As soon as a Hollywood columnist attains celebrity status, several things happen. The headwaiter at Chasen's, with a deferential flourish, wipes imaginary dust motes from the best table in the house. Film stars proffer unbidden the gilt nuggets of gossip that once had to be mined. Film fans clamor for autographs. And the elevated one publishes an autobiography. Until last week, only two of the three Hollywood columnists who boast star billing had fulfilled this requirement of noblesse oblige: Louella Parsons, who wrote her life story in 1961,* and Hedda Hopper, who wrote hers two years later because Lolly had written hers. With publication of Sheilah Graham's The Rest of the Story (Coward-McCann; $4.95), the bibliography is now complete.
Miss Graham's book is the memoir of a woman who happens to be a Hollywood columnist, rather than the memoir of a Hollywood columnist who happens to be a woman. The neon names that crowd her daily column are introduced mainly to illuminate the author—and not always in a flattering light. Columnist Graham tells of the time that Actress Jessica Tandy led her to Marlon Brando's dressing room door. "Marlon," said Miss Tandy, "I want you to meet—" Brando did not let her finish.
"Your mother?" he interrupted blandly. The comment was as inaccurate as it was unkind. At 54, Miss Tandy is only five years Miss Graham's junior.
Through the Vegetables. Bored by now with stargazing, Author Graham examines, with disarming candor and undilutable fascination, the most important person in her life. The reader is led through two accouchements ("Sound the trumpets, and Hallelujah, and thank you, God") and three husbands, the last identified only as an "unpronounceable Polish name." The reader shares Miss Graham's relief on auditing the tape of her first radio show ("My voice was clear and beautiful"), her pleasure at being a Somebody in a world of Nobodies: "At any airport in the world, the passenger manager will usually take care of my luggage and we are put on the plane first."
Such passages echo the wonder of a little nobody whose childhood dreams seem to have come true. Born Lily Sheil in England, the daughter of a clothing manufacturer in Leeds, she came to the U.S. outfitted with a pretty face, an attractive accent, and the ambition to make $5,000 a week. The combination was readily merchandisable around the sound stages of Southern California.
The Graham byline soon spread across the continent. She had her own radio show. After war came, she was able to talk her syndicate, North American Newspaper Alliance, into sending her to England. There, as a self-styled war correspondent, she gathered tips from the U.S. newsmen tippling at the Savoy bar, interviewed Lord Beaverbrook ("You're sweet," she told him, to his utter astonishment), and bearded George Bernard Shaw, who almost never granted newspaper interviews. Correspondent Graham turned the trick with one phone call, a little patience and a little cheek. When Shaw's secretary at Ayot St. Lawrence told her to wait, Miss Graham refused. Shaw, who had been eavesdropping behind a door, materialized at once and escorted her on an unenlightening tour of his vegetable garden.