1934: Clark Gable’s Real Family Life!

By James M. Fidler

Screenland, October 1934

You’ll know Clark, here in this  story, in a new way—wholesome, manly, entirely likeable!

For the first time Clark talks about his stepchildren! Here’s a new and refreshing slant on a Hollywood idol!

This is a story about Hollywood’s outstanding friendship. It is about the magnificent good fellowship that binds a stepfather and his children. It is the story of Clark Gable’s fond regard for his own stepchildren, Georgianna and Alfred, and of their equal respect and love for him.

Actually, the comradeship involves Gable and Alfred more than Gable and Georgianna, because, while Clark is fond of his stepdaughter, his real affection is devoted to Al. Between the two of them there is an almost father-and-son-like quality to their mutual admiration. It is with Alfred that Gable spends the greater portion of his spare time.

One remark that Gable uttered, when I went out to his house to talk with him about the children, struck me as being almost a “believe it or not.” Clark said that neither the son nor the daughter has the slightest interest in motion pictures except as a mode of entertainment!

“Georgianna has been inside the studio fewer than half a dozen times,” Gable told me. “Alfred has been there only twice. One of his visits was for the express purpose of meeting me, to go with me on a fishing trip. The other time, he came to watch the photographing of a intricate process shot for a picture called ‘Night Flight.’ Al wants to be an aeronautical engineer, in fact, he is already studying toward that end. He came to the studio because he was anxious to observe at close quarters our studio method of making technical shots of airplane maneuvers.”

“He is interest in aeronautical engineering?” I echoed. “You mean, he doesn’t want to follow in your footsteps, he doesn’t want to become a screen star?”

“He wants to be an engineer,” Gable repeated. “He doesn’t like motion pictures. He particularly dislikes all the ballyhoo that goes with the business. Do you know, he refuses to pose for photographs with me, because he doesn’t want his face plastered all over! He has seen people crowd around me in public places, demanding autographs. He doesn’t want to be Clark Gable’s son and have to stand for the same pawing. At school, few save his better friends know that he is the stepson of a motion picture actor.

“Al and I knew each other before I was plumped into all this fame stuff that has happened to me. A few years ago, we often went downtown together, attended previews together, or went to the various popular restaurants around Hollywood. He won’t go with me now, because he has seen the autograph-seekers surround me. He doesn’t like it. He has told me he doesn’t like it. So he refuses to accompany me to public places except when it is unavoidable.

“He has no awe for me as a screen star. He isn’t at all interested in the fact that I’m an actor. I honestly believe he’d be happier if I were not an actor; if I were just an ordinary business man not surrounded by the halo and fuss that the public creates around its screen favorites.

Al never talks to me about pictures. For that matter, neither does Georgianna. When I return home from the studio nights, Al and I engage in his problems. He never asks, ‘What is Greta Garbo like?’ or ‘What is Joan Crawford like?’—because he isn’t interested. Instead, he invites me to help him solve his troubles. He brings out his engineering books and paraphernalia, and first thing I know, we’re sprawled together on the floor of his workshop.

“Now, I don’t know beans about engineering! I never could figure out mathematical problems. I’m a total loss at construction posers. I can’t even nail two boards together and know they’ll stay nailed. So pretty soon, Al is telling me things, explaining intricate matters to me. At times, I guess he things I’m a pretty dumb egg. Yeah and insofar as engineering is concerned, I guess I am. And no smart cracks, you!

“Al is all boy, thank God! Oh, I’d be fond of him, even if he were not. But I might not be as proud of him, and likely as not we wouldn’t be the pals we are. I’m pretty much of an out-of-doors fellow. So is he. He rides, swims, plays tennis and golf, and fishes and hunts with the best of us. He learned to swim when he was four years old. He simply jumped in the water, and he had to swim or down.

“He has real courage—the deep-down, natural kind. Proof of this came to me two years ago. Al likes dogs; in fact, he’s crazy about them. Likes all sorts of animals, as far as that goes. But dogs in particular. Pedigreed or mongrel, dogs are dogs to Al, and he takes to them like a nose to a sweet flower. Well, I had just arrived home from the studio, a couple of years ago, when I saw Al coming down the street from school swinging his books on a strap. Between the boy and our house, a neighbor was taking her big dog out for an airing.

“Boylike, Al stepped up to the dog and extended his hand. Without warning, the dog leaped for his throat. Al thrust up his arm to protect himself, and this deflected the dog’s aim, so that instead of seizing the bare throat, he caught Al’s chin and lower lip between his jaws. The girl-owner screamed, and jerked on the leash. Her jerks pulled the dog loose, but the animal’s teeth left a jagged, ugly cut across the boy’s lower face.

“During the entire sickening episode, Al didn’t utter a sound. The whole thing transpired so rapidly that I hadn’t time to aid him, although I started at once, of course. When I reached his side, he was walking toward home, and the blood was pouring from the wound. I hurried him into the house, summoned a doctor, and watched while the physician cauterized and dressed the wound. Not once, from the moment the dog leaped for him until the end of the episode, did Al open his mouth.

“I believe that was the day when I first discovered a deep respect for him. I had loved him before, naturally, but nothing had ever taken place to make me want to put my arm around his shoulders—as I did immediately following the doctor’s departure. We’ve been pals ever since; real pals.

“Al often goes with me on fishing and camping trips. When we go away on such jaunts, we don’t take a flock of servants with us. We go alone, or with a few other friends who also go to hunt and fish. Al never loafs because he’s the kid of the crowd. He knows how to pitch tents, and he knows what has to be done around camps. He apportions himself a share of the work—and no shirker’s share, I tell you—and attends to it. He does about as much work as any of us.

“I’ll never forget the time when he fired a shotgun for the first time. It was only a couple of years ago, and he was still a little shaver. He had been shooting rifles for a year or so, but for some reason he had never handled a shotgun. Now if you know anything about firearms, you know that a shotgun packs a kick like a jolt of lightning. I’ve known men to have their collarbones broken by the back-punch of a shotgun. Well, Al picked up my gun and took aim at something. He pulled the trigger and bang!—he was sitting there on the ground three feet away, with the silliest expression on his face that I’ve ever seen. I let go of a big guffaw; I couldn’t help it. He grinned sheepishly, rubbed his shoulder, got to his feet—and asked for another load! I passed him a shell with just this bit of advice: ‘Brace yourself.’ He braced, and pulled the trigger again, and this time he was ready for the kick.

“That’s the way he does things. That’s the way I do things, too. I suppose we’re closer to each other because we go at our problems in the same manner.

“When I leave for my next deer hunt, Al is going along. I usually go down into the heart of Arizona to hunt deer, and the chase calls for lots of real horseback riding, which includes jumping fences and barriers, fording streams, and riding up and down steep embankments. Al’s preparing for his first deer hunt now. He is spending most of his spare time in the saddle, learning to stick when the horse jumps. The kind of riding we’ll do down in Arizona is dangerous, but I know Al will come through. If he does have a few nasty spills, he’ll get up and try again.

“I like the way he keeps his mouth shut, when nine out of ten youngsters would be whining. When I came back home from the hospital a few months ago, after my appendicitis operation which had ended with peritonitis, I looked like a ghost. I had lost fifty pounds. Al took one look at me, compressed his lips, and said, ‘Hello, Clark.’ He always calls me Clark; I call him Al. I got some sort of a grin together and answered, ‘Howdy, Al.’ Not a word about the hospital stay.

“Well, a few weeks after that, he was stricken with appendicitis. The doctor came to the house and pronounced it an emergency case. He ordered that Al be rushed to the hospital. Of course, I went along. I watched him closely. We’ve never talked about it since, but I’m pretty sure that he was thinking of how I looked the day I returned from the hospital.

“He was a little nervous, I guess. Who isn’t nervous, going to a hospital for a major operation? But he had only one thing to say. He said it when the physicians came to his room to administer the anesthetic. Al said, ‘I guess taking out my appendix is going to hurt, doc. Just make it as easy as you can. I can take it!’ Of course, he didn’t know that ether would deaden him to pain. He only remembered how worn and tired I had looked when I had been wheeled home from a similar operation.”

Suddenly Gable ceased talking. A slight frown furrowed the space between his eyebrows. His lips tightened slightly.

“You’re probably costing me my happy home,” he accused.

“How come?” I chirped.

“Al hates publicity,” Clark explained. “As I’ve told you, he won’t be photographed with me. The only pictures cameramen ever get are snapped without warning. Occasionally, when he and Georgianna go to a preview with me, cameramen from the various syndicates try to get pictures of us together. I’m willing—but they’re not. Except for one occasion at a railway station, they have never posed with me.

“This is the first time I’ve talked much about Georgianna and Al. And by the way, most of the talk has been about Al. I guess that’s because we men hang together. She and her mother are as pally as Al and I. At any rate, I’m going to have to square myself for squealing. And that won’t be easy.”

“I can suggest a remedy,” I offered.

“What?”

“Take Al along, the next time you go on a grizzly bear hunt.”

Clark mused over the idea. Then his face lit with a grin.

“Not a bad idea!” he said.