Americans love a good fairy tale, especially if the princess is one of our own. With the news of Prince Harry’s engagement to American actress Meghan Markle, the U.S. is looking forward to playing a starring role in the royal wedding.
Markle has drawn comparisons to Grace Kelly, the American actress who married Prince Rainier III to become Princess of Monaco in 1956. Kelly was garnering acclaim in her own right as a model and film actress before joining the royal family of the 500-acre city-state. Pete Martin interviewed the rising star in 1954 for the Post’s article, “The Luckiest Girl in Hollywood.” At the time, Kelly was taking off in the film industry. She had struck a chord with Alfred Hitchcock after starring in Dial M for Murder and Rear Window, and months later she would earn an Academy Award for her role in Country Girl.
The next time Martin interviewed Kelly, in 1959, she was Princess Grace of Monaco, and no longer an actress. Kelly’s last role before her transformation into Monegasque royalty was in High Society with Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra. Although she was no longer adorning the silver screen, the public celebrated Princess Grace for her perfectly apt role in nobility.
Like Grace Kelly, Meghan Markle will also be making the transition from actress to royal, and many Americans are excited to have one of their very own as a (possible) Duchess across the pond. If any group experiences the scrutinizing limelight more harshly than movie and television stars, it might be the British royal family. As much as Americans adore the prospects of charming weddings and cute Corgis, royal drama is just as relished. For the time-being, the only foreseeable controversy is Markle’s inevitable retirement from acting, which will inspire distress in her newfound fans.
This article and other features about the stars of Tinseltown can be found in the Post’s Special Collector’s Edition, The Golden Age of Hollywood. This edition can be ordered here.
The headache with any story is usually beginning it. That is not the trouble with the Grace Kelly story.
The tough thing about the Kelly story is this: You run yourself black in the face tracking down everyone— including Grace herself—who can give you an angle on her. You talk to those who’ve worked with her, those who are related to her and those who are her friends. And when you have finished all this, she is still such an elusive subject that writing about her is like trying to wrap up smoke.
When I sat down to talk to the woman herself, her face was expressionless. I saw only the surface of her eyes, not into them. She was poised, cool, collected and wary. She said nothing—unless I asked her a question first. Once or twice, even when I put a direct query to her, she smiled and didn’t answer. However, little by little, she began to come out from behind her private Iron Curtain.
She said that when she met Fred Zinnemann, who had directed her in her first Hollywood venture, HIGH NOON, he had given her some kindly advice. “You ought to learn how to speak to people and what to say to them when you meet them,” he said. Later, she discovered that such advice from Zinnemann had its hilarious aspect, for he himself is so shy that after those sage words, he had almost nothing to say. To make things even clammier, they were both working with Gary Cooper, who had been known for years as the Hollywood actor least likely to be chatty. It was only after Cooper’s discovery that Grace was even shyer than he that his talk moved out of a mumble, and he made so bold as to take her to lunch.
No unusual twist in the Grace Kelly story was involved in her becoming a member of the cast of HIGH NOON. It was simply that, rated o her performance in one Broadway play, THE FATHER, and her countless appearances before the slowly moving and ruthless eyes of TV cameras, her agents convinced those who were casting the film that the Philadelphia girl—who has since been described by one picture maker as having “stainless-steel insides” and who reminds one picture maker of “a cool stream in a mountain hideaway”— was a good bet.
I asked her how she happened to appear in the test Fox had made of her, the test that had had such a profound influence upon her life. “After a brief appearance in FOURTEEN HOURS,” she said, “Metro offered me a stock contract. Other studios did too, but I wasn’t interested. I could earn more modeling. Also, I wanted to try my luck on Broadway. I read for so many plays, I lost count of them. People were confused about my type, but they agreed on one thing: I was in the too category—‘too tall,’ ‘too leggy, ‘too chinny.’”
The Move Into Film
About that time she was studying acting with Sandy Meisner, who taught dramatics at the Neighborhood Playhouse and classes on the side. One day Grace was starting for her class when the Fox New York once called to say, “We want you to come over and see one of our directors, Gregory Ratoff. He’s going to direct a movie called TAXI. He wants to test you for it.” She wore an old skirt and an old shirt. Her hair wasn’t curled. She was minus makeup. But she said, “I’ll stop by.”
When she walked in, a man from her agency was there. “All the other girls looked cute and sweet in high heels,” she told me. “I looked so terrible, my agent was embarrassed. But when Mr. Ratoff saw me, he said, ‘Perfect.’ This was a switch. My whole life people had been telling me I was imperfect. ‘What I like about this girl is she’s not pretty,’ Mr. Ratoff said. My agent insisted, ‘But Mr. Ratoff, she is pretty.’ Mr. Ratoff would not be talked out of it. ‘No, no, no, she is not!’ he said.
“When I took off my coat and he saw my old shirt and skirt, he was in ecstasy. ‘Magnificent,’ he said. ‘Cannot you speak with an Irish accent?’” Apparently this was what was expected of her, and although she’d never spoken with an Irish accent, she said, “Of course.” en she went home and worked on it. After the test was made, Ratoff wanted her for TAXI, but the man who produced it didn’t, although Fox had a contract all ready for her to sign. So that was that.
However, John Ford, who was directing MOGAMBO, saw the Fox test and decided she’d do for his picture. “MOGAMBO had three things that interested me,” she said. “John Ford, Clark Gable and a trip to Africa with expenses paid. If MOGAMBO had been made in Arizona, I wouldn’t have done it.”
I asked her about an anecdote that had been given quite a play in the press. It had to do with her knitting a pair of socks for Clark Gable and hanging them on his tent on Christmas morning while they were on location for MOGAMBO. The way it had happened was different from the printed version—as such things have a way of being. She had tried to knit a pair of socks for Gable, but, like many another knitter with good intentions, she hadn’t finished them in time. “When I realized that I wasn’t going to make it, we were out in Tanganyika, in the middle of nowhere,” she told me, “and I couldn’t buy anything for him. So I stole a pair of his own socks. Each day I stole something else from him. On Christmas Eve I filled one of his socks with his own things and hung it up. It was a silly gesture, but he liked it. I am very fond of Clark.”
Another rumor I had heard was that while they were on-location for MOGAMBO, Gable had gotten a cable from a London columnist and had read it to Grace. It said: “Rumors sweeping England about your romance with Grace Kelly. Please cable confirmation or denial.” “This,” said Gable, “is the greatest compliment I’ve ever had. I’m old enough to be your father.”
Although I’m not good at a personal probe, I asked her about it anyhow. “I should think he would have been able to overcome that feeling,” I said.
Instead of answering, she smiled and didn’t say anything.
But she was forthright when she talked about the way she felt about Hollywood. “At times I think I hate Hollywood,” she said. “In New York you can go anywhere and people respect your privacy. In Hollywood, they don’t. When Bing [Crosby] took me and my sister, Peggy, out to dinner, the papers made a circus out of it. Poor Bing. He couldn’t relax and have a pleasant evening with eight photographers around him. We had to leave.”
I asked her if anyone had told her they thought her aloof. “Lots of people have,” she said. “But until I know people, I can’t give much of myself. A year ago, when people asked me, ‘What about you?’ I froze. I’m better now, but I’m still not cured.” In fact, she said, the first time she met Alfred Hitchcock, who directed her in REAR WINDOW, DIAL M FOR MURDER and TO CATCH A THIEF, she said she could think of nothing to say to him. She remembers, “In a horrible way it seemed funny to have my brain turn to stone.”
That remark made me think of a thing Alfred Hitchcock had told me when I’d asked him for a few human- interest stories about incidents that had occurred during the making of TO CATCH A THIEF: “I have no anecdotes about Grace. To create anecdotes, people must do either silly things or funny things. Of course, there are the kind of phony anecdotes the publicity man assigned to the unit thinks up, but the really funny things one does or says do not happen on schedule. Anecdotes grow with the years, like the rings on a tree. And Grace hasn’t many years. However, she has a quality that is far more important. She can play comedy not sexily but elegantly. It’s a quality most women do not have. It has already taken her a long way. It may even take her to the top.”
Any American under the age of 30 can be forgiven for asking “Who’s this Grace Kelly person, and why is she showing up in all these magazines lately?”
The former American actress and late Princess of Monaco has been dead for almost 28 years — a long time for a celebrity to hold the media’s interest.
What has brought her back to America’s magazine covers is an exhibit of her royal wardrobe at London’s Victoria and Albert Museum. The couture will be interesting, but the real attraction is the style of Grace Kelly, which becomes increasingly rare in a Madonna and Lady Gaga world.
Kelly didn’t just dress well and expensively. She was also an innovator and a successful proponent of high style. Her tastes were exceptional but, more important, she had the face, figure, and carriage that made good clothing look extraordinary.
Behind her style and her looks, though, was Kelly’s iconic power: her ability to exude elegance, charm, and poise, like those other classic archetypes: Jacqueline Kennedy and Audrey Hepburn.
It was also her fantastically successful life. In less than ten years, she became a well-paid model, an Oscar-winning actress, and a princess. For girls of a romantic nature, this is the Trifecta of daydreams. Grace had accomplished it all, and took her amazed fans along for the ride.
In 1954, the Post editors were intrigued by the meteoric rise of this young (well, 25-year-old) model and actress who, two years after playing a minor role in a minor movie, was starring in romantic roles with Gary Cooper, Clark Gable, Bing Crosby, William Holden, and Jimmy Stewart.
The Post’s celebrity interviewer, Peter Martin, was aware of Kelly’s reputation before they met. She was, according to Hollywood sources, extremely cool, reserved, even haughty — a woman with “stainless steel guts.”
“When we sat down to talk, her face was expressionless. I saw only the surface of her eyes, not into them. She was poised, cool, collected, and wary. She said nothing — unless I asked her a question first. Once or twice, even when I put a direct query to her, she smiled and didn’t answer. However, little by little, she began to come out from behind her private Iron Curtain.”
She eventually relaxed just enough to joke about a story that had circulated in the tabloids.
“It had to do with her knitting a pair of sock for Clark Gable and hanging them on his tent, on Christmas morning, while they were on location for Mogambo. The way it had actually happened was different from the printed version — as such things have a way of being. She had tried to knit a pair of socks for Gable, but, like many another knitter with good intentions, she hadn’t finished them in time. ‘When I realized that I wasn’t going to make it, we were out in Tanganyika, in the middle of nowhere,” she told me, “and I couldn’t buy anything for him. So I stole a pair of his own socks. Each day I stole something else from him. On Christmas Eve I filled one of his sock with his own things and hung it up. It was a silly gesture, but he liked it. I am very fond of Clark.”
Gable received a telegraph asking him if there was any romance between himself and Kelly. Pete Martin followed up on the story that Gable told her, “This is the greatest complement I’ve ever had. I’m old enough to be your father.”
“I’m not too good at the sly remark and the personal probe, but I tried anyhow. ‘I should think he would have been able to overcome that feeling,’ I said.
“Once more she smiled and didn’t say anything.”
Five years later, they met again, only this time Martin was interviewing Princess Grace of Monaco, wife of Prince Rainier III. It was a role for which she seemed ideally suited. Few actresses were better at portraying reserve and gracious nobility. She graciously answered his questions, at one point making an off-handed estimate about the size of her housekeeping staff.
“How many servants do you have in the palace?” I asked.
“‘I don’t know exactly,’ she replied. ‘There are so many different categories. We have servants attached directly to our household, and there are other servants in the place who take care of other people. But to answer your question, approximately two hundred fifty people work here in the palace. That includes carpenters, electricians and the like.’
“‘Does that include the [palace guards]?’
“‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘There are sixty to sixty-five of them.'”
“‘I’m curious why anyone would expect you to drop all you have here, which is so lovely and so idyllic,”‘ I said, ‘and go back to the rigors of movie making. It must be wishful thinking.’
“She did it again. She looked at me, smiled sweetly, and said nothing. I found myself hurrying along to my next questions.”
No one could ever accuse Grace Kelly of changing after she became a member of the nobility.
She was a woman of large ambition, willing to work hard to get ahead. She believed she had earned her success in Hollywood. But even she must have thought that becoming a princess was almost laughably implausible. But then, as Mark Twain once noted, “Truth is stranger than fiction because fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities. Truth isn’t.”
The story of European nobles marrying rich American women is an old one. An item in the Post of 1874 noted:
“How the foreigners seem to admire our American girls, or is it their fortunes that prove so attractive? They come here and make their selections and are only too gladly accepted as a general thing.
“Mrs. Gen. Griffin has become the Countess Esterhazy; little blue-eyed Camille Webb is now the Baroness Von Havre; Miss Williams, of Georgetown, became the bride of Count Bodisco, and another Georgetown girl has given her affection to an Italian count, who has left her here, expecting his tardy return, which looks too prolonged to promise any realization… I wonder if the Turkish and new French ministers will secure American wives and fortunes?”
Marriages into nobility often raise the question of whether Americans can hold foreign titles. Federal laws permit dual citizenship, and even allow American citizens to retain titles from foreign countries. However, such titles have no legal significance; royal privileges in a foreign land only get a nod of diplomatic recognition in this country.
The stern republicans that founded the United States were always suspicious of nobility. They warned of the aristocratic habit of grabbing up privileges and precedent, and they wanted no such inequalities in the new country.
Yet Americans yearn for its own aristocracy: people who are distinguished by their learning, virtue, and public spirit — equal but superior. These would be “natural aristocrats,” as Jefferson described them in a letter to John Adams.
“I agree with you that there is a natural aristocracy among men. The grounds of this are virtue and talents… The natural aristocracy I consider as the most precious gift of nature, for the instruction, the trusts, and government of society. And indeed, it would have been inconsistent in creation to have formed man for the social state, and not to have provided virtue and wisdom enough to manage the concerns of the society… May we not even say, that that form of government is the best, which provides the most effectually for a pure selection of these natural aristoi into the offices of government?”
When Grace Kelly returned to the United States, Americans were happy to call her “Princess” and “Your Grace” — partly for the novelty of speaking these words, but also because she had, in their eyes, earned the deference by her “virtue and talents.”
[The Post sends out a special thanks for background information from fashion-and-culture writer P.J. Holmes.]