She seemed to pick up on my mood. With an inquiring look, she remarked, “I know it’s not much now, Dutch, but with some flowers and the desk lamp I have in the back, it’ll be okay.”
Smiling at her, I replied, “It’s just fine Maggie. You’ve done a splendid job. I just can’t see myself fighting this war from behind that damn gray flat top. Still, as the Colonel said, ‘Here I am and here I’ll stay.’
Maggie stared at me for a moment, then excused herself.
Sliding myself behind the desk, I ran my hands over its cool metal top, then opened and closed some of the drawers. Maggie soon reappeared with coffee and a beautiful colored-glass desk lamp. After fussing around for a few more minutes she sat down in the chair and commented, “Sometimes, Dutch, wars are fought with more than just guns and bullets. That’s what we do here. We fight for the hearts and souls of the American people, so they know just what young men like you are doing to win this war. It’s a big job worth doing right. I hope you’ll come to understand this.”
As she was speaking, I found myself thinking how beautiful and straightforward she was. Her words sounded genuine, as if they truly came from her heart as much as her head. My remarks about the war and the desk had disappointed her, and for this I apologized.
For the next two hours and three cups of coffee, Maggie and I got to know each other better. She answered many of my questions about Commander Knox, the OWI organization, and how our little Marine detachment fit in. When she talked about Colonel Ford, it was always with deep respect and admiration. He had been one of the true heroes of the first war, going to Europe as a Marine Second Lieutenant and returning two years later as a Major and Company Commander. After the war, he became one of the most powerful public relations people in Hollywood. To hear her tell it, he was individually responsible for the careers of such Hollywood film stars as Errol Flynn, Katharine Hepburn and Jimmy Stewart, to name just a few. He knew the town’s players and how to make those players work for our mission -- a mission, she emphasized, as important as guns and butter. Later in our conversation, she told me that the little white cottages that were the OWI offices had been used as bungalows by movie stars back in the days of silent films. Our building had, at one time, been the cottage used by Mary Pickford. Maggie’s office had been the parlor, the Colonel’s office had been her bedroom, and my little office had been the maids’ quarters. The bigger the star, the bigger the cottage, and we were lucky to have one of the biggest.
Maggie also gave me a tour of the kitchen, laundry facilities and large dressing room/bathroom behind the offices. In the late 1930’s, the studio constructed new cottages on the other side of the lot and had planned to demolish these to make way for another sound stage, but then the war broke out. Uncle Sam now leased the buildings for a dollar per year for the duration. The whole story brought a new perspective to my surroundings, and I found myself thinking, If only these walls could talk.
Time seemed to slip away, but then it always does when you’re enjoying good company. At one point, in mid-sentence, Maggie jumped to her feet, saying, “Gosh, Dutch, its eleven-thirty and you have to be at the Derby by noon.” She paused for a moment, looking at me, and then continued, “Do you have any idea what the Brown Derby is?”
Looking up at her, I smiled. “I’m guessing it’s a restaurant, since I’m meeting the Colonel there for lunch.”
“It’s more than just a restaurant, Dutch, It’s where the who’s who of this town meet and eat. You can’t be late.”
“Can you give me directions? Can I walk there in a half hour? If not, please call a taxi for me.”
Now she was smiling at me. “Walk? Taxi? No one walks in Hollywood, and cabs are harder to find than apartments. Come on. I’ll drive you there while we talk about getting you a car.”
She drove a 1940 black Buick two-door. It was a luxurious car and still smelled new. On the way, she asked if I could afford a car and, if so, what my budget might be. With the war on, only used cars were available, and even they could be hard to find, but she had a friend who might be able to help me out.
I told her that I had no idea what cars cost, but that I could afford whatever she thought was reasonable.
She turned to me with a puzzled smile. “Really? How refreshing. I didn’t realize Second Lieutenants made that kind of money.”
Looking back at her with a grin, I said, “You might call it an enlistment bonus my family gave me. Whatever you think is fair will be okay with me.”
When we pulled up in front of the Brown Derby restaurant, I started to get out of the car, but Maggie reached over and touched my arm, stopping me. When I turned back to look at her, she remarked, “Break a leg, Dutch. You’re going to be great at this job. I’ll see you later.”
I returned her smile, slid out of the car, and watched her pull away. Maggie was one amazing and resourceful lady, and I could see why she was Colonel Ford’s secret weapon. The only thing I didn’t understand was the ‘break a leg’ part.
The Brown Derby could only have fit into the fantasy world of Hollywood. Part of the building was shaped like an upright derby hat some three stories tall, fashioned out of brown-painted concrete. It was a bizarre-looking structure, with a blinking neon sign on top. Walking through the main door I thought, If this is where the celebrities and politicians hang out, my country is in trouble. A stuffy-looking man, dressed in a tux, guarded the dining room entrance and looked down his nose at me as I approached.
“May I help you, Lieutenant?”
“Yes. I’m here to meet Colonel Ford for lunch.”
“Colonel Ford?” He paused, looking uncertain, then said, “Oh, yes. Mr. Lennie Ford. He’s at his table.” He snapped his fingers.
A waiter appeared and was told to take me to Mr. Ford’s table in the California Room. This particular dining room was located under the concrete derby. The room was massive, with tables on the main level arranged around a small dance floor and bandstand. The second level was three or four steps up, and had rows of tables with white linens and silverware. All of them were taken by people drinking and talking.
The last level up had a long row of leather booths, all facing out into the room. Here I found Colonel Ford sitting alone, in uniform, sipping a martini. As I slid into the booth, the waiter handed me a menu, which I placed on the table.
“I hope I’m not late, Colonel.”
“No, you’re fine. I got here a little early, to go over your 214 file. Did you have any trouble finding the Derby?”
“No, sir. Miss Meede drove me…or is it Mrs. Meede?”
“It’s Miss. That was nice of her. I was afraid you might get lost in such a big city, after your year in the wilderness. Someday you will have to tell me why any young man would waste a year of his life living in a rainforest, like Tarzan.” He nodded at the menu on the table. “You better take a look. It takes forever to get chow here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Looking at the items offered on the menu, I couldn’t help thinking that the boys back at Camp Pendleton would have loved this place. The Derbyburger was two bucks, and you could order it cooked or raw! I had never seen food or prices so outrageous.
As I was perusing the list of options, a distinguished-looking gentleman approached our booth. “Lennie? Is that you? I’ve never seen you in uniform. You look grand. You should do it more often. Are you coming to the premiere tonight? If so, let’s have a drink afterwards. I have a project you might find interesting.”
“Yes, I’ll be there, Harry. See you after the show, at Carmen’s.”
Nodding approval, Harry continued on to the next booth, to talk to the people at that table.
The Colonel turned to me. “That’s Harry Watt of RKO. He always has a project he thinks I might like, but all