THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE, DAWN PATROL, DODGE CITY, THE SEA HAWK, GENTLEMAN JIM, THEY DIED WITH THEIR BOOTS ON and OBJECTIVE BURMA are just a few of Flynn’s films that deserve to be called “classics.”

 

April/May 2008 marks the 70th anniversary of THE ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD and I’m celebrating early. Every month until next May I will post an image or two on this site from Sherwood Forest in celebration of 70 years of Errol Flynn as Robin Hood. This year long celebration begins today.

 

I want to encourage everyone reading this post to find a copy of the DVD and watch it with your family or your friends. A splendid time is guaranteed for all.

 

That’s my rant on that topic.

Keep rockin’ and best wishes always,

 

Thomas McNulty

— Shamrock

 

Against All Flags

15 May
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Ahoy mates!

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Just a quick note to let you know that “Against All Flags” starring Errol Flynn and Maureen O’Hara is available on DVD in a box set from Universal Pictures titled “Pirates of the Golden Age.” I suppose it’s obvious this package was released to coincide with the “Pirates of the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Caribbean” franchise, but no matter, Universal Pictures has done us all a favor. The only special feature is the original “Against All Flags” trailer. Notable here is Flynn breaking from character, looking at the camera and telling audiences why “Against All Flags” may be one of his best adventure films. The film itself is an enjoyable Technicolor romp, not to be taken seriously, which is perhaps why “Against All Flags” is a film that can be enjoyed by the entire family. The other films included are “Buccaneer’s Girl” starring the lovely Yvonne De Carlo, “Yankee Buccaneer” starring Jeff Chandler, and “Double Crossbones” starring Donald O’Connor. Naturally I enjoyed the Flynn-O’Hara feature the best, but the other films are also enjoyable. Aarrrgh! Maties! “Pirates of the Golden Age.” is available on Amazon for $19.95 and from Best Buy for $22.95. Flynn fans won’t want to miss it!

— Shamrock

 

There will be a lot of talk when Woodsie's “Sensational” story comes out… again!

30 Apr

 

Here is the way they saw it back then…

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WEEKEND Magazine – November 14, 1959

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This was not the Beverly Aadland that Flynn knew. This was not the girl he had described as “my little wood nymph.” But this WAS Beverly when she landed back in Hollywood from Vancouver, Canada, after Flynn's death. She fainted and was carried away by friends. WEEKEND Magazine – November 14, 1959      

                                       Errol and me

by Beverly Aadland

WEEKEND Magazine – Sydney, Australia – November 14, 1959

  • WE think Beverly Aadland is one of the silliest little girls we have heard of.
  • WE even wondered if we should publish her sensational story of life with the fantastic Flynn.
  • WE have decided to publish it—in her own words—because it is one of the most extraordinary human documents known to modern journalism.
  • BUT FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE! — WHEN YOU READ IT KEEP YOUR SENSE OF PROPORTION AND DON'T TURN THIS UNFORTUNATE AND MISGUIDED GIRL INTO A HEROINE.
  • Treat this story of the long-legged lovely who at 15 fell for the 50-year-old Flynn as an extraordinary self-indictment of the shiftlessness of modern-day American youth.

By BEVERLY AADLAND
As told to David English

 

I HAVE no regrets. I was 15 years old when I fell in love with Errol Flynn. With a man like him there could only be one kind of love—all or nothing. I gave him all.

 

For two years, with his help, I flouted convention and traveled the world with him—a married man three times my age.

I DID NOT CARE THEN. I DO NOT KNOW.

 

Why should I be ashamed? Ours was a passionate love relationship of depth and breadth on the emotional, intellectual, and physical plane, and it brought us together as one entity.

 

We gave everything we had to each other and each received more than we gave… yes, it was that kind of love. Errol told me that I was the greatest love of his life. And I believed him.

 

From that belief I gained dignity and strength.

 

A close friend of mine said to me after he died: “If only he could have married you.”

 

I ANSWERED QUICKLY: “LOOK, I WAS MARRIED. I WAS AS MARRIED AS ANY WOMAN IN THIS WORLD — THE ONLY THING THAT WAS MISSING WAS A SCRAP OF PAPER.”

 

A crazy cycle.

 

IN those years with Errol I touched heights that few women can imagine. I was in a crazy, emotional cycle winging me upwards through joy into happiness, into peaks of unexplainable ecstasy. There were depths, too.

 

Depths of sadness—and the last one at his death when I was there beside him holding his hand—that were too deep to bear.

 

But emotion makes a woman. Though I am only 17 I feel a whole woman now, proud and defiant, so deeply, deeply grateful to Errol Flynn for what he has made me.

 

I LAUGHED FOR HIM, I DANCED FOR HIM, I LIED FOR HIM, I BIT HIM, I SCRATCHED HIM, I FOUGHT HIM, BUT I NEVER STOPPED LOVING HIM.

 

Which is the reason why I have written this story.

 

Enemies of Errol Flynn, who were frightened of him in life, crucify his memory because he was different. Because he defied convention.

 

Because he was a social Robin Hood.

 

They would like to leave only the picture of a drunken dissolute, a man preoccupied in seducing young girls.

 

I INTEND TO ANSWER THEM.

 

Our love affair had integrity and meaning. Whatever the world said, to my mind there was nothing sleazy or sordid about it.

 

We loved each other with a madness, a passion, yes—but it all had meaning.

 

But enough of the arguing. Let the facts speak for themselves.

 

I will tell my story simply and honestly and let the whole world read it.

 

I am — or I should say was — no different from thousands of other teenage girls in America.

 

My father was an industrial chemist, my mother is in show business—a dancer. I grew up in the sprawling confusion of Los Angeles in a nice middleclass neighborhood.

 

As a child I was happy and carefree. My greatest pleasure was to dance and sing.

 

One day in a launderette I was quite unconsciously singing and jigging about when suddenly I saw that a woman was staring at me.

 

There was nothing sinister in this. She thought I had talent, phoned my mother and told her so.

 

And so the talent spotter in the launderette, who turned out to be an agent, sparked off a latent desire in my mother that her daughter, too, should go into show business.

 

From these beginnings came the path that led straight to my meeting with Errol.

 

It can be told simply. I had dancing lessons and singing lessons and soon I was taking part in shows.

 

My mother was delighted and my father intensely proud. On the surface all was fine.

 

But I was growing fast and my parents, instead of helping me over a difficult adolescent period, became strangely Victorian.

 

Mom was not too bad. When I turned 14 she did not mind me going out with boys as long as I was home by 11 and as long as she had met and investigated them.

 

I rebelled.

 

McCARTHY was child's play to Mom when it came to investigating them. She knew just about everything there was to know about any boy who took me just 100 yards along the road for a 10-cent coke.

 

But my father was not prepared to let me have any fun. To his mind it should be school, work, or stay at home. Naturally it was not a perfect situation and I began to rebel.

 

My rebellion took the form of dating boys and falling for them. I built a million dream houses.

 

My mother used to see me coming home on Saturdays, all starry-eyed and wrapped in a mist. “And who are you in love with tonight?” she'd ask.

 

I'd give her the boy's name and she'd laugh. “Don't worry,” she'd say. “It will be someone else next Saturday.”

 

Neither of us could have guessed that this weekly routine would be ended one day when I answered the stock question with: “MOM, I'M IN LOVE WITH ERROL FLYNN…”

 

My poor mother had to be helped to a chair and practically be given smelling-salts such was the shock. She never got in the line of dialogue about it being somebody else next week.

 

It was just as well, because of course there could never be anyone after Errol.

 

That little charade was to come in the future.

 

At that time I was dividing my romantic time between Harry, who was a policeman, and Big Jim, who was 6ft. 4in. tall, wore a Stetson, and earned a pretty good living as a Western stunt man.

 

But on the whole there was not much time for dates because I was working pretty hard on the set of “South Pacific,” where I was in the chorus line at 7 o'clock in the morning and then all afternoon at the high school at the studio.

 

It was September, 1957. A very hot month. In between shots we girls used to go out of the studio backdoor and sit in the sunshine.

 

Opposite where we went for this daily session was a caravan dressing-room. I never noticed the name on the door, but one lunchtime Gene Kelly stood outside talking to a tall man with a pencil moustache.

 

Gene nodded. His companion made a mock half-bow. Gene said, “Hi, Beverly long-legs,” and went on talking. I'd got that name because there were three Beverlys in the line.

 

Beverly blue-sweater, Beverly pink-sweater—and me, Beverly long-legs.

 

As Gene called my nickname I realised that his companion was naturally looking at my legs. I did not mind. They are good and long. My best asset, really.

 

The next day I saw the same man again. He was standing outside his trailer and he made the same half-bow. The rest of the girls saw it, too, and soon the whole gang of them were yakkity-yakking away.

 

“You know who that is, kid?… that's Errol Flynn. Better watch out, kid… Errol Flynn.”

 

Big deal, I thought. So he's a movie star. He was a movie star before I was born. I should care.

 

At that time I was only interested in rock-'n-roll stars like Elvis Presley.

 

I tell you this much: I was neither impressed nor interested by this middle-aged idol who bowed so charmingly at me.

 

But a couple of days later I passed the trailer again on my way back to the lot, and a fat man, a dynamic little dumpling, bounded out of the door and said:

 

“Hey, someone wants to speak to you.”

 

He was Orry Kelly, the dress designer. The someone was Errol Flynn. I went into the trailer excited perhaps, flattered certainly.

 

Errol took my hand. Orry just left us then and Errol said: “Yes, I do want to meet you. I've wanted to talk to you for days. Tell me about yourself.”

 

I talked mechanically and as I talked I took a long, long look at this man. I decided that he was good-looking.

 

And suddenly from that moment rock-'n-roll, Elvis Presley, and all the others, including Big Jim and my policeman, were out.

 

He's dangerous!

 

BUT I had been reading the pages of “Confidential” magazine, which had just done a spread vilifying Errol, and I told myself: WATCH OUT-HE IS DANGEROUS.

 

The dangerous man said: “You look as if you might make an actress. I'm thinking of doing a film of Jane Eyre. Would you like to read for me?”

 

I said, “Where?” He said: “In my apartment.” So corny, I tell you I just stood there and giggled.

 

Good-looking Errol just stood back and grinned. He said: “My dialogue director and secretary will be there, of course. You'll be perfectly safe, my dear.”

 

As it happened, I was perfectly safe. THAT NIGHT. ANYWAY.

 

We did have dinner… in a large restaurant with ten or so of Errol's lawyers along. It so happened they wanted to discuss some legal business. So my first date with him was far from romantic.

 

But the next day when I saw him at the studio the magic was there as he said: “I'll see you this evening.”

 

What else could I say but, “Of course?”

 

That night we were in his apartment, which was, in fact, a guest house in Huntingdon Hartford's estate above Hollywood. We roasted weenies (frankfurters or hot-dogs) in front of the fire and sat on two bearskin rugs. And we held hands and talked.

 

I had never talked to anyone like Errol before and no one had ever talked to me in this manner. He was giving me all his views about life, glamour and the phonyness of Hollywood.

 

And suddenly he was saying: “You know life is not all that it appears.

 

“You may be surprised, but I have had a very unhappy time…”

 

Age meant nothing…

 

He talked about his children and his marriages. And I listened, thinking this was an old, old line. Only somehow it sounded new.

 

We smoked and drank—coffee for me, vodka for him. And I used the bearskin rug. Not only as something to lie on, but as an ashtray, flicking my cigarette in the bear's wide-open mouth.

 

Then he was saying: “You should not do that,” and his arms were around me and he was kissing me.

 

And suddenly at that point I became two people. Two different people.

 

Beverly, the teenager, thinking: “Wow, big deal. Here I am being kissed by the big movie star.” And, even while thinking that, giggling because his moustache tickled.

 

I had never been kissed by anyone who wore a moustache before.

 

But the teenager was put aside as the woman took over. And the woman in me knew that she was wanted, needed…

 

Don't let anyone say that a girl in her mid-teens can't love or be loved by a man of 50. I knew then that age meant nothing in our relationship.

 

I'm not advocating that other teenagers should act in the way that I did. This kind of relationship comes only once in a thousand years.

 

I say that with humility, grateful that it should be me who had found this paradise.

 

It seemed that I had been to another planet when I finally got home. I realised that I would have to keep the whole affair secret. I told my mother that I had been out with Big Jim.

 

And when he called the next day for a date I asked him to drive me to Hollywood.

 

“I've got to tell you, Jim,” I said, “that I don't intend to spend the evening with you. I have a date with Errol Flynn. Please don't be hurt. This is a thing and I can't think of anything else.”

 

I looked at his puzzled, lonely face and squeezed his arm. “Don't worry,” I said. “I know how to take care of myself.”

 

We stopped in the studio car park. Errol was waiting and came across. I got out of the car. Big Jim dragged his 6ft. 4in. plus 18 inches of Stetson, out after me.

 

He scowled…

 

ERROL, a big man himself, was forced to look up at my gigantic companion, who scowled down at him. Taking my arm, Errol smiled and, turning to Jim, said: “All right, son, you may go now.” And Big Jim got back into his car and went.

 

And so those days went on, meeting Errol every day. I realised that he drank a lot, even though he appeared never to get drunk. At one restaurant I thought it would be best to join him, and ordered a vodka.

 

When the drink came he took it away from me and poured it slowly and deliberately on the floor.

 

“Listen, I don't want to see you drink,” he said, “ever.” His face was set and white.

 

I was scared. I looked it. “Listen,” he told me, “I'm quite capable of taking care of the drinking side of things for both of us.”

 

After that I went out with Errol every day for a fortnight. It was as though our relationship would go on for ever.

 

BUT I COULD NEVER BRING MYSELF TO CALL HIM ERROL.

 

It seems ridiculous to say that I called my lover Mr. Flynn, but that's what I did. Then one Saturday afternoon he responded in a strange and tender way.

 

I had just said, “Yes, Mr. Flynn,” in answer to a request to bring in a tray of sandwiches.

 

He turned and put his arms round my waist and lifted me up until I was sitting on the cocktail bar. He looked at me for a moment and never said a word.

 

Then he said: “I don't think you should call me Mr. Flynn and I don't think I can call you Beverly. “I think the best name for you is Woodsie. Yes, Woodsie.”

 

I said, “Why, what does it mean?”

 

He said, “You remind me so much of a wood nymph. You know, pixyish and Pan-like. Woodsie, that's the name for you.”

 

I was flattered, but as I looked at him and saw the intensity in his face I realised that this man was really saying something to me.

 

THAT HE LOVED ME AND FROM THEN I KNEW THAT NOTHING WOULD EVER BE THE SAME.

 

And I was in love with him. I knew it and so did he. The only trouble was that my parents didn't know.

 

Which was perhaps just as well. But in my case they had to be told before they found out.

 

I was only 15 and both Mum and Dad were very strict, particularly my father. Furthermore, I was showing promise as an entertainer—I was working in the film “Marjorie Morningstar” at the time—and my career figured very largely in my parents' plan.

 

My mind, of course, was on only one thing — Errol. Our dates at night. Our seeing each other on the lot. Holding hands. Kissing.

 

We used to meet every evening. My father thought that I was dating various boy-friends from the locality. In fact, I was using them in the conspiracy. They'd call up for dates. And I'd answer the phone and say, “Sure, I'll see you tonight.”

 

Whoever it was would arrive and I'd say “Good-bye” to my folks and climb into the car and we'd drive away.

 

My date would say, “Where would you like to go this evening, Bev?” and I'd answer, “Los Angeles,” and feel such a heel.

 

Because then it was necessary for me to tell them of the embarrassing situation. That I was using them (whoever it was, David, Jack, or Jim) as a means of meeting Errol.

 

Strangely enough, the intrigue appealed to my boy-friends. But then, being something of a tomboy myself, I had formed some pretty good relationships and always been one of the gang as far as the fellows were concerned.

 

A redhead rival!

 

ERROL was extremely tender with me at this time, caring for my every wish. We used to laugh and kid a lot… and I think that it was my carefree chatter that really appealed to him.

 

I was taking him out of a slough of depression.

 

He was drinking pretty heavily, because he was unhappy. His marriage to Pat Wymore had gone phfftt.

 

But out of my screwball, and perhaps childish, behaviour came an infectious gaiety that caught him and pulled him along.

 

One day in his apartment he pulled me to him and said, “Oh, Woodsie, you're so good for me.”

 

On another occasion we were all spending a weekend at his place which he was borrowing from Huntingdon Hartford, and I got my first taste of one of the big problems of being Errol's girl.

 

There was a knock on the door. Ronnie Shedloe, Errol's secretary, opened it and on the doorstep was a redhead.

 

“I'm here to see Mr. Flynn,” she said, and pushed her way in.

 

“I don't know you,” said Errol. The redhead babbled off a long spiel about mutual friends and said, “How about a drink, lover…”

 

Errol was amiable. And me in the background—why, I was just bewildered. But I went and got her the drink—a vodka and tonic.

 

It wasn't very strong, but it seemed to get her loaded. She began to fall about and behave in an extraordinary manner.

 

Errol looked at me, saw my face and then said, “I didn't ask her here. What shall I do?”

 

“You go and play tennis,” I said purposefully, “and leave her to me.”

 

I got her outside, and found she had an overnight bag that she had brought with her.

 

Sounding much more sure than I felt, I ordered, “You'd better go, unless you want the police brought into this.”

 

She went.

 

But it was an object lesson. In the two years that I was with Errol… and they were wonderful years…

 

He attracted girls, girls, girls. They threw themselves at him.

 

It was understandable, I suppose. He was tremendously attractive physically and had, without question, fabulous gallantry and charm.

 

Naturally, he was poised, steering all situations to his own advantage, so that he was never ill at ease.

 

And always, as I've said, there was that physical attraction—absolute animal magnetism.

 

And humor. He saw everything humorously. Even in the deepest of blues, he could see the funny side. That was the Flynn philosophy.

 

There were moments when he talked deeply of his marriage to Pat.

 

One day, when we were discussing her, he said: “You know, one of the reasons I first fell in love with her was that she was a great barbeque girl. She knew how to bake things in an open fire, and they were always splendid.”

 

It was crazy!

 

WELL, that was a strange talent to attract a man, I thought, and I couldn't help saying: “Listen, Errol, any Girl Guide could do that.”

And to prove it, I set about doing it.

 

I'd never been a Girl Guide. But I had had Red Cross training at school, and I found use for that when Ronnie Shedloe, who is a sweetie, went down with flu one weekend.

 

Errol was unsympathetic, wandering about with a glass in his hand and encouraging poor Ronnie with mighty shouts of “Courage, man, courage.”

 

But I helped him because he was feeling pretty rough. So I made with the aspirin and cold compresses, and even Errol was touched and hugged me, saying: “Oh, Woodsie, you are sweet.”

 

Here was I, a girl of 15, falling in love with a man of nearly 50.

 

IT WAS CRAZY… AND YET IT WAS PERFECT. CONFUSION AND EMOTION CRISS-CROSSED IN MY MIND.

 

Out of it came a stumbling resolve that I had to finish the whole affair quickly or it would be too late.

 

Now mother knew that I was seeing a lot of Errol. This was fine by her because she knew that he was helping my career, and she was not too worried. She never suspected that it went deeper than that.

 

I felt it was time to pull out.

 

And so one night when Errol called me, as he occasionally did, I said: “Sorry, Mr. Flynn. I can't make it…”

 

There was a silence. I could hear him breathing. Then he said: “What do you mean?” By now there was a lump in my throat just too big to swallow. I choked into the phone: “I think this is best. I'm all mixed up.”

 

Corny enough phrases… but they summed up the situation accurately enough.

 

I put the phone down.

 

That night I cried myself to sleep. I cried for days. I tried to work… but I cried. I went to the movies… but I cried. I stayed at home… and I cried.

 

After five days I was completely broken up. I took a look in the mirror, and what I saw didn't look good.

 

I decided that I needed the beauty shop, but good.

 

There in the beauty salon, a boy-friend who'd been around for a long time caught up with me and suggested a date for the evening.

I was grateful, for I was still fighting off the on-sweep of depression.

 

But I was in no mood for gaiety, and the evening developed into a confessional session whereby I told my friend all about Errol Flynn.

 

The only one!

 

I could see by his eyes that I was hurting him, because I knew that he was pretty keen on me himself, but he was a true friend.

 

And after I sobbed out the last word, he took my hand and said gently: “Why deceive yourself? You love him and he's the only one for you.”

 

So I called Errol and said I wanted to see him, and when I did see him I just threw myself in his arms and clung so tightly. I was crying. It was idiotic, but the relief I felt could be shown in no other way.

 

He said very lightly—just a whisper: “I'm glad you came back, Woodsie,” and he stroked my hair.

 

THERE WAS NEVER ANY QUESTION IN MY MIND OR MY WILD HEART FROM THEN ON.

 

I knew that a girl of 15 could fall in love. That was the situation. I accepted it without reservation, and it brought me nothing but contentment and happiness.

 

Errol wanted to meet my mother, and I arranged it. She was charmed, of course. He was on his best form—lightly gay, and an undertone of gentleness and seriousness beneath the surface.

 

My mother has always been devoted to me. She lost two other children, and so became over-protective towards me.

 

And although nothing was expressed in words at that first meeting, both Mum and Errol in their affections and feeling for me knew that they were on mutual ground.

 

As an added complication to things, Mother was taken ill for a time and had to go into hospital. Errol was wonderful.

 

He sent her fruit and messages and the superb stiff upper lip British-style telegram, which said: “Get well quick, old girl.”

 

She loved that. Get well she did, and she was Errol's friend for life.

 

I was lonely!

 

It wasn't long after that that he had to go to New York. I was so lonely without him.

 

But as I was thinking of him, so he was of me. He made arrangements for me to take a modelling job in New York, and I moved East—with Mother.

 

New York was devastating, and I was intensely happy. But there was still Mother. I decided that I must level with her. I did not want anything undercover about the relationship to mar it.

 

I BROKE IT BY SAYING THE NIGHT BEFORE I WENT OUT: “I WON'T BE BACK TONIGHT.”

 

She went white!

 

“This isn't the first time, is it?” she said.

 

“No, it isn't.”

 

She took her hands and tilted my face, “Do you love him, Bev?” she asked.

 

Then before I could answer she turned and muttered, “That's a ridiculous question… what I mean is does he love you?”

 

I remembered in the seconds of that conversation what my mother had always dinned into me about men.

 

She had never said, “Don't have sex relations with a man.”

 

She had advised caution. “Be wise,” she always used to say. “Save yourself for the man that you are going to marry.”

 

I reminded her of this now. “And that's what I've done, Mum,” I told her.

 

She asked again. “Has he said that he loves you?”

 

AND I WAS FORCED TO ANSWER NO. “BUT HE'S IMPLIED IT,” I SAID. “AND I KNOW THAT HE DOES.”

 

My mother embraced me. And that was enough. In the time with Errol my mother and I came to be much closer. He was the catalyst… as far as I was concerned every change was for the better.

 

And there were changes in him, too. I used to cook for him, wash up for him. One day I had just about had as much as I could take.

 

I threw the dishcloth at him. “Come and do some work, Flynn,” I said, “dry… while I wash.”

 

He did so, grinning. “Woodsie,” he said, “if my public could see me in this domesticated set-up, God knows what would happen.”

 

Our domestic set-up, which was just about perfect, was brought to an end when he went to Africa to make “The Roots of Heaven.”

 

I cried so bitterly at the parting. I did not know then that this break was going to bring from Errol the most touching and beautiful series of love letters.

 

MY MOTHER HAD WONDERED WHETHER HE LOVED ME. HE WAS ABOUT TO SAY SO… OVER AND OVER AND OVER

AGAIN.

———————————–
NEXT WEEK – THE LETTERS FLYNN WROTE TO HIS WOODSIE

— David DeWitt

 
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