Ron Onesti: Memories of Andy Hardy and Boys Town
My typically insane days usually end with some hot tea, maybe some pistachio nuts or chips, and a dose of late night television. For me, there is nothing more relaxing than the old black and white movies on TCM or one of the other vintage-style networks I watched as a child on our black and white TV, with aluminum foil on the bunny-eared antenna.
The other night, the classic 1938 film Boys Town came on, one of my all-time favorites. It starred Mickey Rooney who also teamed up with Judy Garland in the classic “Andy Hardy” film series. Boys Town was the story of Father Flanagan, a Catholic Priest in Nebraska who wanted to get post-Stock Market Crash of 1929 homeless boys off the streets. He would live by the premise that “There was no bad boy” and built a “town” that would house hundreds of who would otherwise be “wayward” boys.
Spencer Tracy starred as Flanagan, and Mickey Rooney played the brash Whitey Marsh who was, at least in the beginning of the film, the only “bad boy” Flanagan ever made an acquaintance with. Watching this classic black-and-white reminded me of what a versatile and talented actor Mickey truly was. He was ironically larger than life, despite his famously small stature.
A few years back, I hosted mickey Rooney at The Arcada, as he celebrated his 89th birthday. It was a completely magical experience, one that I could never forget. Being in awe of classic Hollywood and those legendary performers on the silver screen my entire life, it was no accident when I acquired the 1926 Vaudeville Theatre fifteen years ago. And as the theatre has been enjoying tremendous success evolving into a top live music venue the past few years, it has also been host to some of the biggest, most recognizable names in show biz. From Debbie Reynolds to Shirley MacLaine, Don Rickles to Joan Rivers and Hugh Jackman to Kevin Costner, many A-listers have appeared on the historic stage once graced by Edgar Bergan & Charlie McCarthy, George Burns & Gracie Allen, The Little Rascals, The Three Stooges, Duke Ellington and so many more.
Up until a couple of years before his passing in 2014, Mickey was doing a multi-media musical career retrospective show with his eighth wife, Jan. When the opportunity to host his show was offered to me, I think it was exactly twelve seconds later when I signed on the dotted line committing to the booking. This was going to be truly something special…talk about Hollywood royalty!
He was a bit standoffish when we first met. But as I went down on one knee as if to kiss his ring, he warmed up pretty quickly. He had this warm, grandpa-ish demeanor, with a twenty-four carat smile. Yeah, that was him alright. Even though the years had crept up on him, there was no mistaking that Andy Hardy smile.
So we visited television studios, phoned into radio stations and lunched with journalists. It was a press junket frenzy! He was tired, but was tireless when it came to giving the people what they wanted. “I never want to disappoint people,” he said. “I’ve been in more major motion pictures than anyone else in history, the only actor to have appeared in at least one film for eight straight decades, and that doesn’t happen if you disappoint the fans,” he proudly belted out. “We were making a movie a month sometimes, especially during the Andy Hardy years” he said. “We were all exhausted, but we just kept going. We (young actors) were taught to stick it out and that stayed with me my whole life. So let’s get this going!”
At dinner, and as the wine was flowing, I let my bold side take over and thought the time was right to cautiously bring up Judy Garland. You just never know how these stars will respond to something as personal as that.
His expression changed to one of sadness. “The biggest loss of my life, of all of our lives,” he said. “Such a tragedy. She really was the most marvelous entertainer in the history of show business.”
I asked why she wasn’t one of the eight women he ultimately married. “She was the sister I never had,” he said as he glanced up to the sky. “She had this major insecurity that frankly, endeared me to her. It was tough on all of us. I tried to be there for her as much as I could. But those early years were especially tough. We worked countless hours a week and slept when we could. Ya know, we barely made five thousand dollars each for most of our films! And we were the biggest stars of our time!”
One of my fondest memories was when I took him to a meeting of Italian American War Veterans earlier that week. I went to pick him up at the hotel and he walked out of his room with an actual War Veterans hat on. He actually traveled with it!
We arrived at the meeting to a hero’s welcome. There were about two hundred former soldiers, some were WWII guys in their eighties, who stood at attention and saluted Mickey as we walked in. It was very reverent and emotional.
The Commander of the Post welcomed Mickey and thanked him for his service in WWII. “Mickey, what you and your Hollywood friends did for the soldiers overseas, entertaining them and keeping up their morale, was nothing short of heroic,” the Commander said.
At that statement, Mickey jumped out of his seat. “Wait a minute,” he said. “I served in the Army under Patton. I wasn’t telling jokes and singing songs, I was fighting, I was in those foxholes just like all you guys.” He then folded back the lapel of his jacket to display his Bronze Star he received for Meritorious Service in the war. A quiet but very noticeable gasp filled the room. “I lost friends and I saw a lot of death out there. That is why I am such a proud American. That is why I came here tonight. To thank all of YOU! You are the heroes! It was we veterans who saved America,” he said as he puffed out his chest proudly.
So after a few days of these tremendous experiences, I thought I would host a dinner in honor of his eighty-ninth birthday. I had an upscale, Las Vegas-style supper club at the time, and it was packed. I reserved my biggest table, right in the center of the room. Nobody knew he was coming so as we walked in, you could hear countless forks being dropped onto plates, in utter disbelief. “Holy cow, is that Mickey Rooney?” each table whispered to each other. As he turned and smiled, the room burst into applause.
I asked Mickey if he would come to the front of the room to answer a few questions for the guests. Per classic Mickey Rooney style, he not only answered questions for people but also asked if he could play the one hundred year-old piano I had in the restaurant. He was masterful as he played and sang standards. We had all forgotten what a fine musician he was, often playing the drums in his earlier films.
The next night, he and Jan did the show. It was heartwarming and fun and tremendously cute. Songs and stories about a legendary career, with editorials about the politics of Hollywood along the way.
As we said our goodbyes the next day, he did present me with a personally autographed photo from his classic film, “Boys Town,” which I will always cherish. I am sure he is “Striking up the band” up there right now. As sad as it was to see him go, I can only imagine just how happy Judy was to see him once again. If he was to have had a final film at his passing age of 93, I am sure it would have been, “Andy Hardy Lights Up Heaven”!