{New Article} 1949: My Plans for Gable

This article from 1949 is a bit different, in that it is written by Clark himself! I am a bit skeptical that he sat at a typewritter and wrote this out, but I do see that it definitely is his perspective; his voice shines through.

…

that would be the perfect life for me when I am not working; to be able to go among the people, mix closely with them and be accepted just for myself.

Actually I can’t, of course. Now, people don’t mob me or tear off my sleeves for souvenirs or anything like that. They always seem nice and friendly—sort of treat me as an acquaintance. But still—well, I know they’re really looking on me as a curiosity, as a movie star.

Not that I’m crying bitter tears about the situation. I worked hard to get where I am, I wanted it, and I am grateful for the way things turned out. But the longing to mingle as just as ordinary citizen is always there and it gets stronger whenever vacation time comes around.

He was always so grateful and courteous to fans but the longing to just be part of the crowd was always there. It’s a bit sad, in a way.

Well, in my vacation I may fish, I’ll play golf, but I won’t hunt. I won’t hunt because somehow I have lost my taste for it, especially deer hunting. The last time I hunted deer was at Kanab, Utah. I had my rifle to my shoulder and a fine bead on a deer when it suddenly came over me that I couldn’t pull the trigger.

I let my rifle drop and the guide with me looked astonished.

“What’s the matter, buck fever?” he asked.

“No,” I replied. “I just changed my mind.”

The truth was that the deer looked too beautiful, standing there, for me to drop him and spoil the picture. I’m not trying to propagandize about hunting. Every man to his own taste. It just so happens that since that time, shooting a deer has become for me no more sporting than going out and shooting the old family cow.

I found this a bit surprising, that he gave up hunting. It didn’t last long, however!

Today, when I’m working in Hollywood, I’m still the homebody. Unless there is a special occasion involved I drive straight home from work, have my dinner, read and go to bed. If I go out at all it is on a weekend. Any time you read an item about my being seen in a night club you can pretty well bet it was on a Saturday night.

When the picture I am working on is over and done with, I can’t stay put any longer and I’m off.

Why? Why not stick home? I don’t know. Iron bars do not a prison make, as the old saying goes, and my trouble may be that neither does brick or wood make a home. It just makes a house. There’s a difference.

Oh, I know what the difference is all right. Maybe I’ll meet up with her some day. Maybe that’s what all this traveling is about. A man can never tell.

 He sounds so lonely in this! Just as this issue hit shelves, he had run off with Sylvia Ashley and it’s no surprise why–he just seems so wistful.

You can read the article in its entirety in the Article Archive.