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On the morning that this deceptively innocuous bit of trivia became print, Warner Brothers' ace director, Michael Curtiz, arrived at his office promptly at 9:30 in a state bordering on collapse. At 9:45 the phone rang; it was Jack Warner, in an even higher state of agitation. And Michael Curtiz was on the ropes. At exactly 10, with his remaining strength, Curtiz sped a distraught wire to Beverly Hills:
"Dear Hedda: It is very unfair to state that I was against testing Mary Martin and Lauren Bacall and insisted on Doris Day. ... It is entirely untrue. You have put me in an embarrassing position with the studio and both the above-named actresses, and I don't think I deserve such treatment after all the kindness and friendship I have always extended towards you. I ... regret very much that in attempting to break a so-called unauthorized scoop, you found it necessary to misquote me and cause me so much discomfiture."
Hedda let him stew for a couple of days before dictating her reply:
"Dear Mike: Thank you for your telegram of May 10. It was quite revealing. You said in your wire I misquoted you. On the contrary, you misquoted me. If you will please read the article again you will see that I never said you were against testing Mary Martin and Lauren Bacall. . . . Now that we've got that straightened out. . . may I ask you a question? When, where and how have you ever thought fit to give me an exclusive story? I've always liked you; I respect you as a director—you're one of the tops. But the friendship, I'm afraid, my dear Mike, has been more on my side than yours. Since Jan. 1, 1947, my records show that I have used your name in my column 13 times. And it is rather disappointing that this is the first time any item has brought a reply from you. . . .
"Now, would you please set me straight on what an 'unauthorized scoop' is. Who is supposed to give a scoop—you, the Deity or the studio? Is being photographed with Doris Day in the Brown Derby a private or a public matter? . . . Your protest is so childish, I'm amazed."
"My Dear Hedda." Ten days later "Hollywood" ran another thought-provoking item about Miss Day. It exclaimed that this young actress had broken with tradition by insisting on tying her own shoelaces instead of leaving that task to the wardrobe department.
This intelligence electrified Director Curtiz. "My dear Hedda," he wrote, "I want to thank you for the wonderful break you gave Doris Day in your column this morning. This is the type of publicity that rising young stars need and which their sponsors appreciate so much. Please accept my sincere gratitude for your generous and thoughtful story."
Gossip, as practiced by Hedda and Louella, is big business, and it has become as indispensably bound up in the making of U.S. movies as cameras, kaolin smiles and surfboard-sized eyelashes. For Hollywood is a town doing a business based on vanity. It is full of men whose intellectual and spiritual capacities do not always match their physical resources. Insecurity is the common disease. The sufferers from this dreadful ailment feel a gnawing need to be told constantly that they are right. Hollywood does not want a considered opinion; it wants to be reassured. And it will endure almost anything to get reassurance.