Chapter 17
Here are a bunch of names and pictures for you to consider.
James Cagney in Love Me or Leave Me.
Frank Sinatra in The Man With the Golden Arm.
James Dean in East of Eden.
Spencer Tracy in Bad Day at Black Rock.
And last, but to my mind least, Ernest Borgnine in Marty.
Those were the nominees for the Best Actor Oscar for the year 1955. As you know, I’d worked with Spence in Bad Day at Black Rock, and he did a great job. I was a fan. Poor James Dean had died in a car crash just a few months before. And Frank—jeez, all I had to do was beat him and those guys from the Bronx would come west and try to beat me.
Not that I thought there was any chance I would win.
You know, it’s a couple of weeks between the time the Oscars are announced and the awards are given. You get a nice certificate saying you’re a nominee and, as I said earlier, it really was flattering to be nominated. I mean, look at that company! But winning was out of the question, and that made it easy for me to weather the wait. Reporters who interviewed me were very complimentary about the film but, like me, they figured I didn’t have a prayer of winning.
On the day of the Oscars I arrived for an early rehearsal. Who knew if I’d ever get there again as a nominee? I wanted to drink it up. Jerry Lewis was the master of ceremonies, and I met Grace Kelly for the first time. A couple of people said to me, “You’re going to win, you’re going to win,” and I knew they were just being kind. I was sure they said the same thing to Spence and Jimmy.
Jerry Lewis was one of the yea-sayers, and he and I made a bet. At this point I should probably interject something about the Oscars. Yes, they’re about merit. Merit is what gets you nominated. After that, though, prior history and playing against type and who you have or haven’t pissed off in this town do hold some sway. So Jerry was not off base when he said, “Tracy’s already won, Cagney’s won, Frank won, and James Dean is gone. I’ll bet you a buck ninety-eight that you’re going to win.”
Why a $1.98? I have no idea, you’d have to ask Jerry.
I said, “Okay.” I went home and counted out 198 pennies and put them in my daughter Nancy’s red sock. I came prepared to lose. If anyone saw the sock, I’m sure they would’ve thought I intended to clobber the winner with my improvised blackjack.
I went home and fell asleep that afternoon. I’ll never forget Rhoda coming into the den and screaming at me, “How can you fall asleep? How can you sleep when you’re up for an Academy Award?”
I said, “Why think about it? I’m not going to win, but I am going to be up late.”
She was so mad she could have hit me with a rolling pin. Well, it was time to get dressed, anyway. I had the worst set of tails, too small, too hot, and a little ratty, but it was the last set the rental place had. We drove ourselves in a secondhand Cadillac I had just bought. We parked and walked to the Pantages Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard, where the Oscar ceremony was being held. We got to the theater just in time to see Clark Gable and his wife come in. Naturally everybody had to take a picture.
My wife, who was rather stout, said, “Oh, no.”
I pulled her over and said, “Come on, get in here.” So she hid herself behind me a little bit and we took a picture.
When we were done, Gable looked at me and winked and said, “You’re going to make it.”
I said, “Thanks a lot, Mr. Gable.” I was thrilled to death just being in his company, let alone hearing such praise. I was still flying high from that as we took our seats.
Burt Lancaster was across the aisle from me, a couple of seats up. As we sat down he turned and said, “How are you?”
“Good,” I said.
“That’s fine,” he said and smiled knowingly. It was as if he knew I was going to lose and was trying to let me down gently.
Finally, the time came for the Best Actor Award to be named. My poor wife was nervous, but I was sitting there rather placidly. It wasn’t an act. I knew I wasn’t going to win.
Suddenly, my wife was punching me in the side, saying, “They called your name, get up! Ernie, they called your name!”
I said, “What are you talking about?”
“You won!”
Man, I guess I’d gone off to la-la land. What a way to come back!
I got up and I gave a kiss to her and I saw Burt Lancaster look at me as if to say, “I don’t know how the hell you did it, but it’s yours!”
I walked up and naturally Jerry Lewis came to the steps. I handed him the red sock, paying him off, a buck ninety-eight. He later said he tossed the sock but invested the money and made a small fortune.
Then Grace Kelly came over and handed me the Oscar. Well, what could I say? I couldn’t say very much anyway because I had nothing prepared. I knew I wanted to pay tribute to my mother and dad. My mom, especially, who stood between me and the relatives and folks in the neighborhood when they asked, “How come he’s down in the cellar practicing? What is this stuff? Why doesn’t he get a job and get married?”
I don’t remember what else I said. I’m sure there’s a film of it somewhere, but I never wanted to see it. If I didn’t want to see myself doing lines in a film, I certainly didn’t want to see myself tripping over my tongue on TV.
Later that night—it had to be about four in the morning on the East Coast—I called my father and asked, “Did you hear?”
He said, “Hell, yeah! And you know something? The first sons of bitches through the door were the guys who always said ‘Tell him to get a job and settle down.’ Now they were saying ‘We knew he could do it.’”
Dad admitted he hadn’t been to bed that night. He was celebrating with the rest of the family and hoping I’d call. I could tell he was just so proud of me. The only thing we regretted was that my mom wasn’t there to share this with us.
Oh, and I heard through channels that the guys in the Bronx were pretty proud of me. No hard feelings there.
But I got my acting award and it sits up there on top of the television set in my home. I’m very proud of it because it shows that my peers thought well of me. The thing I’m still most proud of is that there have been very few character actors to win the Best Actor award. Mostly, it’s leading men…and no one would ever mistake me for one of those!
Yet, thanks to Marty and my Oscar, I got to play a wider variety of parts than I ever dreamed of. Though not right away.
I had occasion to meet Kate Hepburn shortly after the Academy Awards. I was on the Twentieth Century-Fox lot and went over to thank Spencer Tracy for sending me a congratulatory telegram. He was shooting Desk Set at the time and was preparing to start The Old Man and the Sea not long after. I knocked on the door of his dressing room and he answered.
“Hey,” he said, “I sent you a wire and you never even answered.”
Kate poked her head from behind his shoulder and said, “Well, hell, he won the award, not you.”
They invited me in and we had a lovely chat about what they were doing and what I was doing. I was a little embarrassed that I didn’t have a prestige picture in the lineup. See, I had already been committed to several other pictures, mostly supporting roles, before Marty so I really hadn’t been able to capitalize on the success. Spence gave me some good advice: he said, “Don’t worry about trying to cash in. Just keep doing good work and the good parts will come.”
He was right, of course. No matter how good you are, or how much attention you’re getting at a particular time, you always run the risk of being last year’s hot commodity, yesterday’s flavor. Truthfully, when I thought back to being unemployed, I felt blessed to be getting as much work as I was.
A couple of months later, I was playing golf with columnist Jim Bacon and this guy came running up with a telegram. It was from my agent. It said that I should stand by to go to Cuba to replace Spencer Tracy in The Old Man and the Sea.
I asked Jim what the heck that was all about.
“Hemingway’s working on the picture, too,” Bacon said. “He’s not happy with Tracy. Thinks he looks like a rich Hollywood guy and not a fisherman.”
Apparently, the author thought I’d be better for the part. Well, there was no way in hell I was ever going to replace Spencer Tracy in anything and I said so. Hemingway shut his trap, the picture was finished, and Spence got himself another Oscar nomination.