Spencer Tracy_ A Biography - James C. Curtis [243]
In Milwaukee they stopped at the University Club, where they caught up with Gene Sullivan, a prominent attorney and Carroll’s brother-in-law. Nibbling Milwaukee rye bread, Tracy met the press, nervously running his hands through his graying hair and talking excitedly of Louise’s racehorse, Holsworthy. (“Twelve starts and win or place every time!”) He revealed to the group that he had given up polo and was amused to know that Gus Christy was still at the Athletic Club. “What’ll you have to drink, boys? Come on, don’t be bashful!” Then, glancing out a window toward Lake Michigan, “Some fog, eh? I didn’t recall Milwaukee was so damn foggy, but I’m glad to be back.”
Somebody asked whether he might return to Broadway. Reflectively, he said, “I don’t think so … Every time I see my friend [George Jean] Nathan, he tries to lure me back to the stage, saying he’ll find a great play for me. But I guess not. I’ve never lost interest in the stage though. I get to New York to see the plays … The stage is still the best place for training an actor, don’t forget that. Any youngster who wants a Hollywood career should go there by way of New York or some other stage—playing in stock, what there is left of it. Don’t go to Hollywood to begin. What chance is there out there? They’ve got no facilities for training actors.”
He and Whitbeck made the two-hour drive to Ripon the next morning, and at noon he became the honored guest of the school’s seventy-fourth graduating class. Having donned cap and gown, Tracy was escorted to Ingram Hall, where he posed for pictures with Silas Evans, Professor Boody, J. Clark Graham, and a number of former classmates, including J. Harold Bumby, Tracy’s former teammate and the man who witnessed his audition before Franklin Sargent in 1922. After a commencement address from Dr. Gordon Laing, dean emeritus of the University of Chicago, everyone moved outside to accommodate a crowd estimated at 2,500 for the actual ceremony. Professor Boody spoke first: “Today marks for me the close of 25 years of teaching at Ripon College, and I consider it a most happy coincidence that on this anniversary I am permitted to present one of my former students for an honorary degree—one whose friendship and loyalty have been more precious to me than rubies, and whose rise to the top of his profession I have watched with ever-increasing pride and admiration.”
Boody presented Dean Graham, under whose guidance Tracy’s first public performances were given. “Spencer Tracy, the world knows you as many people, for in your time you have played many parts. But Ripon College knows you in another role—that of the eager youth who spoke his lines impromptu to the cues of life. That youth we remember with affection, both for himself and the great promise that he displayed even then … The task of the actor, as Shakespeare remarked, is, and ever has been, to hold the mirror up to nature to interpret the deepest passions of the human soul, and thereby cleanse it through pity and terror in the classic Aristotelian sense. To that distinguished company you indubitably belong.” Silas Evans spoke of Tracy’s sincerity and intelligence, his mastery of his art. “Your acting has not only been highly entertaining,” he said, “it has been thoroughly educational, and on behalf of the board of trustees of the college, it gives me great pleasure to present the degree of Doctor of Dramatic Art, with all the privileges and duties appertaining thereto.”
Tracy moved to the microphone. “There are some things I intended to say,” he said in a voice choked with emotion. “I wanted to thank Dean Graham and Professor Boody in particular for the great confidence they displayed in me and for their help. And if through my work I have done some small justice to their confidence, I am happy indeed. There are some other things I wanted to say about Ripon, but it seems that when you get to them you don’t say them. Perhaps it’s better this way … I had intended saying something to the graduating class. Please bear with me,