Skip to Main Content
Have library access? Log in through your library
The Search for Sam Goldwyn

The Search for Sam Goldwyn

A Biography by Carol Easton
Copyright Date: 1975
Pages: 304
  • Cite this Item
  • Book Info
    The Search for Sam Goldwyn
    Book Description:

    Sam Goldwyn's career spanned almost the entire history of Hollywood. He made his first film,The Squaw Man, in 1913, and he died in 1974 at the age of ninety-one. In the many years between, he produced an enormous number of films--including such classics asWuthering Heights, Street Scene, Arrowsmith, Dodsworth, The Little Foxes,andThe Best Years of Our Lives--and worked with many luminaries--Gary Cooper, Ronald Colman, Laurence Olivier, George Balanchine, Lillian Hellman, Howard Hawks, John Ford, Eddie Cantor, Busby Berkeley, Danny Kaye, Merle Oberon, and Bob Hope among them. When Samuel Goldfisch was born in the Warsaw ghetto, he was penniless; when Sam Goldwyn died in Los Angeles, he was worth an estimated $19 million.

    The Search for Sam Goldwynlocates the real Sam Goldwyn and shatters the "hostile conspiracy of silence" that protected his legend. In writing Goldwyn's story, Carol Easton has given us a fine examination of "the civilization known as Hollywood" and how Goldwyn himself shaped that culture.

    eISBN: 978-1-62674-029-7
    Subjects: History, Film Studies

Table of Contents

Export Selected Citations Export to NoodleTools Export to RefWorks Export to EasyBib Export a RIS file (For EndNote, ProCite, Reference Manager, Zotero, Mendeley...) Export a Text file (For BibTex)
  1. Front Matter
    (pp. 1-6)
  2. Table of Contents
    (pp. 7-8)
  3. Foreword
    (pp. 9-10)

    The daughter of a Hollywood agent, Carol Easton brings plenty of authority to her tour of the classic era of studio filmmaking—though her revealing biographical exploration of the crusty and powerful studio mogul encountered significant opposition from those concerned with their standing in the Hollywood hierarchy. Easton paints a vivid picture of life under Goldwyn’s sway—including the producer’s reaction to Dana Andrews’s stubborn insistence on renegotiating his contract after his great performances inLaura(1944) andThe Best years of our Lives(1946): “Get outa my office! I’ll never speak to you again! I won’t talk to your...

  4. Establishing Shot
    (pp. 11-12)

    My father was a Hollywood agent who died thinking he was a failure because he never made a lot of money. Sam Goldwyn was a Hollywood producer who left an estate of $19,000,000 and died thinking he was a success.

    They had a lot in common, my father and Mr. Goldwyn. Money was their motive and their measure. My father made friends instead of money; but he wouldn’t play the game. Goldwyn invented the game; he made up the rules as he went along, and had all the friends money could buy.

    Indeed, Goldwyn had everything money could buy; status,...

  5. 1. From Ghetto to Gloversville
    (pp. 13-20)

    In 1947, a handful of Hollywood's royalty attended a dinner party given by Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Goldwyn in their sixteen-room home in Beverly Hills, just down the road from Pickfair and adjacent to the William Randolph Hearst estate. The five-acre Goldwyn spread contained all the obligatory Hollywood status symbols: swimming pool, tennis courts, manicured gardens and, as an added touch of opulence (an anniversary gift from Mrs. Goldwyn to her husband), croquet courts.

    The menu, planned by Mrs. Goldwyn, was elegant; the wines, selected by Mrs. Goldwyn, superb. Every detail was first class, just like a Goldwyn movie. The...

  6. 2. The Squaw Man
    (pp. 21-24)

    The villain of the embryonic movie industry was the General Film Company, a monopoly commonly known as The Trust. It had been formed in 1909 by a group of producers who used their patents on cameras as a means of keeping potential competitors out of the action. The Trust exercised airtight control over the length, distribution and cost of its films; it also controlled the exchanges that bought the pictures which they in turn rented to theater owners for whatever the traffic would bear. The Trust even collected protection money-two dollars a week, called a “license fee”—from each of...

  7. Process Shot
    (pp. 25-30)

    Sam Goldwyn seemed a natural subject for a biographer, certainly a legitimate one. His career spanned the life cycle of Hollywood; its last lingering illness was in sync with his own. He was the most stubbornly independent producer in the business, financing his own pictures, beholden to no one, passing no bucks (except his own). He was a public figure who spent fortunes advertising himself along with his pictures; colorful “Goldwynisms” contributed to his legend. Most intriguing of all, nothing of any depth had ever been written about him. His long, active life seemed to promise untapped veins of rich...

  8. 3. The Goldfish Touch
    (pp. 31-37)

    A full-page ad in a March, 1914, issue of The Moving Picture World announced the second production of the Lasky Feature Play Company:Brewster’s Millions,based on another successful Broadway play. With standard Goldfish hyperbole, the ad proclaimed Jesse Lasky “America’s Most Artistic Director,” Oscar Apfel “Acknowledged Peer of Directors and Genius of Innovators,” and De Mille “Master Playwright, Director and Author of Numerous Dramatic Successes.” In hindsight, De Mille found the omission of Goldfish’s name “a tiny cloud, a portent of coming storms.”

    “There was jubilation in the barn,” wrote De Mille, “when I returned to Hollywood to plunge...

  9. 4. Good-bye, Mr. Goldfish
    (pp. 38-45)

    Sam was not about to rest on his million. “I was accustomed,” his (ghostwritten) memoirs relate, “to a life where every working hour was inspired by the one thought,

    ‘How can 1 make the Lasky Company more significant?’ You can imagine, therefore, the terrible blankness of those days following my resignation. Feverishly I cast about me for a new outlet for my organizing energy.”✷

    Nineteen sixteen was a transitional period for the industry; actors, producers, distributors and theater owners were all scrambling for the largest possible piece of the action. Substantal businessmen were beginning to invest tentatively in the new...

  10. Process Shot
    (pp. 46-49)

    Blanche Lasky’s account of her marriage to Sam Goldfish is buried in her brother Jesse’s papers-scrapbooks, correspondence, photographs, scripts, clippings and other assorted memorabilia-now the property of the City of Los Angeles. The papers were bequeathed to the city for its Hollywood Museum₂ which subsequently became a political football and went out of play, inextricably tangled in bureaucratic red tape. For the past seven years the city has stored the Lasky collection, along with an estimated three million dollars’ worth of unduplicatable artifacts of the civilization known as Hollywood: original motion picture equipment, including the projector used for the first...

  11. 5. Eminent Authors
    (pp. 50-57)

    In 1919, Goldwyn’s passion for gilt by association manifested itself in a new experiment: Eminent Authors.

    The quality of motion picture directing and photography had gradually improved since the one-and two-reeler days, but scenario writing remained primitive. Most of the early feature films were based on well-known plays or novels to which, in his Sam Goldfish days, Goldwyn had acquired screen rights which entitled him to remake the same story an unlimited number of times. But the movie rarely did justice to the originals. Most scenarios were stiff and static, with superficial, stereotypical characters. No serious writer took screenwriting seriously....

  12. 6. Behind Behind the Screen
    (pp. 58-62)

    Catastrophe was Goldwyn’s muse. Never a drinker, he got high on chaos. When external events provided a hook on which to hang his free-floating anxieties, he was at his finest. 1919 was such a time.

    During the war, costs had skyrocketed while the European market shrank. Threatened with bankruptcy, Goldwyn maneuvered his way through a minefield of creditors, meeting a weekly payroll of $90,000 by a series of eleventh-hour machinations that left his partners breathless. Exhausted and exasperated by his brinkmanship, they voted him out of the corporation; he wheeled and wangled his way back into their good graces and...

  13. Process Shot
    (pp. 63-67)

    Hollywood, always an easy target for cheap shots, views journalists with a wariness bordering, on paranoia. The only Hollywood personalities who exhibit any cordiality toward the press are either ambitious lightweights (irrelevant to this book) or well-established heavies with indestructible reputations. But this latter group is a rapidly diminishing one, and the recollections of the survivors have been strip-mined by students, writers and researchers.

    Septuagenarians who haven’t yet published books are writing them, or contemplating writing them, and have belatedly realized that if they are profligate with their recollections, their own books will contain only warmed-over material. A plethora of...

  14. 7. Free at Last
    (pp. 68-78)

    In 1922, having been voted out of two companies, Goldwyn formed a third: Samuel Goldwyn Productions, Inc., a totally independent venture with no stockholders, no partners and no board of directors. The Goldwyn Company immediately filed an action in the United States District Court to enjoin him from releasing pictures under the legend “Samuel Goldwyn presents,” on the grounds that the name had been used by the company since its incorporation in 1916, before Goldfish became Goldwyn.

    Sam was, of course, outraged. He fought the injunction and a hilarious legal battle ensued, culminating in a compromise: he could use the...

  15. 8. Making Whoopee
    (pp. 79-86)

    Although she was not to the manor born, Frances Goldwyn was, in the early days of her marriage, a passionate parvenu–a zealous student of the mores and manners that ruled the town. For in spite of its reputation for wildly Haunting convention, the hautmondeof Hollywood was actually about as unconventional as the populace of Gopher Prairie. It was only in their conventions that they differed.

    By the mid-twenties, Goldwyn had acquired a large home in Hollywood, not far from the studio, and a house at Santa Monica, where the industry’s elite had established a beachhead. Lasky, Mayer,...

  16. Process Shot
    (pp. 87-97)

    Mervyn LeRoy’s office is high up in the high-rent district, at the west end of the Sunset Strip in a towering complex of buildings in front of which liveried chauffeurs lean on their limousines. The view from LeRoy’s desk is awesome, the spaciousness extravagant, the appointments plush. Trophies, plaques, scrolls and at least one Oscar line the walls. Judging by the difficulty LeRoy’s secretary had had fitting me into his schedule, I expected his office to be a scene of mad activity; but if this was the eye of a hurricane, it was cleverly disguised.

    When I arrived, in midafternoon,...

  17. 9. Selling “The Goldwyn Touch”
    (pp. 98-105)

    Goldwyn followed the success ofWhoopeewith three more light, entertaining pictures, all directed by the prolific George Fitzmaurice, all photographed by George Barnes, all released in 1930.One Heavenly Nightstarred Evelyn Laye, John Boles and Leon Errol. Raffles andThe Devil To Paystarred Ronald Colman with, respectively, Kay Francis and Loretta Young.

    Raffleshad already been filmed several times—one silent version starred John Barrymore—but the part might have been written to order for Colman, who played the gentleman thief with his usual panache. Colman had received an Oscar nomination forBulldog Drummond,and his (and...

  18. [Illustrations]
    (pp. None)
  19. 10. Goldwyn’s Garbo
    (pp. 106-112)

    Hollywood underwent a delayed reaction to the Depression; not until 1933 did the industry bite the bullet. Attendance dropped to half of the 1931 figure, when 50 percent of the population had gone to the movies every week. In the most frantic scramble for survival since 1919, salaries were cut to the bone. Early in 1933, two major studios went into receivership while two others trembled on the brink. The false bottom was dissolving. Producers contemplated the abyss, and panicked.

    Paradoxically, the demand for product continued to grow. Movies, which had begun as “chasers” to clear the house for the...

  20. Process Shot
    (pp. 113-120)

    The search for Sam Goldwyn became a scavenger hunt. In five months of rummaging through the refuse of people’s minds and writings, I had accumulated a bewildering mass of fragmentary and contradictory facts; the framework remained maddeningly out of reach. The elusiveness of the people I believed might fill in the framework made it impossible for me to get a handle on what really drove Goldwyn, what kept him competing until time forced him out of the game. My research led into a hall of mirrors. Which one reflected the real Sam? Was there a real Sam? His secret—if,...

  21. 11. Gilding “The Goldwyn Touch”
    (pp. 121-128)

    In 1935, after a painful year of assorted bankruptcies, reorganizations and economies, the motion picture industry pulled itself together and hovered on the brink of what would come to be called its Golden Age. The major studios staked claims to carefully defined segments of the mass audience. MGM’s output, averaging forty productions a year, was consistently aimed at the middle class. Paramount pictures were somewhat more sophisticated, while Warner Brothers offered working-class musicals and melodramas. In comparison with the number of pictures produced by these giants, Goldwyn’s four or five releases a year were negligible; but his relentless repetition of...

  22. 12. Willy Wyler: The Finishing “Touch”
    (pp. 129-139)

    Wyler, like Goldwyn, emigrated from Europe in his teens—but a generation later in time (1920), and under comparatively luxurious circumstances. His father was an Alsatian haberdasher who would have welcomed his son into the family business. Instead, Willy turned to his mother’s cousin, Carl Laemmle, a generous nepotist who imported scores of his relatives to America, where he gave them jobs in his motion picture company.

    When Laemmle obligingly hired him as a messenger boy in his Hollywood studio (Universal), Wyler delightedly recognized that he was in the right place at the right time. By 1924, he was an...

  23. Process Shot
    (pp. 140-148)

    I live thirty miles southwest of Hollywood, on a hill near the ocean. On rare days, when rain or wind displaces the smog, I can see, with breathtaking clarity, fifty miles or more: north to Malibu; west to Catalina; east—beyond the collage of little towns, from Westwood to Watts, known as Los Angeles—to the mountains that embrace the “basin.”

    I can remember when air pollution meant merely the smudge pots warming the orange groves. Jack Benny used to make jokes about it. The view I once took for granted startles and shocks me now with its unexpected beauty....

  24. 13. “The Great Goldwyn”
    (pp. 149-155)

    As the sole stockholder in his corporation, Goldwyn was under no obligation to make his profit and loss figures public. Box-office receipts could be authenticated, but his expenditures could not. His version of the earnings of any given picture were elastic, stretched to suit the occasion; the actual figures will never be known. Certainly he made, and lost, many millions. Judging by the longevity of his career and the size of his estate when he died, he managed to stay well ahead of the game.

    Goldwyn released five pictures in 1936. Two of themThese ThreeandDodsworth—made very...

  25. 14. Business as Usual
    (pp. 156-165)

    Goldwyn did not customarily cause disturbances on the set. His emotional pyrotechnics usually took place in his office, for the benefit of agents, distributors, writers and directors who challenged his omnipotence. Some of the most spectacular displays of all were reserved for his story editors.

    Of all the departments in the studio, the story department was the scene of the most frenzied activity, the least accomplishment and the highest turnover of personnel. Goldwyn respected writers for their education (always overvalued by the uneducated) and resented them for their intellectual superiority. His ambivalence manifested itself in a capriciousness that kept writers...

  26. Process Shot
    (pp. 166-171)

    Niven Busch lives and teaches in San Francisco, but he was in town conferring with Frank Capra about a potential motion picture. Busch suggested we meet at Capra's office. Capra’s office is on the Goldwyn lot.

    As the guard waved me through the gate (on Niven’s authority), I felt dizzily gleeful—behind enemy lines, and without having had to climb the back fence!

    The opportunity to reconnoiter the lot was irresistible; the shock of nonrecognition, profound. For openers, the seven acres that had been the back lot—where had stood the castle, the moat, the western street, the Russian village,...

  27. 15. The Goldwyn Follies
    (pp. 172-178)

    Ever since Sam had introduced his Goldwyn Girls to the screen in 1932, he had talked of out-Ziegfelding the Great Showman (who died in ‘32) with a musical extravaganza that would begin where Ziegfeld’s Follies left off.The Goldwyn Follies(1937) had everything but the Goldwyn Girls, and they were absent only for lack of room! It had George and Ira Gershwin to write music and lyrics, and tenor Kenny Baker to warble their songs; George Balanchine to direct the dances, and The American Ballet Company of the Metropolitan Opera (with soloist ballerina Vera Zorina, said to be one of...

  28. 16. Wuthering Heights
    (pp. 179-187)

    Wuthering Heightswas Goldwyn’s favorite of all his pictures. Long after the picture’s 1939 release, Frances Goldwyn gave a Los Angeles Times reporter her version of how it came about:

    Emily Bronte’sWuthering Heightswas in public domain when Walter Wanger engaged Ben Hecht and Charlie MacArthur to turn it into a screenplay. Wanger thought it was too sad; no comedy. Ben and Charlie had their office here on the lot, and Ben swept up the backstairs and handed the script to Sam. Sam took it home, read it and phoned Ben back the same evening: “Let’s do it!”


  29. Process Shot
    (pp. 188-193)

    Celebrities were never a big deal to me; they were what my father sold for a living. I met them frequently, and was not impressed. Dana Andrews, however, was the exception that proved the rule. At fifteen, I would have died for Dana Andrews. At forty, I found myself knocking on his door. Dana Andrews, as it happens, is the actor who holds the longevity record for staying under contract to Sam Goldwyn.

    Meeting one's idol is asking for trouble—especially when the meeting comes twenty-five years after the fact. For one thing, he is bound to be twenty-five years...

  30. 17. Disunited Artists
    (pp. 194-197)

    In 1925, only three years after vowing never again to involve himself in a partnership, Goldwyn became a member of United Artists, the company formed in 1919 by Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, Sr., D. W. Griffith and Charlie Chaplin. According to the company’s Articles of Incorporation, its purpose was “to improve the photoplay industry and its artistic standards and the methods of marketing photoplays” and “to market photoplays in the interests of the artists who create them.” In other words, the artists wanted a bigger piece of the action.

    United Artists produced no pictures itself, but assisted in obtaining financing...

  31. Process Shot
    (pp. 198-201)

    Collier Young’s office is pure Raymond Chandler. The neighborhood (borderline Burbank), the building (stucco) and the tiny, viewless room in which Young negotiates six-figure deals are tacky and anachronistic. The unmatched furniture is vintage Salvation Army, or Swap Meet; the decor—some crooked paintings and a couple of huge plastic daisies—Woolworth’s, or worse. Aside from a few scripts on the beat-up coffee table, the only reading matter in sight is a book commemorating the fortieth anniversary of Young’s 1930 graduation from Dartmouth. A layer of dust covers everything, except Collier Young. His face is familiar; two of his four...

  32. 18. The Midas Touch
    (pp. 202-208)

    Goldwyn followedThe Westerner with The Little Foxes.Lillian Hellman's screenplay (based on her Broadway hit) dealt with a mendacious, manipulative Southern family at the turn of the century.

    Much to the amusement of Willy Wyler, Goldwyn missed the picture's heavy social message (the exploitation of cheap labor) entirely; he thought it was a kind of nasty love story. “If Goldwyn only knew what I’m doing with Little Foxes!” Wyler confided to friends. “He doesn’t know it’s an indictment of a part of industrial society that he belongs to. He is very much a part of that same family!”


  33. Process Shot
    (pp. 209-217)

    The Malibu Colony was formed in the late twenties by a handful of picture people seeking a weekend retreat at the seashore. In contrast to the elaborate Santa Monica beach homes like Goldwyn’s, built for elegant entertaining, the Malibu scene was–well, tacky. The mile-long stretch of private beach contained around sixty small, ramshackle bungalows no more than six feet apart. The crowding, the thin walls and the inescapable smell of mildew made it the world’s most exclusive slum. But if one had no privacy from one's neighbors, one was securely protected from the prying public by walls, alarm systems...

  34. [Illustrations]
    (pp. None)
  35. 19. The North Star
    (pp. 218-222)

    When a Goldwyn production turned out well, it was always because the director–usually Willy Wyler–seized artistic control of the picture and hung on like a bulldog.The North Starwas a classic example of what happened in the absence of that authority. Everyone involved was at cross purposes, and the picture reflected the chaos from which it came.

    The North Starwas one of a half-dozen wartime films celebrating the courage and loveable character of our Russian allies. Lillian Hellman, author of the original screenplay, meticulously researched the manners and customs of the Russian peasantry in peace and...

  36. 20. Enter Danny Kaye
    (pp. 223-227)

    WhileThe North Starwas falling, Danny Kaye’s star was rising. When Goldwyn first saw him (on Broadway, starring inLady in the Dark), the comedian had already paid eleven hard years’ worth of dues on the Borscht circuit, in nightclubs, wherever he could scrounge a job. His name meant nothing to the moviegoing public-but neither, Goldwyn reasoned, had Eddie Cantor’s, untilWhoopeewas filmed. Hoping for another golden harvest such as Cantor had provided, Goldwyn brought Danny Kaye and his wife, Sylvia Fine, who wrote his special material, to Hollywood in 1943. He agreed to pay the unknown comic...

  37. Process Shot
    (pp. 228-233)

    When Sam Goldwyn left home every morning, he walked briskly (weather permitting) down Laurel Lane to Sunset Boulevard, then east to the borderline between Beverly Hills and West Hollywood–a distance of about three miles. At that point he got into his limousine, which had trailed behind him, and his chauffeur drove him through plebeian Hollywood to the studio. At the end of the day, he reversed the procedure. He performed the ritual religiously, claiming that it kept him fit. “It’s wonderful!” he’d exclaim to men half his age, who were hard-pressed to keep up with him. “You can just...

  38. 21. The Best Years
    (pp. 234-241)

    When Colonel William Wyler was discharged from the Army in 1945, he still owed Goldwyn one picture. Goldwyn gave him several properties from which to choose, and Wyler selected a short novel, written in blank verse and dealing with the problems encountered by three veterans when they returned to civilian life. It was calledGlory for Me.

    History-press agent history–has it that Goldwyn commissioned MacKinlay Kantor to write the story after Frances had directed his attention to an item on the subject inTimemagazine. Kantor, a respected journalist and novelist, asked his friend Dana Andrews to read the...

  39. 22. Losing “The Goldwyn Touch”
    (pp. 242-249)

    Goldwyn’s acceptance of the Thalberg Award was a rare moment of triumph; Frances likened him to “a child who’d gotten everything he wanted for Christmas.” It was a moment Sam Goldfish wouldn’t have missed for the world. Even while Sam was taking his bows, he could hear the voice of thatschnorrertaunting, louder even than the applause. MACHER! THIS MISTAKE WILL BE RECTIFIED! YOUR NEXT PICTURE WILL BE SUCH A FLOP, IT’LL MAKE NAN A LOOK LIKE A HIT! I SHOULD HAVE A NICKEL FOR EVERYBODY WHO STAYS AWAY. FROM HERE ON, K’NOCKER, IT’S DOWNHILL. Sam had heard that...

  40. Process Shot
    (pp. 250-261)

    1 grew up surrounded by actors who didn’t. (“Actors are children” is a truism frequently quoted by Goldwyn.) They had some immensely appealing qualities. What great playmates they made! Farley Granger, one of those professional Peter Pans, sipped coffee at an outdoor cafe on the Redondo Beach pier.

    “I was very young,” he said, looking not a lot older than he had thirty years ago. He was just seventeen when Goldwyn's casting director, Bob McIntyre, spotted him in a showcase production. (At that time, Hollywood was glutted with little theaters, called “talent showcases,” where aspiring actors worked for nothing in...

  41. 23. The Worst Years
    (pp. 262-272)

    As the forties ended, the industry as Sam had known it was going down for the last time. In 1948, the Supreme Court ruled that the major studios must divest themselves of their affiliated theater chains. Pictures would henceforth have to be sold on their individual merits, rather than being automatically booked into theaters controlled by the studios. Sam called the decision “essential to the health of our industry in order to break the stranglehold held by a few companies on the exhibitor market.” On the surface, it seemed to strengthen his bargaining position. But the decision, though fair, was...

  42. 24. The Last Years
    (pp. 273-282)

    Goldwyn’s last three pictures wereHans Christian Andersen(1952),Guys and Dolls(1955), andPorgy and Bess(1959).

    Hans Christian Andersenwas a moderate success;Porgy and Bess,an unmitigated disaster; andGuys and Dolls,a mitigated one.

    Goldwyn’s original choice to playHans Christian Andersenwas Gary Cooper, with Moira Shearer to costar as the ballerina. But Shearer got pregnant and Cooper became unavailable. The picture starred Danny Kaye, Farley Granger (in his last picture for Goldwyn) and Jeanmaire, with Roland Petit directing the dances.

    In 1951, after spending a fortune on at least twenty-one different screenplays (all of which he rejected), Goldwyn...

  43. 25. Fadeout
    (pp. 283-288)

    Goldwyn was seventy-seven years old when Porgy and Bess was released, but he continued to deny any thought of retiring. “I’ve never had more hope and enthusiasm than I have today,” he said, and referred somewhat coyly to pictures he was thinking of making but refused to name. One, he admitted, had a Middle East setting. “I have always been interested in the Middle East,” he said.

    With no more productions to hype, the press releases shifted their emphasis to Sam the Statesman, the Philanthropist, the Oracle, the Legend. In 1947 he had established a foundation, through which scholarships were...

  44. Epilogue
    (pp. 289-291)

    The obits paid predictable homage to the Legend and gave short shrift to the man. Eulogizers who had known Sam for decades spoke of him as a force, rather than as a friend. The inevitable Goldwynisms were disinterred and quoted (in a pseudosentimental tone), statistics recounted,✴ simplistic judgments made. Only Richard Schickel, who wrote, “Sam Goldwyn was his own greatest production,” got the point.

    The search for Sam yielded a dizzying diversity of images, reflected by the people who knew him (or thought they did), worked with him, fought with him, worshiped him, despised him, feared him, respected him, ridiculed...

  45. Bibliography
    (pp. 292-296)
  46. Index
    (pp. 297-304)