Dr. Seuss in the NICU! Happy Birthday Dr. Seuss from Preemie Prints!

We all know what an iconic figure Dr. Seuss is, but have you ever thought of the NICU in relation to him? Since it's his birthday and we are an organization devoted to NICU families, I thought it would be a good post!

I have thoughts of many parents who have sat in front of their baby's incubator reading them a Dr. Seuss book and the comfort it brings to them. The Cat in The Hat in those moments may bring a little smile or even a laugh to a mom or dad, while at the same time the rhythmic melodic words of the story coupled with mom or dads voice brings comfort to baby. Reading Dr. Seuss books will no doubt bring to light major themes that a NICU parent is facing and could even at times be therapeutic. For instance in, "Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are" we are reminded of the difficulties others face. This can bring about a feeling of not being alone and might even push a parent to reach out to other NICU parents for support.

This post wouldn't be complete without touching on "Horton Hears a Who!" You may remember us posting this inspirational image last year on our fan page:

We just updated our fan page to the new format and are also using if for our cover photo! Today you may have seen the quote circulating around lots of fan pages and personal pages in the preemie world. The reason is obvious! A person, NO MATTER HOW TINY, is a person. I personally love that quote for so many reasons. In our preemie world, NICU world, angel world, and just the world of LIFE in general this quote says it best. Do you know what book the quote came from though? "Horton Hears a Who!" is all about faith and we all know how important faith is in when a baby is considered high-risk in the womb, or born sick, or too early. 

The book tells the story of Horton the Elephant who hears a small speck of dust talking to him. It turns out the speck of dust is actually a tiny planet, home to a city called “Who-ville”, inhabited by microscopic-sized inhabitants known as Whos. The Whos ask Horton, despite the fact that he can only hear them, to protect them from harm, to which Horton happily obliges, proclaiming throughout the book that “a person’s a person, no matter how small”. In doing so he is ridiculed by the other animals in the jungle for believing in something that they are unable to see or hear.

We believe in our babies and fight for them from the moment we know they are with us--in our bellies, when they are sick, when they are considered high-risk, when they come to early, and even when they they do not make it--we know they are still with us! As parents we have the belief, the fight, and the faith that is necessary to push forward.

Secondly, you can draw a correlation between the colorful surreal worlds of Dr. Seuss and your own physical world in the NICU. The tubes, the weird clear plastic shaped nest that your baby calls home, the bright blue bili lights, the rhythmic shuffle of nurses coming in and out, the sounds of babies crying, beeps, beeps, and more beeps, monitors with green, orange, and red lights bleeping on and off, graphs and numbers traveling nonstop across the screens, pencils scratching on the paper as charts are filled out, breast pumps, tiny bottles, lots of milk, and the list could go on and on. It all seems a little surreal at times. After delivers and c-sections lots of moms are hazy, going through the movements of their new daily life, trying to learn how to be a caregiver in such a weird environment, that is so far from what the comforts of home would be, and trying to find some kind of meaning in why this is even happening to them and their tiny love! That last word though is how it all works. Love. In the words of Dr. Seuss “Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple.”  Love makes it all okay, love gets you through, love conquers all. 

In closing here are some more quotes from Dr. Seuss you will love! Happy Birthday Dr. Seuss!

“I have heard there are troubles of more than one kind. Some come from ahead and some come from behind. But I've bought a big bat. I'm all ready you see. Now my troubles are going to have troubles with me!”

“Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.”

"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind."

"How did it get so late so soon? Its night before its afternoon. December is here before its June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?"

"You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You're on your own, and you know what you know. And you are the guy who'll decide where to go."

Dr. Seuss in the NICU! Happy Birthday Dr. Seuss from Preemie Prints!

PERSONAL NOTE: Who can ya' trust?

Walk of Fame or Walk of Shame?

Navigating through various source materials to get to the "truth" of my monthly stars is always an ordeal. One biographer says one thing only to be opposed by another writer; one source tells a story, while another witness remembers things differently. So, whom do I believe? The short answer is: every one and no one. The only thing I can rely on for certain are facts: dates, recorded history, the words from the subject's own mouth-- and sometimes not even that-- and then, I allow the various other accounts, rumors, hearsay's, to pepper the facts with a story. Afterward, I can only hope that my logic and good sense will guide me down the most honest and accurate path. I consider myself an open-minded person, and while I am occasionally disappointed with a negative portrait of a personal hero, I don't allow whatever reaction I feel to end in a place of judgement. I don't blame people for falling below my own expectations, because I constantly fall beneath my own. We're only human, after all. Neither do I ignore more salacious or slanderous materials, and I assure you this is not just because they feed a certain greedy part of my morbid curiosity-- if we have a "funny bone" we too have a "sickly bent"-- but because I want to be open to all possibilites in rounding out the personalities of cinema. I am not deluded about Hollywood, or human nature for that matter, or its questionable underbelly. For Pete's sake, there was a bordello that supplied customers with Movie-Star-Look-Alikes. I don't think anyone is in denial of La La Land's dual nature at this point.


But when it comes to whom to trust, I am always going to choose the guy who backs his conclusions up with solid research and not the guy who relies on mysterious, unnamed sources who are good for one or two stories. Out of respect for the subject, I too am going to listen to what his family and close friends have to say more than the guy "who met him that one time at coat check" or the girl who "saw him at parties once and awhile." As to the authors themselves, a reader can tell the difference between a thoroughly investigated text and one that is feeding the author's own fancies. I didn't come to Hollywood until 2005, so everything prior to that year remains a complete mystery, but I too can't help but indulge my bull-shit detector when I come across a script that is clearly taking a little too much pleasure in nullifying or completely erasing the brighter sides of Hollywood. The writings of Darwin Porter, David Bret, and even Charles Higham-- who has been publicly lambasted for his (unprofessional) tendencies to edit source material for his own intentions, aka the Errol Flynn "Nazi" claims-- are constantly called into question, debunked, and cast aside as entertaining, lewd mirages written to sell books and not to be believed. I don't know these men. For all I know, they are telling the complete truth or at least think that they are. But when studying various examples of their work and comparing them with what I have learned through my own personal research, I don't rely on them for accuracy. I keep their "theories" in the back of my mind and move on to more reliable authors.

The reason I introduce this discussion is because much ballyhoo has been made of the recent memoir of Scotty Bowers, an alleged Hollywood pimp, prostitute, what-have-you to the stars. I've had several people bring his recent book, Full Service: My Adventures in Hollywood and the Secret Sex Lives of the Stars, (left) to my attention and ask me about it, and since one of the subjects he discusses amidst his numerous sexual rendezvous is this month's star, Spencer Tracy, I thought it appropriate to at least address the text on that count. Now to begin with, I urge anyone approaching "biographical" material to do so with a certain amount of skepticism; to be certain that the author is approaching the material objectively, and that his "sources" are in fact sources. Too, do not rest on one perspective for the whole story, but compare and contrast with what other researchers and writers have discovered, as well as the recorded statements and memories of those who actually knew the subject. You have to be able to balance the materials and compare the facts with falsehoods. In other words, don't accept one version of history without doing some serious, critical thinking first. Mr. Bowers certainly seems to have people fighting in his corner, such as Gore Vidal, who vouches for him, so this makes it difficult to completely discount his stories. Yet, the way in which he narrates calls his reliability into question. The book reads like a badly written smut novel with the obvious intent to profit off sensationalism. For all of his intimate sexual relationships with the stars, you sense no intimacy, just the thunderous sound of his own back-patting-- he essentially describes himself as master-puppeteer of a population of sexual monsters. He assumes the tone of "free love" and acceptance, of course, to dilute this narcissism, but it is pretty clear that he didn't write this book to shed light on some long-hidden truths but rather to illuminate his own magnificence.


In addition, the book is very poorly written. I really couldn't take any of it seriously. For him to claim that he knew so many stars so well, and then fail to accurately capture their voices and personalities, is something to note. For example, he describes a scene between himself, George Cukor, and his "good friend" Katharine Hepburn, in which she sulks under George's beratings and then pouts, "You know I don't have any friends..." Ha. Hahaha. Interesting, since every other account of Kate paints her as a resilient and somewhat haughty woman not prone to be howled at by anyone. She hardly seems the type to mourn her loneliness, and if she were to show such a vulnerable side, it makes one wonder why she would do so in the presence of a complete stranger-- close friends often claimed they didn't know what she was thinking because of her fierce, emotional guard. Again, Bowers reveals himself as someone just that special-- like moths to a flame. I'm sorry... I'm still laughing as I write this... I'm imagining Kate kicking Bowers in the nuts and saying, "Who they Hell do you think you are?!" That scene is much more believable, I think.

Is it not somewhat absurd that in 2012, we are still led to believe that femininity and lesbianism

 (and equally masculinity and male homosexuality) are mutually exclusive concepts? If Kate

 preferred to "wear the pants," does this necessarily infer same-sex orientation?

Bowers may have run in the same circles as the stars. He describes his ascent from a gas pump attendant to a bartender, who consequently winds up pimping for his straight and gay friends and prostituting himself when requested-- though, of course, he never accepted money for his services. It was all about love, man. Now, clearly human sexuality is a much more malleable thing than we allow ourselves to admit, and it is possible that Hollywood during the studio era was something like a precursor to the "free love" '60s, but if Bowers wants us to buy this product, then he has made a fatal error. I get excited when supposedly revelatory books like this hit the market, thinking that I will learn something knew and hopefully true about a part of our history. Sadly, I am too often left disappointed by the sensationalized, graphic nature of the script, such as in this case. Are you trying to tell me a story or turn me on? Because you're doing neither. Bowers does not take the position of: Well, I was around these people, this is what I saw, this is what I know. He instead goes into lewd detail of his sexual shenanigans and prowess, luxuriating in his position as Mr. Congeniality. It's like listening to a grade schooler brag about himself. I'm going to get sick of listening to you after 3 minutes, and I am not going to believe anything you say: "Oh, you can bench press 3000 pounds? Sure, ya' can. Sure."

For example, the rumor of Cary Grant and Randolph Scott's (right) romantic relationship is one that is more popularly accepted, though it is still contested by various remaining family and friends, including ex-wives and his daughter. I would be willing to accept this scenario as a possibility, however. A hidden identity would explain a great deal about Cary's personal sadness, and other different accounts hint at its plausibility. I have never one-hundred percent accepted it, just because it hasn't been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt in anything I've encountered, and out of respect to his remaining kin, I don't want to publicize something that could be a falsehood. But if Bowers hoped to convince me, he did not go about it the right way. Talking about how suave Cary was (which everyone knows) and how charming Randolph was (which everyone knows) doesn't display any particular knowledge, nor does talking about how "hot" it was when the three of them gave each other fellatio bolster the story. Thus, the disappointment: I open a book intending to discover a fact, only to witness a man indulging in fantasy. Which, again, if it is true, I cannot believe, because there is nothing to back it up. There is nothing to endear me to the author and make me trust him. There is no integrity in the script, nor any sense of dignity leading me to believe that he truly cared about these various people. It's merely an emotionless account of him screwing his way through Los Angeles. After every "romantic episode" I was left... well... laughing, and then asking, "Yeah, and?"


Bowers has come under fire as well for his lack of proof. We are all left to "take his word for it." Now, as a human being, he has as much right to be heard as anyone else. But, whereas other biographies, books, or articles use more than one source to tell their subjects' tales, there is no voice here to back Bowers up. There too is no mention by him of anyone else (living) who can say, "Yes, I was there. I know this happened." Suspiciously, Bowers is the sole man in Hollywood who witnessed any of this. He must have been really special to have been invited into this secret, secluded world. There too, since this book was released, have been many dissenting voices crying out against him and accusing him of fabrication. Now, these could be either disappointed voices who do not want the stars they've imagined polluted or family members that don't want to admit such perversities were present in their dearly departed. But, noted and acclaimed biographers and researchers have also violently debated the book's veracity, and it is interesting that in all of their research, they have come across no evidence to support Bowers's claims. It appears more that Bowers latched onto various rumors at the time, attached them to some of his own experiences, and exaggerated for dramatic effect. What is also noteworthy is that, while many are contradicting his stories, no one is validating them. Even Gore Vidal cannot lend him real support, for he states, "I have never caught him in a lie," but he cannot say, "I know he is telling the truth." Other writers who support him too are more enchanted by his tales than certain of their veracity, which, if he is telling the truth, is very unfortunate for him.


But, despite all of the He Said/She Said, there are definite examples of perjury to prove him wrong. Vidal may not have caught him in a lie, but others have. There has been a lot of controversy surrounding his trysts with the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, Edward VIII and Wallis Simpson, whom he claims were both homosexuals. Very possibly true, but he errs when he claims that Edward preferred for him to call him "Eddy." A minor thing, but many researchers have made much of it. Those who have done their homework claim that Edward would never have surrendered his royal title. Now, even this could be argued. Who knows what this guy was like in the bedroom? But the fact that he told Bowers to call him "Eddy" and not by his real nickname, "David," is more than a bit suspicious.

But to come more to the point, James Curtis, author of Spencer Tracy, pointed out several examples as to why Bowers's portrait of Spence (left) was total invention. Bowers asserts that he and Spence, whom he claims was bisexual, had a fling around the time Spence was filming Pat and Mike, which was released in 1952. He describes the "seduction" thusly: Spence would get sloppy drunk, behave like a mad ogre, then engage in sexual relations with the stunned Bowers, who had no idea of Spence's inclinations but was happy to oblige. The only trouble with this tale is that it has been well documented that Spence remained completely sober from his 1945 release from the Doctors Hospital, which he entered essentially for detox, to 1955 when he slipped up on the set of The Mountain and had a drink. The entry in his calendar for that day reads, "Gin." Spencer always recorded his alcoholic slip-ups. As a devoted Catholic, it was, in a way, a form of flagellation for him to note when he had essentially failed as a human being. Just as he would celebrate "3 months sober!" so too would he record "loaded" when he fell off the wagon. There is no note in his calendar during the Pat and Mike period to indicate that he got trashed and consequently had sex with a man. Now, the sex he may have purposely not mentioned, but the drinking... always. Spence was serious about handling his alcoholism, and he would go for incredibly long spells without drinking, even resisting the temptations of imbibing friends like Clark Gable or Laurence Olivier when they drank around him. If he had taken a drink during this period, had he atypically not noted it himself, the studio would have, the press would have, friends would have. Everyone knew when Spence fell off the wagon, because he followed the same routine: drank for days, disappeared, holed up somewhere, got sober, and re-entered society. No such situation is recorded by anyone during this breadth of time. Which means, Bowers-- as an aware human being-- knew that Spence battled alcoholism and tried to use this detail to bolster his story. Too bad that little added detail of Pat and Mike perjured him. The timing doesn't add up.

He too asserts that Katharine Hepburn was a lesbian and that the relationship that she and Spence shared was a studio mandated publicity ploy to cover up both of their sexual preferences. Interesting. Now, why would MGM choose a married man as Kate's beard? Why stop one scandal by starting another? You don't put out a fire with fire. In truth, the studio did all it could to stifle Spence's philandering and his relationship with Hepburn in the press for fear of smearing his reputation as a married man (to wife Louise), so explain the thinking that would put him and Kate together to save the latter's face? Why not choose a nice, single beard for her? It makes no sense. Particularly since, as their extra-marital affair was well protected by the studio, the general public knew nothing about it until very late in their careers, after the great passion that brought them together had simmered into their latter day affection and companionship. So, if news of their "fake" relationship was meant to protect their bi/homosexuality, the studio sure got a late start on the cover-up. But this is nothing compared to the first-hand witnesses of colleagues and friends, like Garson Kanin, Ruth Gordon, and Kate's niece Katharine Houghton who saw their love affair and described the relationship's ups and downs, their devotion to each other, and their deep and abiding love. Bowers is asking us to believe that Kate and Spence not only fooled the press, but fooled everyone they came into contact with as well. There would be no reason for them to carry the charade that far, particularly if the inner-circle Hollywood Bowers describes was as open and unashamed as he claims it was. If Kate was a lesbian with no romantic feeling for Spence, why was she so fiercely protective of Spence? Why go to such lengths to keep him sober, why follow him around like a little girl in love, if she did not adore him? Why would he look at her with warmth when he thought no one was watching him, if he too did not love her? I'm sorry... I'm witnessing Kate kicking Bowers in the nuts again... Hahaha... (Kate and Spence relax while filming Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, right).


Bowers too claims that the studio invented Spence's Catholicism to explain his failure to obtain a divorce and marry Kate-- again, allegedly to protect the real reason for the deferral: their sexualities. First of all, by the time this would even have been an issue to publicly discuss, Spence would have been dead and needless of studio protection. Secondly, anyone who knew Spence would validate his religious inclinations. Spence was a deeply conflicted individual concerning his religion. He was not proud of his behavior as a man, and at the core of his unhappiness was his belief that he had failed as human being because of his drinking and because of his infidelity. He was like a little boy who couldn't help himself and would then punish himself for his sins. Attending church was a special thing he shared with his father as a boy, and he continued to attend mass regularly as an adult, as many witnesses could affirm. He too admitted on several occasions, including to longtime friend Pat O'Brien, that he had wanted to be a priest as a boy and regretted his decision in taking, what he considered to be, a lesser profession. Spence's Catholicism was not an invention. It was a cross he bore his whole life. Which begs the questions, what the Hell is Scotty Bowers talking about? And if he is lying about this, then what else is he lying about?

Bowers had some pretty shocking things to say about Tyrone Power. I won't give it away, but

 it rhymes with "Olden Tower." ("Bowers," coincidentally, does not rhyme with "taste").

In the end, I don't know. I don't know if Bowers is telling the truth, or thinks he is, or is some crazy old fart who has become lost in his own imagination. Since he describes suffering sexual abuse as a child, it is possible that as a resultantly sexually confused adult, in order to cope with and hide from certain demons lurking in his own soul, he created an erotically charged world of Hollywood, where all of the brightest stars adored him and came to him for sexual satisfaction-- a place where he was in control. Yet, if he is telling the truth, then he simply told his story the wrong way. Reading his book is like watching porn (not that I ever have, mind you): you sit there indulging in the most outrageous of scenarios where absolutely everything is over the top. The interactions are ignorant, inhuman, super-animal, and as a result, internally, you laugh. You know it is all a joke. This isn't how real people sound or act. It is fantasy. It's fun. But in no way, shape, or form do we believe it to be emblematic of the real world. The best I can say of Bowers is that he has a great future as a porn writer.


The trouble with books of this variety, is that they claim to shed light on the truth while really clouding it. While the book isn't solely about homosexual revelations, that is the portion that-- as always-- has caused the most controversy. We know that there were a great number of closeted homosexuals in Hollywood from the silent days onward. We know about William Haines because he was very open about it. We know Marlene Dietrich was bi-sexual, because she too was unabashed. We know of the likes of Ramon Novarro and Rock Hudson, sadly because of the way they died. It only makes sense that there are more hidden stories, and certainly it is a hope that their dignity be restored and thus dignity extended to the gay demographic in having the truth revealed. However, when the gay community is "outted" in this fashion, it actually does them a disservice. Instead of depicting them like everyone else-- movie stars forced to keep up a facade, including in this case their sexual preferences-- they are painted as sexual deviants and perverts. They are portrayed as human-adjacent as opposed to just human. What purpose does this serve? But perhaps I am simply offended, because I have a great many homosexual friends and take such things personally. Too, Bowers does the gay population no favors by describing nearly all of Hollywood as gay, as if everyone born with the acting gene too was born with same-sex orientation. Because you can't believe that every person-- minus Humphrey Bogart, I suppose-- living in Hollywood during this era was gay or bi-curious, you have to receive Bowers's perspective as foolish, and thus believe that he's lying about everyone. So, we are back to square one, and those members of the populace who were indeed forced to remain closeted are still left closeted. That... is sad. And in the end, what does it matter? None of my heroes' sexual proclivities are going to change my respect for their talents one iota, so if Bowers simply wanted to stir the pot and shake things up, he too has failed on that count.

Gene Tierney illustrates the point: there are so many faces in Hollywood, 

but which ones are real?

There is much fault that I can find with Bowers's memoirs: depicting Errol Flynn as a pervert who liked little girls, claiming that Walter Pidgeon (?!?!) propositioned him after having known him all of 5 seconds, because he just looks that good pumping gas... I don't seek to protect the stars from the slander of "gayness" nor to uphold a pristine image of Hollywood, because I know more than anyone else that that is the greatest lie of all, but I do have to use my conscience when gauging material.  If I can't trust the author, I can't trust his writing. I don't hold anything against Bowers for his latest offering, and I give him the benefit of the doubt that at least some of it is true, but "in defense of Spence" at least I had to point out some glaring inconsistencies.  After all of the research that I've personally done, I feel that I am fair in weighing what information to believe, what not, and what to consider when building up a subject for myself. I won't deny the possibility of Bowers's stories, but let's just say that he has a long way to go to prove himself, particularly when there are better researched, better written, and more thoroughly supported accounts of the people he claims to know so well. It says something when a stranger like Curtis can use his words to get me so close to a man like Spencer Tracy that I feel like I know him, and a "friend" of the stars like Bowers can tell me some "first-hand experiences" and leave me... well... just laughing. So, to those who asked my opinion, I respond, "Go ahead. Read the book. Enjoy it. Then come back to the land of reality and do the subject matter the dignity of thinking logically." The truth is not as simple a thing as we make it out to be, but nor should we indulge in uncertainties to float our own fancies. People deserve better.

PERSONAL NOTE: Who can ya' trust?

STAR OF THE MONTH: Spencer Tracy

Spencer Bonaventure Tracy

Acting isn't easy; over-acting is. Actors that seamlessly merge with a character and make you believe what they are saying are rare. One such "rara avis" is Spencer Tracy, who-- as according to the old "Seinfeld" bit-- could even make the line "These pretzels are making me thirsty" interesting. His fame was an unlikely phenomenon with his atypical, leading man looks, and his lasting career was a miracle due to the mental demons and liquid libations that tugged at him throughout his life. Yet, he remains one of the greatest legends of the silver screen. He had talent-- a hard won, well-crafted talent that he made appear effortless. Because he was never known for possessing a handsome mug, he too was able to flawlessly age with his characters, continuing to play the every-man, the defiant man, and the last artifact of masculine Americana. And the guy only got better with age. The road to such success was a rocky one; one that never really became smooth. That's what we liked about Spence, though. He was authentic, rough, and real. His pains were as evident as his pleasures. He was one of us.


Spencer Tracy should have been a girl. At least, that was what his mother had hoped, since her firstborn had been a boy-- Carroll. The second born was to be named "Daisy" after her good friend Daisy Spencer, but when John and Carrie Tracy welcomed another son, they compromised by naming him "Spencer" instead. Consequently, while devoted to his mother, Spence got along best with his father, with whom he always attended mass. The church became a bond between father and son, an interesting obsession, considering the arguably immoral penchants the two men had toward liquor. John Tracy was by all other rights a warm man and a loving, loyal husband, who had worked hard to build himself up from a bank teller to a moderately powerful business man, including a position as the general manager of Parker Motor Truck Company. His one weakness was the bottle, and the numerous, inviting taverns lining the streets of Milwaukee were often too hard to ignore. John would casually enter a bar and subsequently disappear for days at a time. He would then come home apologetically, swear off "the stuff," and proceed on as the kind and jovial man everyone knew. In his youth, Spence became accustomed to these bouts of absence, and he sensed the pain they caused his mother. The mystery of just where his father went or why, however, remained a mystery. Already, footsteps were being laid for an idolizing son to follow.


As yet, Spence was not as tormented. He definitely had a habit of getting into more trouble than his quiet, more obedient brother Carroll, and he too was hurt when he heard himself referred to as "homely"-- never a confidence-booster for a child-- but he too had a soft side. On the one hand, he was a "hyperactive terror," and on the other he would give a friend the shirt off his back, a generous trait he would carry with him always. School was another matter. He was smart enough, but he didn't really start applying himself until he attended Catholic School. Spence always worked best under discipline, which is why he also got on fairly well with all of those adorable ,scolding nuns. An independent adolescent, he worked odd jobs to make money, usually using what little dough he had to buy himself ice cream, but he wouldn't discover his true calling until he took to the stage, first becoming enthralled by the movies, and later staging his first murder-mystery play for neighborhood friends at the age of twelve. After seeing various plays, he decided that he wanted to become his hero, Lionel Barrymore. First, he needed to grow up. He enlisted in the Navy at the age of 18 and, after witnessing little combat, attended Northwestern Military and Naval Academy, where he found a penchant for public speaking. It was at Ripon College that he would decidedly turn his thoughts from a career in medicine to one on the stage. After attending The American Academy of Dramatic Arts with childhood (and lifelong) friend Pat O'Brien, the game was set. Despite his father's wishes that he become a normal, business man, Spencer would pursue his dream of acting and devote himself to it entirely. A nagging guilt for this decision would plague him for the rest of his days. He would often lament not becoming a priest-- his first youthful ambition, like most Catholic boys-- thinking his chosen profession silly and unimportant.

One of Spence's early roles in Sky Devils with Ann Dvorak.

Nonetheless, as an eternal masochist, Spence gave acting his all. While working the stage in bit parts, he met Louise Treadwell, who would become his wife. The two had little in common other than acting, but Spence admired Louise's strength and talent, and she admired his passion and potential. As he worked his way up the showbiz totem, Louise become more and more assured that her husband was bound to become a star. The years were lean, and work wasn't steady, but even after she had to give up acting to raise their son John, her faith in Spence never wavered, even when he himself considered giving up. The young family took another blow when it was discovered that John was deaf. Spence mournfully responded, "He'll never be able to say 'Daddy...'" As usual, Spence blamed himself, thinking that his son suffered because he had not been a good Christian-- which suggests that he had already started the extra-marital dalliances he would become notorious for. His drinking too had started to mirror his father's, though as yet, it was nowhere near as severe. He didn't have too much time to belly-ache with a family to feed, so he thrust all of his self-loathing, anger, and pain into his performances, shocking and wowing audiences with his electric presence and carnal sense of danger in plays like "Conflict," "Dread," and "The Last Mile."


Then came Hollywood, or rather, then came Spence to Hollywood. His success on the stage had caught the attention of many, including George Cohan, but it was John Ford who hailed him West. Ford was so moved by Spence's performance in "The Last Mile" that he insisted on using him in his prison flick Up the River, a film that would pair him with another up-and-comer-- Humphrey Bogart. A contract with Fox followed, but despite solid work, Spence failed to catch on with audiences, due to the usual issues of miscasting. He wasn't particularly handsome, he wasn't suave, but he wasn't necessarily sinister either. The studio-heads knew that he was talented, that he had something indescribable and natural, but what it was or what to do with it, no one knew. Slowly, he let the world see what he was capable of in films like Disorderly Conduct and The Power and the Glory, but Spence was quickly becoming disenchanted with Hollywood and yearned to return to the stage. The only issue was cash: a film contract at least provided a steady paycheck, and now that he was supporting his wife and children, his mother, some extended family, and essentially his brother, he was too worried to give Tinsel Town an assertive "adios." After Spence and Louise gave birth to their second child, Susie, born mercifully in tact and unencumbered, Spence made the move to MGM, much to his good fortune-- it was Leo the Lion who would give him the extra bite he needed.

With Mickey Rooney and Bob Watson in Boys Town. Spence took the role as

 Father Flanagan seriously, not even wanting to accept it at first, 

because he considered himself beneath it.

Finally, Spence started catching on. The film that started the furor was Fury, in which his initially optimistic, and boyish character of a young man in love turns into a vengeful dynamo when he is wrongly accused of kidnapping. Intense, animalistic, and yet sympathetic, he reached depths of his own soul that seemed to echo the inner demons of his audiences. His versatility made him a prime asset for the studio, and his warmth and natural knack for comedy earned him his first Academy Award for his portrayal of Manuel in Captains Courageous. Ironically, he would find equal success playing men of honor and morality, including the priests of San Francisco and Boys Town, the latter for which he won his second consecutive Oscar. He was always deeply sensitive about his work, and the slightest criticisms from the press cut him deeply. There was little help for this since the greatest compliments too seemed to fall on deaf ears. The combination of humility and pessimism is rarely beneficial to the bearer, but he made up for his personal misgivings with dedication. 

Spence and Bette enjoy their wins in 1939, he for Boys Town, she for Jezebel.

He won a score of admirers, not just from fans and critics, but from his co-stars. The King Himself, Clark Gable, suffered an eternal bro-mance for Spence, jealous of a talent that he knew far surpassed his own. Pal James Cagney, always humble, stated that Spence was the best kind of actor, because he couldn't be imitated, unlike himself. Women in particular were enamored of him, not just because of his talent, but because of his complete lack of ego. In a city comprised of male Prima Donnas, narcissists, and sycophants, Spence was simply a hard worker who gave a damn about his craft and showed equal respect for the leading ladies who indulged in such professionalism. Bette Davis adored him, Joan Bennett loved him, and Claudette Colbert was thunderstruck buy him. But, not all women were able to keep their feelings platonic. A naturally insecure man, the attention and attraction of beautiful women and his own human weaknesses led him to engage in multiple extra-marital affairs with the likes of Loretta Young, Gene Tierney, and Ingrid Bergman. His dependence on women was a frailty that crippled him as much as it temporarily may have soothed. But, through none of these flings did his marriage to the ever-loyal Louise seem to be in danger. She was not only independently pursuing her own ambitions and working towards John's education, but she had faith in her union. "He'll come back," she always said.

Spence and Kate turn up the heat in Woman of the Year.

And then came Kate. Spence was teamed with Katharine Hepburn for the first time in 1942's Woman of the Year, and thus began one of the greatest on-screen pairings in cinematic history-- and one of the most controversial off-screen love affairs in "tsk-tsk" Heaven. Spence was the perfect match for the intelligent, flinty, and quirky female who drew raised eyebrows for her tendency for trousers and assertive, even bossy, way of communication. Her more cerebral approach to things was the perfect opposite for Spence's more natural, instinctual methods. His masculinity too was the only brand Kate had ever encountered, on-screen or off, that had the ability to dominate and fascinate her. Perhaps she was so taken with him,because he was the only man who ever had the cojones to tell her when to "shut the Hell up." His ruggedness reminded her a great deal of her father, which endeared her to him, and his subtle, intuitive acting left her flabbergasted and awestruck. Spence too found a worthy opponent in Kate, who at first bewildered him, but later surprisingly seduced him with her loyalty, selflessness, and sturdy character. She didn't flinch when he growled; she stood her ground and challenged him. Unlike Louise, she did not turn her head from his behaviors as a way to cope, but instead met him head on, comforting him when needed, scolding him when necessary, but always, always remaining reliable. To Louise's defense, Kate did not have the responsibility of motherhood to usurp her affections-- Spence had Kate all to himself, and she was happy to oblige. Granted, Kate's presence initially induced Spence to endure another guilty bender-- commencing in yet another extra-marital affair attacked his always inflamed guilt complex-- but she too acted as a protector who in time kept him off the booze and taught him that he could overcome his addiction. He would enjoy some of the longest periods of sobriety under her watch, though the inner sadness he felt at betraying Louise too aggravated his hypochondria-- he was unable to sleep, his head was always spinning with worry, and he was constantly certain that he was dying of something-- and equally positive that he deserved to.

A darker portrait of impossible love in Sea of Grass.

While the world at large for many years remained ignorant of this liaison-- a secret MGM fought hard to keep out of the press but that was, of course, an open secret in Hollywood-- they couldn't deny the electric chemistry the duo had on the screen. The public loved them together, and so, when word eventually got out late in their careers and more fully after his death, the affair was strangely not held against them, much in the way Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks were forgiven for abandoning their previous marriages to wed each other. To the public, they belonged together. Spence and Kate derived from each other a sexuality that had been missing from their other films. Both were atypical leading stars-- Spence leading with guttural passion and Kate with intellect-- but sensuality was lacking until they found each other. Spence drew out Kate's femininity, and she elicited his eroticism. Through the span of their careers, this balance of wills would create one of the greatest, career-spanning interpretations of the battle of the sexes in the history of film. It wasn't just about masculine versus feminine, it was about old versus new, tradition versus change, and domination versus submission. 

The cinematic embodiments of Male versus Female in Adam's Rib.

While the gift-wrapped endings of these films tended to come with a patriarchal victory for Spence, they were a great step forward in closing the gap in the gender divide. For every battle won by the male character, the female character's fierce defiance could be counted on to come back with a surprise coup. The rules were bent, played with, and re-communicated. Progress was being made. In Woman of the Year, the man overcomes the woman's ambitions to teach her, not necessarily that her place is in the home, but that she could embrace the more delicate side of her nature without letting it make her feel weak; that as a partner she must give as much as she takes. In Adam's Rib, which many hail as their best collaboration, the man does not shy from using typically female tactics to win back his woman-- who can forget that scene when Spence's eyes fill with feigned tears? In Pat and Mike, an athletic woman is praised for her abilities and talents and coached in them, desired for them, and not harangued for her un-feminine ways. These films celebrated not only the distinction between men and women-- "Vive la difference!"-- but celebrated each individual's uniqueness-- every human being can be loved despite their temperaments, eccentricities, or flaws... as long as he or she has found the proper partner.

The success of this duo (in 9 films) was unprecedented, and for a great deal of time, the only films they seemed to make were with each other. But, in between, Spence also maintained his reputation with various other successes, always marked by his continued, solid performances: Bad Day at Black Rock, Father of the Bride, The Actress, etc. Through it all, he would continue his battle with alcoholism, maintaining great periods of sobriety and painfully falling of the wagon, only to pick himself back up again. Each slip was recorded in his loyal calendar book, where he would essentially lacerate himself for his imperfections, conscientiously keeping tabs on himself and his short-comings. If he went on a bender, he would mark it down to shame himself. Equally, if one of his films was a flop, he would jot it down. Nothing he did was good enough, and he was never satisfied. As Louise continued to build up support for The John Tracy Clinic, which sought to educate families suffering from deafness, (old polo pal Walt Disney was a constant donator), Spence was proud that he had the good fortune to help fund the establishment but remained embarrassed both that he had failed his family and that his performing career was a joke compared to the world-altering impact his brave wife was making. 

Spence and Fredric March got along like gangbusters behind the scenes, but on camera 

they created a great battle of will and wit in Inherit the Wind.

Yet, he continued to hurtle himself into his work, not realizing that he was indeed affecting change, particularly after he made the acquaintance of one Stanley Kramer-- the definitive producer and director of cutting-edge, socially provocative films. The two artists fit like a hand in a glove. In Stanley, Spence found a capable filmmaker who cared as deeply as he about doing work that mattered-- that could reach an audience in the head, heart, and soul. In Spence, Stanley found his dream actor, who could achieve and bring to life the most impossible and impassioned characters with ease. Spence's multi-layered, dramatic, and comical performances in Inherit the Wind , It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World, and Judgment at Nuremberg would do more than shake up the cinematic world, they would alter our social universe. Despite his human frailties, just as in his roles as priests in San Francisco and Boys Town, Spence would stand as the pinnacle of conscience and justice, leading the little people to a better, brighter existence. He was the sole actor that audiences would trust with such a responsibility, simply because we could at all times believe what this complicated, authentic, man was telling us. His characters may have been imperfect, but they had dignity-- the most admirable of human traits.

Another game-changer: Sidney Poitier, Katharine Houghton, Kate, and Spence

 in Guess Who's Coming to Dinner.

Spence's last film was too his final collaboration with two of his favorite partners-- Kate and Stanley-- in Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, yet another classic. Older, more frail, and very obviously sick, Spence still gave the audience his all with this final effort toward human comprehension. Even in his old age, he remained so striking that the eternally professional Sidney Poitier had trouble getting through his lines-- he was saying them to a screen legend, after all. As always, Kate fussed about Spence on the set, babysitting and bolstering as need be. Onscreen, Spence portrayed the liberal-minded patriarch who lets go of the old to make way for the new, but only after he has realized that the future is giving birth to a society that, though different, is just as pure. His final speech-- his character was always known for those breath-taking, final speeches-- extols the virtues of true love and enduring affection, essentially praising his relationship with Hepburn as she looks on with eyes full of tears, and finally gives his blessing to the black man who wants to marry his white daughter-- and to all others who defy convention in the name of love. And so, he put the final period on a 67 year sentence, took his final bow, and made his great exit from the land of cinema.

Spence out-lasted so many of his contemporaries, because he was not a studio-made star. He was just himself. Thus, as other actors aged and lost their luster, Spence remained because he had never lied. He had never covered the deep creases in his face with make-up nor played the lover-boy (on camera). He wasn't even the boy-next-door. He was the same son-of-a-gun you passed on every street or sat next to at any bar. He was a well-rounded human being, not a concoction. For this, he remained malleable, cast-able, and-- most importantly-- working steadily while so many of his friends slipped through the cracks or sadly passed away-- leaving him, as always, deeply grieved. Jean Harlow, Victor Fleming, Clark Gable... All pals that he saw put in the ground before him-- odd, since he pessimistically always thought himself at death's door, fearful that the cardiovascular disease that ended his father's life was right around the corner. Indeed, it was waiting, but it waited a long time. After filming on Guess Who's Coming to Dinner wrapped, Spence and Kate retreated to his cottage at 9191 St. Ives (George Cukor's property) where they had been living together discreetly. Kate heard the typically restless Spence go to the kitchen to make himself some late night tea, and then she heard a "crash" as the cup and his body hit the floor. He was gone. Louise was summoned, and the two women who loved him most prepared him for his final journey. Kate would not attend the funeral, following Spence's hearse as far as she dared and then saying goodbye to him before he disappeared into the mass of chaos and flashing bulbs. He would have wanted it that way; this final moment belonged to Louise.

Spence with daughter Susie and son John. Spencer's fears of inadequacy and sense 

of guilt would hamper his relationships with his children, but he was

immensely proud of both of them.

In the end, no one could ever really diagnose what it was that plagued Spencer Tracy. Why he was born with a supreme disappointment; why he always seemed to be dissatisfied with himself... He wasn't a particularly flashy character, and despite the necessary emotional maintenance he needed, he needed few physical comforts to be satisfied. Kate described him as "a lion in a cage. You gave him meat, he ate meat. You gave him water, he drank the water and then he walked up and down, up and down in the cage of life, looking out, and in those eyes you saw the jungle-- the freedom-- the fear-- the affection-- unblinking, unguarded." While he remained certain that he was dying and going to Hell, it seems assured that a man who provided his fans with so much hope, who guided us to feelings of rightness, paid his penance during his life and made it to the Heaven he dreamed of as a boy. He always wanted to be a priest, and in a way he was. Not only did he fulfill this prophecy in his incarnation of Father Flanagan of Boys Town, but in his embodiment of the solid moral compass that showed us both the penalty of sin in Fury and the rewards of adherent principle in Judgment at Nuremberg. One hopes that he has at last found peace and solace, and that in the end he was at least able to appreciate the great work he did. As for the rest of us, we shall continue to gratefully indulge in the continuing legacy of the the agony and the ecstasy of Spencer Tracy.

STAR OF THE MONTH: Spencer Tracy

Waiting on Wednesday: Spell Bound (Hex Hall #3) by Rachel Hawkins

Waiting on Wednesday recognizes that we as bookies pine for books. This post is about what I am impatiently waiting for right now. It was started by Jill at Breaking the Spine.

As always on Wednesday, I'm featuring a lovely book that I am simply drooling over the ability to read...soon. This one is the third (and most likely final) installment in the Hex Hall series by Rachel Hawkins, so be aware of the spoilers in the summary below. Check out my thoughts on the first two books Hex Hall & Demonglass. That's right ladies & gents I'm talking about Spell Bound due on a bookshelf near you March 13th. I hate to see a good thing end, but Rachel has said that she'd love to continue writing in the universe, so maybe it won't be goodbye after all. Anywhoodle, on to the goodness!

Just as Sophie Mercer has come to accept her extraordinary magical powers as a demon, the Prodigium Council strips them away. Now Sophie is defenseless, alone, and at the mercy of her sworn enemies—the Brannicks, a family of warrior women who hunt down the Prodigium. Or at least that’s what Sophie thinks, until she makes a surprising discovery. The Brannicks know an epic war is coming, and they believe Sophie is the only one powerful enough to stop the world from ending. But without her magic, Sophie isn’t as confident.

Sophie’s bound for one hell of a ride—can she get her powers back before it’s too late?

From Goodreads

How amazing does that sound for a finale? I really have enjoyed the characters & universe that Rachel Hawkins has created. Sophie is a fun gal & her sidekicks are pretty awesome too. Here's hoping she can bring it to a thrilling close.

What are you waiting on this week?

Waiting on Wednesday: Spell Bound (Hex Hall #3) by Rachel Hawkins

Guest Post by Meredith Zeitlin, author of Freshman Year & Other Unnatural Disasters

Today I am very fortunate to have Meredith Zeitlin, author of Freshman Year & Other Unnatural Disasters, doing a guest post about a touchy subject in her book: teen drinking. I must admit that I was surprised by the amount of drinking (and all the thought that went in to the drinking instances), but after reading her post I feel like I am more understanding of the point of view. Read what she has to say below & then see my thoughts on the book.

UNDERAGE DRINKING IN THE BOOK: HOW COME?

I think some people might be mad at me after they read this post.

Sorry about that. I really don't want to make anyone mad. But I also want to be honest. So... let's do this thing, shall we?

I've gotten a number of comments about the amount of drinking in Freshman Year and Other Unnatural Disasters, and to be totally honest, I'm completely surprised. I genuinely never anticipated a reaction other than, “Yup – I totally remember sneaking alcohol from my older brother when I was a freshman, too!”

Because I wrote a book that was based on my own high school experiences and that of the people I know. And without exception, those experiences included quite a lot of underage drinking. Not even because we all especially wanted to, really – it was just what we did. Like many things in high school. (And college. And, for that matter... adulthood. But lemme get back to the issue at hand.)

I think there are two things happening here. One is that minors drinking is, of course, illegal, so that gets flagged as a “bad” thing automatically. The other issue is that usually in books, “bad” things come with serious consequences.

But I wanted this book to be realistic. And the truth of the matter is, everyone learning something from an error in judgement just isn't how life actually works.

Kelsey and her friends do drink when they hang out – well, most of them do. Kelsey's closest friend, Em, never has a drink, and I made a big point of that in several scenes in the book. Because, of course, not all kids drink. But there can be a lot of pressure to, and Em's decision not to participate was important for me as an author and important for Kelsey as an example.

Kelsey doesn't even really like the taste of alcohol, which is why she prefers sweet drinks like wine coolers over beer. But she drinks it anyway. Because she's a girl who bows to peer pressure sometimes. She isn't perfect. She doesn't always make the best decisions. That's just her story. Maybe Em will influence her as time goes on. And maybe she won't.

I think it's very interesting that no one really has a problem with stories about high school seniors (I could name a hundred of them, and I'm sure you can, too) having crazy parties and getting tanked. But because these kids are younger, it seems worse. Well, kids don't just wake up as seniors and decide to have a kegger. They go to the seniors' parties when they're freshmen themselves and follow suit. That's... well, it's high school. And they try beer in seventh grade – or whenever – for the same reason they play spin the bottle. It's taboo. They aren't supposed to do it. And what could possibly be more appealing to kids who spend all their time consumed by their peers' opinions, desperately trying to fit in and be liked, than a magical liquid that makes them feel not only relaxed and confident but also part of a group of people breaking the same rule together? Is it any wonder that every social event in high school revolves around drinking?

When I was that age, any time anyone got together – at a party, at a friend's house, in a parking lot - the question was: “How do we get alcohol?” For a while, I was the Em in my group of friends – I didn't drink at all. And then I finally got curious and tried it... and thought it was gross. Then I tried it again and got used to it. Anyway, we drank. And sometimes we had crazy fun, and sometimes we acted like idiots, and sometimes we got sick, and eventually some of us – myself included – ended up in very bad situations that made us realize that, perhaps, getting wasted wasn't actually such a terrific idea after all.

But the fact remains that not every night of drinking ends in a fatal car accident or other tragic episode. It just doesn't. Kelsey does suffer some repercussions in the book – though since it's a comic story, I didn't choose to make anything too serious. And since I based the character on myself, and I really didn't have any truly negative alcohol-related experiences until I was a junior, that's the way I wrote it. Maybe in a different book I'll make a different choice.

I understand people not wanting to encourage kids to drink, and I don't want there to be any misunderstanding - I'm not trying to do that with my book. Absolutely not. But I do think it's an accurate portrayal of what kids do when they're that age, and that was my intention: to write a book that was as true-to-life as I could.

And perhaps a few kids will read the book and think: “Why are these kids drinking so much? Do I do that? I think I do, actually. Is this a good idea?” And then maybe some of those truly terrible consequences will be avoided. I hope so.

Are you mad? Please don't be mad. I love you.

Thank you Meredith! So folks, what's your take? Any teenage memories of drinking & general shenanigans? What makes this kind of thing "okay" versus "overboard"?

Guest Post by Meredith Zeitlin, author of Freshman Year & Other Unnatural Disasters

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