Were I ever asked if Robert A. Mills was my real name, I would

be compelled to tell the truth: yes. However, had their roles been

reversed, my maternal grandfather, an immigrant Jew from Croatia,

my mother, as her first-born, would have named me after him:

Stephan D. Goran-Ivanisĕviċ, pronounced Gore-ánn-Í-vhán-iss-ah-
vićk — same as the 1991 Wimbledon winner.

What does the D. stand for? asked the misty-eyed attendant at Ellis Island.

Dstriudriespilious, muttered my eventual grandfather.

Hmmmm, said the sleepy attendant, writing without looking up in his

formal U.S.A. manifest for September 10, 1913,up, from now on you will

be known as Steven Delano Lasch . . .

The old attendant was obviously a navy man and devoted follower of the

then Secretary of the Navy, as well as the silent screen star Lash LaRue

(who, incidentally, taught Harrison Ford how to use a bullwhip for the

latter’s role as INDIANA JONES).

My eventual grandfather, also an aficionado of Saturday afternoon cinema

escapes, mistakenly mispronounced Lasch (Lasque) until he too fell in

love with the indubitable Lash LaRue.

Consequently, I was named after my paternal grandfather — with some

influence by my mother, as Robert A. Mills (the Robert in recognition of

her favorite actor, Robert Taylor, with whom as she smitten, and the A. in

difference to my old man, Arthur Alexander Mills).

I was baptized into my father’s and paternal grandparent’s church

(Methodist), and I have always distrusted infant-baptism. I was later

baptized into my mothers, wife’s, youngest daughter’s and son-in-law’s,

and maternal grandmother’s church (the Church of England — Episcopal),

and when I reached the age of reason and realized I did not give a damn, it

was too late (at least I could take Communion with people that mattered).

I went to Hollywood in the autumn of 1950 to ostensibly research material

for a novel about Buddy Clark, which I did not write until 2013-14.

Buddy who? you ask.

Buddy Clark, had he lived past his 30s, might have starred in GOING MY

WAY (an Academy Award performance), THE BELLS OF ST. MARY’S,

Cole Porter’s HIGH SOCIETY, and he might have won an Academy

Award for FROM HERE TO ETERNITY. Was he as good as Crosby and

Sinatra? No. He was better.

I did not learn much about Buddy Clark, who at 37 was killed in an

airplane crash in downtown Hollywood on Beverly Blvd, as he was

returning with five friends from a Stanford football game; he was the only

one killed in the crash.

Thus, in 1949 Samuel Goldberg, neė Buddy Clark, met his fate; a couple

years before Ella Geisman had become June Allyson. How many others

can you identify who adopted gentile names to camouflage their Jewish

origins?

Bette Persky, Bernie Schwartz, Issur Danielovich, Frances Rose Schorr,

Marion Levy, Muni Weisselien, Jack Garfinkel, Allan Weisfingel, Benny

Kubelsky, Asa Yoelson, Charles Bushinsky, Sara Gabor, Archibald Leach,

Chaim Liebovitz, David Kaminsky, Dorothy Kaumeyer, Mike Orowitz,

Joseph Levitch, Leonard Rosenberg, Tula Finklea, Samuel Goldfish, etc.,

etc.

The easiest name transition of all, from Jew to Irishman, was made by Lee

Jacob, to Lee J. Cobb. He barely needed to change his stationery.

Which reminds me of the story of the little old Jewish lady named Golda

Perlowitz, who didn’t show up at the fancy party thrown by her son,

a Park Avenue doctor, because she had forgotten his new name was

Prescott.

It is interesting to note that in their personal, off-screen relationships

within The Family — Hollywood and Broadway directors, producers and

moguls — always kept their Yiddish names.

It was only from the American public at large that they felt compelled to

hide their Jewish identity.

Beginning in the early sixties thru today, though, Jews no longer feel

they have to assume artificial identities to achieve success, although there

are still some throwbacks, well-known movie stars of today who have

traded in their Jewish names — Laura Horowitz for Wynona Ryder, as an

example.

Jeff Goldblum is just one well-known Jewish actor who uses his real

name. And, of course, the very Jewish Jerry Seinfeld was just about the

most popular TV sitcom of the 1990s.

So, the Golden Age of American Jewry can be defined as that period

during which Jews began to feel secure enough to be openly Jews; the

waning of that period can be defined by the erosion of Judaism caused

by the very freedom American Jews have won to be Jews openly. The

paradox is evident.

There is a wonderful story about Louis B. Mayer, head of MGM, (into

which Sam Goldwyn, the story has it, never set foot; his hatred of Mayer

is legendary). The most powerful man in 1930s and 1940s Hollywood

was Louis B. Mayer, who did everything he could to run away from his

Jewishness, except, interestingly enough, change his Jewish name. He

clung to it tenaciously.

During the heyday of the Nelson Eddy/Jeanette MacDonald musicals, it

seems that Mayer was unaffected by the lack of feeling MacDonald was

putting into one of her duets with Eddy. He summoned her to his office

and, telling her to watch him, got down on his knees and intoned the

beautiful and solemn Kol Nidre, the most moving prayer sung at Yom

Kippur, the Day of Atonement, in which a Jew begs God to spare his life

in the coming year, despite all the sins he has committed.

As Mayer sang, his renegade Jewishness escaped from every pore, and

tears poured down his cheeks.

He was no longer the motion picture tycoon; he was Louis Mayer, who

commanded the livelihoods and careers of Clark Gable, James Stewart,

Joan Crawford, Robert Taylor, Fred Astaire, Judy Garland et al.

He was just Louie, the shy little Jewish boy praying with his immigrant

family in their tiny, ramshackle ghetto synagogue.

That day in his palatial MGM office, when Mayer finally got up from the

floor, drenched in tears and perspiration, he saw Jeannette MacDonald was

also in tears. The story is that she went out and from then on poured her

heart and soul into duets with Nelson Eddy.

The Jew-Gentile-identity Hollywood hijinks of the 1930s produced even

more incidents.

For example, in 1932 David Selznick (seven years before he bankrolled

GONE WITH THE WIND) he produced SYMPHONY OF SIX

MILLION, a tearjerker about a brilliant young Jewish doctor from the

Lower East Side, who turned down fame and riches to dedicate his life to

healing the poor.

The ideal actor to portray the doctor, Selznick felt, would be a Jew who

could be expected to feel the part and thus make it particularly authentic.

But, surprisingly, no Jewish actor (with a Jewish-sounding name) was

available,

So, after much searching, Selznick finally cast as the idealistic doctor a

young Latin actor named Ricardo Cortez, whose dark good looks were

sufficiently Jewish-looking enough to convince a movie audience that

Cortez was Jewish — he played the part so well that both he and the

movie received much acclamation.

Small wonder.

Ricardo Cortez’s real name was Jacob Krantz, and the story is that not

even his co-star, Irene Dunne, nor David Selznick, nor the critics, nor

anyone else, knew he was, in fact, a Jew.

Also, a famous Broadway play of the late 1920s was COUNSELOR

AT LAW; a tale of a Jewish immigrant kid from the Lower East Side

named George Simon who rises to become one of New York City ’s most

powerful and sought-after lawyers.

The play starred Paul Muni as Simon. When Hollywood bought the play

to turn it into a movie, its director, William Wyler, pleaded with Muni to

play the part on screen. Muni refused; he feared being typecast as a Lower

East Side Jew, which, of course, is exactly what he was.

So the part went to that charismatic gentile, John Barrymore, who played

it brilliantly. Nevertheless, already in the early stages of his alcohol-
caused dementia, the Great Barrymore had trouble learning the Yiddish

phrases that would make him convincing as a New York Jew – phrases

that Muni, of course, could toss off in his sleep.

Jesus H. Christ, allegedly had a sign nailed to his cross, which announced

he was the KING OF THE JEWS. Which he was not, and a sign that I do

not believe appeared on the cross.



So, although at age 82, I might prefer to be Stephan D. Goran-Ivanĕseviċ,

I will remain yours, as always, Robert A. Mills.

Robert A. Mills

Copyright© 2013, all rights reserved