Spencer Tracy_ A Biography - James C. Curtis [107]
With Disorderly Conduct set for release in mid-April, the unit publicist on Young America was able to stir up some press interest in Tracy, principally among the members of the freelance corps who fed the fan magazines. Four took the bait, drawing assignments from the newsstand monthlies that targeted a largely female readership. Dutifully, Tracy spent time with each, opening up as best he could, but of the four men he saw over the course of ten days, only Dick Mook was potentially someone to whom he could really talk. Unlike the others, Mook was a seasoned newspaperman, six years Tracy’s senior, who had come west from his native Tennessee with the advent of talkies. He wasn’t a press flack, nobody’s lap dog, and his stuff differed considerably from the fluff that passed for editorial content in most of the major movie magazines. Low-key and gracious, he was often visible at parties and social events where other journalists were rarely to be found.
Mook recalled:
After the preview [of Disorderly Conduct], one of the Fox officials sought to introduce the members of the cast. They were all right down in front—where they belonged—and when they were introduced they could rise, face the audience, and bow. That is, they were all down in front except Mr. Tracy. He had waited to come in until after the picture started and then had taken a seat directly in front of the door. When the picture was finished he meant to duck out the door, but another official stood in front of it and blocked him. When he was introduced, he gave an ashamed little bow and ran. Outside, I encountered him again and, in that beneficent manner of mine, bestowed the accolade. “A great performance, Tracy,” I said. “Thanks,” he came back at me brilliantly and fled.
Intrigued, Mook phoned the studio the next day and made an appointment for lunch. “I came to the conclusion,” he said, “that it was not possible for a man to be as brilliant on the screen and as uninteresting off as Tracy had tried to be.” As they completed their interview, Tracy leaned forward conspiratorially: “How’d you like to go down to the brewery one day and swill a little beer?”
“I’d like it fine,” Mook replied.
“All right,” said Tracy. “I’ll get hold of Frank Borzage and find out when he can go and then I’ll call you. What’s your phone number?”
Mook gave it to him but said, “Why do you want to wear yourself out writing it down? You know you’ll never call me.”
“You think so?” said Tracy. “Well, I’ll bet you five to one I’ll call you within a week.”
Mook left, firmly convinced the next time he’d see Tracy was when he pulled another assignment or happened to catch him on the lot. Good to his word, though, Tracy called him just three days later. “They’ve closed the brewery up,” he said, “but how about coming out to the house for dinner tonight?”
Mook arrived to find that Spence was working late. He ended up dining alone with Louise, his host arriving home only after the table had been cleared. The houseboy, said Mook, had to fix him some bacon and eggs. “As he brought them in, he turned to Mrs. Tracy. ‘Can he have some cheese?’ ” Weeze considered. “I glanced at Spencer. His forehead was wrinkled with worry, and from the expression on his face you would have thought the fate of the universe hinged on her decision. ‘I suppose so,’ she said finally. ‘He’s been working hard. But only a little.’ She turned to me: ‘It’s so fattening, I only let him have it once a week.’ ”
Samuel Richard “Dick” Mook. (AUTHOR’S COLLECTION)
A few days later, Mook was again lunching with Tracy at the Café de Paris, the themed commissary on the Fox lot. Spence noticed Doris Kenyon, his costar in