The Irene Dunne Site
Irene Dunne is glad PHOTOPLAY found out she had been secretly married. Here she is as Sabra, her glorious role in "Cimarron"
Irene's Secret Marriage
by Ruth Biery
Irene Dunne, Sabra of "Cimarron," is the wife of Dr. F. D. Griffin, a physician of New York City.
To tell or not to tell? That was the question which worried Irene Dunne when Radio Pictures signed her on a long-term contract, follwing her forty weeks in "Show Boat," and brought her to the Coast to star in musical pictures. Somehow, no one had ever inquired whether she was married or single. When she was on Broadway, it hadn't seem to matter, but when she came into pictures--
There was a long family discussion; there was a long professional argument with the officials of Radio Pictures. The old picture idea, you know, is: "Marriage hurts. If you must marry don't tell the world about it." Irene had been told it was one of the movie commandments and decided to keep silent.
It really didn't matter much to picture fans, either, until the present. For Irene Dunne was just a name until "Cimarron" was released and she gave the picture world one of its finest performances! Musicals died on the screen just as Irene was born to them. For months she drew salary and spent her time long-distancing her handsome, famous, far-away husband.
Then: "Leathernecking." We won't go into that. It was a bad picture - a very bad picture ... and Irene Dunne had better remained unborn to the screen, perhaps, then to make her initial apperance in it.
Then--"Cimarron"! And, suddenly, she became copy. Every newspaper in Los Angeles rushed to interview her. But they took it for granted, since she said nothing whatever about it, that she was single--so didn't even ask about it. "And the funny part about it is--we've been married for nearly three years. And the best part of it all is--we are happy. Why, he's been out here three times. Came by aeroplane; watched every test made for 'Cimarron'--has advised me on every movement. I wouldn't turn a hand without him. Oh, I'm glad, glad PHOTOPLAY found out and I can really talk about him!"
They were married in New York City, July 16, 1928, and sailed immediately for a six months' honeymoon in Europe. She had just finished "The City Chap," a stage play, with Dillingham.
"I expected to give up my career entirely. My husband was then opposed to the stage. He felt it would take the only thing he really wanted away from him if I went on after we married. It's strange to think of then and now. Today, he is my inspiration. His friends in New York can't understand it. He talks and boosts and encourages and wants his wife's career, just as he used to fight it."
There was not the least reason for Mrs. Dr. F. D. Griffin to continue work. Her husband was almost born next door to Calvin Coolidge. An old, ancestored New England family. When she met him, he was a bachelor with an apartment on Park Avenue, a name and plenty of money. They met before she went on stage. She had just come to New York from the Chicago Musical College and was staying with friends while job-hunting.
When he asked her to marry him and then announced that his wife couldn't work--she didn't see him any more. She realized he had the old New England inhibition about stage people.
The lead in the eighth road company of "Irene" sent her on the road for forty weeks.
At the end of those forty weeks she returned, more determined than ever that a man should not swerve her from her determined love for her profession.
But back in New York. Ah--Irene Dunne found that she, too, was only a woman. She found work, easily. But she also found she had a heart which could miss beats and never seem to catch them again. After all, what did work matter?
You've seen it happen again and again. A woman in love--Irene Dunne had fallen in love in spite of herself. There was only one thing she could do. She became Mrs. Griffin.
Nor has it been easy in Hollywood, either. When the offer came so many commented: "To Hollywood alone; into pictures, it will only be a matter of time--"
And the rumors that always encircle a Hollywood woman. "Who is the lucky suitor? Who's Irene Dunne's boyfriend? How did she get such a break in 'Cimarron'?--" Irene didn't like them. But she bidded her time and said nothing.
Their telephone calls while she was away averaged about seven hundred dollars monthly. Every night they talked across the miles. And after "Cimarron" opened in New York--Irene says:
"He went with a party of twelve. After it was over, he went into a room, alone, and telephoned me. When he's excited he doesn't get boisterous or loud. His voice gets deep and throaty.
"It was so deep that night, I could scarcely understand what he was saying." Tears came to her eyes.
"Oh, it's grand to be married and grand to be able to talk about it. I'm so grateful to PHOTOPLAY for discovering it. If he hadn't been willing I shouldn't have come to Hollywood."
Strangely enough, we old Hollywood cynics believe in this marriage. We believe it's here to stay and no heights of fame which the wife can go will matter to either the wife or the husband.
(Photoplay, April 1931)