The Tony Curtis I Know

By Jeff Chandler (as told to Jane Kesner Ardmor)

Compact Magazine February 1955

According to Jeff Chandler, who’s like a big brother to Tony, here’s a warm hearted kid who can do no wrong!

Last Sunday, I paid my first visit to the new house, the beautiful, modern one-story home of Janet and Tony Curtis.  I had my kids with me.  As we drove up, I noticed the elegant pool, the driveway, the smart landscaping.

     This could be the home of any successful star in Hollywood until you come face to face with the huge paneled door.  There, in Tony’s un-professional printing are the words: CASA SCHWARTZ WELCOMES YOU.

     This is Tony.  He injects himself into everything.  Whatever he touches he touches with warmth, with brightness, with a bit of sparkle.  You laugh reading the sign on the door, but you know that you are welcome.  And you know too that the kid who was Bernie Schwartz still lives inside Tony Curtis.

     One day, not long ago, while he and Janet were working on The Black Shield of Falworth, we were having lunch in our dressing room and Tony started telling about his brother who died, the brother in between him and Bobby.  This lad was run over by a truck one day when the kids were playing follow-the-leader.  Tony’d been the leader.  He’d jumped over the little iron grating that ran around the basement of one of the houses.  Evidently, the younger brother couldn’t clear the low iron fence and dropped out of the game, but Tony didn’t know.  When he missed him and went back to look, the boy was lying dead in the street.  “That iron grating---“Tony said, “for years I couldn’t bring myself to jump that iron grating.”

     The way he told it broke us up.  He had opened a secret door and let us look.  If you’d never known before, you’d know hearing him then, why he’ll never be just a handsome shadow on the screen.  Behind Tony is Bernie.  He has matured, he has acquired abilities and tastes, he has learned to grow with his new life and use it well; but he hasn’t lost the original boy and that’s important.  That’s at the core.

     If I had a kid brother or sister, this is what I’d tell them: “Don’t lose your identity.  Hang on to that, that’s you; but grow, sharpen your perceptions, find all your abilities and talents and use ‘em”.  No one had to tell this to Tony.  That’s what he did instinctively.  He’s impulsive, he follows his instincts.  They’re good instincts.  Sometimes he’s been hurt by trusting people too much, but he’s learned from the hurts what to look for in himself.  Tony today has his instincts channeled, but the instincts are the same, basic instincts.  He knows who likes him and who does not.  Once he’s hurt maliciously, he never forgets it.

     When Tony was in grammar school, there was a kid who baited him.  They used to stand side by side in line to march into the school yard.  They stood along the curb, Tony on the outside, this kid on the inside.  This kid had a way of nudging Tony, knocking him off the curb into the street.

     “And with the trucks coming along!  It was a one-way street, I could have gotten killed!”  Tony says.  “That was at old Public School 82.  We moved and I went to another school but I never forgot this guy.  I’d look up his address in the directory every six months or so to be sure he still lived there.  He did.  When I came home from the Navy, I was restless.  I woke up one morning and this guy’s name popped into my head.  Mom wanted to know where I was going and I said “just around.”  I went downtown to the old neighborhood.  It was ten in the morning and the guy who hated me wasn’t there, he’d gone to work.  I hung around all day.  There were four steps on his front porch and I sat on those steps all day until he came home at six.  He came along, took a look at me and said, ‘Wait a minute.  Yeh, I know, Bernie Schwartz.’

     “Yeh,’ I said and I socked him, hard.  Just one punch but it came up from the pavement and with it came all the animosity, all the hurt I’d nursed for six years.  Not that I’m any pugilist.  He probably could have killed me, but my punch surprised him.  And that was that.  I didn’t need to hit him again.  I just went home.”

     This was the old Tony, the new Tony handles his hurts differently.

     You hear a lot about young actors and actresses who come out to this town and get confused.  Why wouldn’t they?  In the space of a fast two years they’re forced into a growth which would take most people a life-time.  If they’ve never read before, they have to read and read with understanding.  If they’ve come from a tough New York neighborhood as Tony and I both did, they have to acquire social know-how and savvy.  They have to be sharp, talk sharp, think sharp, dress sharp.  They have to be able to meet important people and not fall over their feet.  After having grown up with three squares a day but no money, these kids suddenly have plenty of money.  This isn’t easy.

     No wonder some of them get confused.  But Tony never did.  He’s learned and he’s learned well.  The goals are clear in that head of his and his heart’s in the same old place.

     You see the essential Tony in his relationship to his family.  He’s a tower of strength to his mother and dad, and to Bobby.  His father was a well-known actor in Budapest whose ambitions took a nosedive in America when he stumbled into the idioms of a new language.  As a youngster Tony worked in his dad’s tailor shop.  When he came out of the Navy and decided he wanted to be an actor, Mono Schwartz didn’t encourage him and he didn’t discourage him.  “So be an actor if you want to try it,” he said.  And Tony’s career has more than compensated the farther for the loss of his own.  He loves to come down on the set where Tony’s working.  He gets a boot out of meeting what he calls “real actors,” all of Tony’s friends.  He’s so proud of Janet he can hardly stand it.  Tony was on tour when his dad had a heart attack and he flew home at once.  He and Janet were with Tony’s mother, dad and brother, morning, noon and night, as they should have been.

     Tony has kept to the values his parents instilled in him.  Plenty of youngsters don’t consider it fashionable to belong to a minority group.  Tony’s not one of them.  He’s proud of being a Jew, he’s profoundly religious, not in the way of observing old forms and not with a religiousness that’s confined to one church.  He’s religious as he is feeling.  His mother and dad are that way, that’s how he was taught.  When the parents come out to see the new house, they brought a mezuzah to be put on the lintel of the door.  “You should live here with the best of health.”  To that, Tony and Janet say “Amen.”

     You see the essential Tony in his relationship with Janet.  This is a great marriage, not only because Janet and Tony are so in love but because they take their marriage seriously and have helped each other to grow.  Tony, in his new house, is like a kid playing with new toys, but he’s like a man too, a man who has found his place.  And essentially, his place is wherever Janet is.

     These two are about the busiest in a busy business.  Right now Janet is working nights on My Sister Eileen and Tony is working days on Purple Mask.  There are two careers and Janet and Tony are both so popular and their marriage is so popular that demands for interviews, picture layouts, benefit show, etc. are staggering.  They’ve learned to make time count.  They visit each other on the set, they have quiet dinners at home, they’ve learned to minimize all the business problems and concentrate on the pleasure of sharing.

     When they worked together on Black Shield of Falworth, they had a brain-storm.  Janet had one room of her dressing room bungalow converted into a bedroom and the Curtises moved into Janet’s dressing room for the five weeks of the picture.  When work was over, they took off their make-up, wandered across the road to Bill Story’s little restaurant for dinner, then came “home” to the dressing room to watch television, read or talk.  By living on the lot, they had more time together, less outside intrusions, more rest.  They were completely at home.

     The only difference when they’re at their own home is that Tony has more room for his hobbies—his trains, his model planes, his Hi-Fi’s, his painting.

     Tony was a romantic kid, he’s become a thoughtful and loving husband.  He says it’s a matter of evolution.  “It’s like ordering a tuna salad,  In it comes, all different colors, and gradually you see the tomato in itself, the lettuce as lettuce, each individual facet,  Well a beautiful girls is like that.   First all the wonderful color, then gradually, you see her closely, you realize all the facets.  Marriage is like putting on a glove, gently, gently, so it fits well.”

     Neither Tony nor Janet take their blessing for granted.  They count’em.  If Tony is a little impractical with money, it’s an impracticality on the wise side.  He loves the pleasure of providing the little extras for himself and Janet which he’s earned.  He’d be a chump not to have a swimming pool and a closet full of crazy clothes.  He’s able to buy Janet the charming trifles a gal like Janet should have, He’s been able to cultivate his tastes in music and art, to expand himself.  This is important.  He hasn’t lost Bernie but he’s lifted himself far beyond what Bernie and his circle could have imagined.

     You see the essential Tony in his relationship with his friends.  He’s a guy to who casual friendships are impossible.  When he loves he loves deeply.  He likes to have his friends around, just to sit in his house and be together.  He says he’s a miserable host,  I say he’s a good one.  He just lets people do what they want, he doesn’t offer entertainment.  The house is theirs, the ice box, the bar, the trains, the planes, the paints, the music.  He wants his friends to have whatever he has.

     He can be hurt, he has been, he’s vulnerable because he’s sensitive and completely giving, I understand this.  As a matter of fact, Tony and I are more than friends.  We’re like brothers.  He could have my life if he needed it and I’m sure I could have is’ but we make no demands on each other.  We don’t need to make demands.  We don’t need to make demands.  There have been times when we’ve gone without seeing each other for three months.  And the relationship is not diminished.  This is important.  Friendship shouldn’t be worked at.  If it can’t be comfortable and easy there’s something wrong, and unbalance that will eventually cause it to dissipate itself.  You don’t have to do anything to prove friendship, it’s like knowing that you love your parents.

     Oddly enough, in our six years at Universal-International, we’ve only worked together in one picture—a gag guest appearance in Meet Danny Wilson.  Maybe you remember.  In the safe scene, Sinatra trips and two guests in tuxedos pick him up.  Inside the tuxes were Curtis and Chandler.  Brief as it was, we had a ball.

     It’s hard for me to pin-point the early Tony because each year I’ve acquired so much more understanding of him.  We’re a lot alike.  I know this doesn’t reveal itself to those who’ve seen us only on the screen; but we come from similar environments and family backgrounds.  We have the same kind of sensibilities.

     I’m the older brother in this combine but that doesn’t mean I give advice—unless it’s asked for.  That’s another characteristic of Tony.  He’s not averse to asking for advice.  He listens well, then makes his own decisions.  That’s important—his making his own decisions.  It means that Tony has learned something we should all learn—that no one, no matter how close, knows your problems as well as you do.

     He was determined to be a good actor from the start; with the years, he’s seen his goal more clearly and directed his concentration along those lines.  I don’t know anyone who works as hard as he does.  First, the matter of speech.  If he makes the smallest slur, he’s sure someone will say, “There’s the Bronx!”  Anyone can make a slight slur, but Tony doesn’t think he can afford a single mistake.  He used to take a diction lesson every day and study Olivier and Gielgud recordings every night.

     He’s equally intense about his fencing technique, his acrobatics.  For So This Is Paris—his first song and dance role—he learned to dance.  And well.  He worked his head off with Gene Nelson and with choreographer Lee Scott.  You’ll catch him, in the picture, looking at Gene during a dance sequence as if to say, “Am I doin’ it right?”

     He loves to work and the work is paying off with a variety of roles.  Six Bridges to Cross is the best things he’s done so far, a role closer to the basic Tony, the tough guy with a heart of gold.  He wants to try all sorts of roles, would love to do Pal Joey—and he’d be so great for it.  Weld like to do some pictures together, both comedy and drama.  He doesn’t get all the roles he wants, no one does; but he can rationalize that now.  He knows that there are plenty of years to come and plenty of roles.  A little success and increasing maturity have given him more security.     His sense of humor—the wildest—is another thing that’s helped him keep his balance.  He’s always had this and it’s a great asset in movie making.  He’ll devise a dance sequence out of a fight routine.  He just can’t help it—because he enjoys living more than anyone I’ve every known.  Tony gets a kick out of everything.  Enthusiasm is the word for him.  And it’s no longer a naïve enthusiasm.  It’s been kicked around plenty and it’s still there and still bright.  And you know where that enthusiasm is going to take him?  It’s going to take him right to the top.  Because there’s plenty to back it up.  Like I said to start with—there’s sensitivity, warmth and heart.

That’s Tony.