Catching Some Luck

It was, Murphy reflected, one of those days. One of those days inside one of those weeks inside one of those years inside of his whole life. The week had actually started well. He won ten thousand dollars in a poker game, when his seven-four off-suit draw paired at the river, and the ace-queen suited he was bucking failed to improve. Once in awhile fortune did favor the bold, though not often enough. Fortune, are you listening? You still owe me!

Ten grand was a large enough brick to begin building a castle, even an empire. He had invested it wisely, not putting all of his eggs in one basket. A few races here, some college basketball there, and it being fall, we can’t neglect the NFL, now can we? The eggs may have been in different baskets, but most of them cracked. Not only was his wallet ten thousand dollars emptier than it was a few days ago, but he owed sixty-six hundred to Conrad the Claw. Murphy wasn’t sure why Conrad was called “the Claw.” He was sure he wasn’t going to ask. Other than Conrad the only people Murphy knew who might know the answer were Conrad’s collectors, Ray Carpenter and Sebastian Wu. Some wag had dubbed them “Hammer and Tongs.” They hated being called Hammer and Tongs. They also hated being called Mr. Carpenter and Mr. Wu. They hated hearing anything except for two things: “Here is all of the money I owe,” or “ow!”

Murphy saw only one way to get the money back. Which is why he was trudging around the Fred Enke Golf Course, one of the City of Tucson’s finest, on a Sunday afternoon, when he could be watching the games with a cold beer and warm nachos at a sports bar like the Depot. Instead, he was across town, carrying his own clubs because he couldn’t afford a caddy, trying to win some money off his buddy Harvey.

Harvey was a lousy golfer. That was an advantage. Murphy was a worse golfer. That was a disadvantage. They were playing five-thousand-dollar Nassau, and Murphy was ahead as they played the final hole. Harvey had won the front nine, sixty-two to sixty-three. But on the back nine his game fell apart. He had just made a miracle shot which travelled one hundred and ninety yards and went into the hole, to give him a final score of one forty-nine. Murphy, meanwhile, had a one forty-five. So far. He could tie if he sank the ball in four more shots, and win five grand if he managed it in three or fewer. Since he had approximately no money, and exactly no money if you wanted to get technical, he needed to at least tie. Harvey was no Conrad the Claw, but he was bigger than Murphy, and he was excitable.

Concentrate, he told himself. One hundred and thirty yards isn’t so far! You’ve been in sand traps before. You can do it! He hit the ball solidly, and it flew. It flew at a forty-five-degree angle to the green, but at least it was flying. It hit a tree, changed direction, and to Murphy’s shock, he was on the green! In the distance he heard “shit!” from Harvey.

When he staggered to the green – someday he’d have a caddy, even a golf cart – he was astounded. There sat his ball, hovering on the edge of the cup. A one forty-seven, the back nine, and the game, were his!

“No tap ins!” Said Harvey.

“Damn it, Harvey, are you fucking kidding me?”

Harvey was not fucking kidding him. Murphy grabbed his putter, and, muttering about friends who weren’t real friends, lined up the gentlest putt of his life. All he needed was a stern look and that ball was going in. Slow and easy, that’s all he needed. 

What he didn’t need was a bee to choose that moment to sting the back of his neck. An instant later the ball was forty feet away, and off the green.

Murphy stomped after it, putter still clutched in his hand. His thoughts were a jumble. The round was lost, the game lost. His plan at this point was to see if he could drive the ball right through that bastard, Harvey’s, eye socket. I’ll give him not a tap in!

As he approached the ball, still stomping, he tripped. He lurched forward, his right hand gripping the putter windmilled up, and then as he tried to regain his balance it karate chopped backwards, striking the ball. The ball hopped once, hopped twice, and hopped in the hole like a good little bunny rabbit. Which gave him a one forty-eight to win the game, and an eighty-five to eighty-seven to win the round.

He had just finished counting the five thousand (three times, just to piss off Harvey), putting it in his wallet, and putting the wallet in his back pocket, when he felt a series of strange sensations. His left elbow froze as a huge hand wrapped around it. His right elbow also froze, as it likewise was grabbed. He levitated off the ground as the pair holding his arms lifted him. And he felt someone reach into his back pocket, and he heard Conrad’s voice say: “Let’s see how much money he just put away.”

He looked to his left, and there was Hammer. He looked to his right, and there was Tongs. He looked straight ahead, and there was Harvey who’d decided he didn’t want to stick around for conversation with any of the parties present, trotting away.

Conrad the Claw came around front, wallet in one hand, cash in the other. Which he riffled one-handed, counting it as fast as the machines the banks used. The man had practice. Murphy wondered if complaining to Fred Enke management about Conrad using more than one caddy would gain him anything. This was golf. There are rules!

“Five thousand,” said Conrad, stuffing the cash in his pocket and dropping the wallet on the ground. “You owe me another sixteen hundred. Plus interest, so two grand next week. Don’t be late!” He nodded at Hammer and Tongs, and they dropped Murphy next to his wallet. 

Murphy sat there, too dignified to get up until Conrad and his merry men were out of sight. Then he noticed his wallet, picked it up, and peered inside to see if there was still a stray dollar or two. No such luck, but there was a lottery ticket for Powerball.

He dug out his phone, and checked the Arizona Lottery web site. Hmm, the winning powerball was 23, and he had 23! He had money coming. The numbers were 5, 11, 17, 39, and 55, and he had 5 … 11 … 17 … He began reading slowly so as not to jinx himself. 39 …. And …. 55!!!! Oh my fucking god!! He checked the date, and yes, of course, the numbers were for last night. He checked the date on the ticket, and yes, yesterday. He’d bought it at Circle K on Friday. But he needed to check it again, and a third time. He checked the numbers again, and a third time. Yes, it was real. He felt dizzy, spots appearing before his eyes as he double- and triple-checked the most important number of them all: Four hundred and eighty-three million dollars!

He'd take it all at once, and when you did that, they gave you a reduced figure. Only if you took it in instalments over decades did you get the whole thing. They’d take taxes out before handing it over. He’d probably get around one hundred and forty-five million. Not four eighty-three, but a man could live on one hundred and forty-five million, if he budgeted wisely. He took a deep and grateful breath.

When last seen, Murphy was running across the fairway of the 18th hole, chasing a small slip of paper, windborne and gaining on him. 

 

Did You Know I Played the Sax?

 

I did. Not only that, I was taught by Apollo himself. Mr. Apollo, that is, who taught music and band during my fifth through eight grade years. But we aren’t here to talk about that. This report is on my trip to Los Angeles for the recent L.A. Open.

 

You may have heard that L.A. is a dangerous place. I don’t know about that, but it is true that tournament organizer Candace Mayeron put us in Jeopardy!

No, I didn’t compete! Those are all backgammon players, except the guy in the blue suit, who photobombed us. We had VIP seats for the taping of two future shows, to air October 10 and 11.

 

I had a very easy time the next day, in the Bob Glass Masters Jackpot. I played Dorn Bishop in the first round.

Dorn

The match was over one, two, three! He doubled me, I redoubled him (a bit too early), and then he redoubled me:

It’s an easy take, but I got gammoned. My Masters event lasted less than thirty minutes. What could be easier than that?

 

The Open was less easy. I won the qualifying round in the afternoon, which meant a long break until after dinner. In the evening, I won my first round, then lost the next. That put me in the Fighter’s bracket, where I won a round, and lost a round.

Having won matches in both the Main and the Fighters meant I was only six rounds from winning the Consolation, once I landed there. Why I was practically in the finals! Since 2022 I have played in three L.A. Open events (held in June) including this one, and two California State Championships (held in December), and had cashed in three, one in the Doubles with Carol Joy Cole, once in the Fighters, and once in the Consolation. Why not add a second Consolation prize?

 

Four wins later I was in the money, and would show off my Sax playing skills by playing Steve Sax in the Consolation Semifinals, the match to be streamed.

Steve Sax

Kent Goulding has been lecturing recently on the topic of Hidden Blunders. Those are the ones which seem like no brainers, but prove to be massive errors. Like this one.

There is one right play here; the rest are whoppers. Doing commentary, Alex Eshaghian mentioned the dictum, which I believe he attributed to Roberto Litzenberger, that one should never put three (or more) men on the 24pt. The alternative was “the Magriel,” playing bar/22, 24/23, which considering all my builders I would call “the Charge of the Light Brigade,” as into the Valley of Death would ride all of Steve’s back checkers. Steve opted to play bar/24, 13/10, which is what I’d probably have done, and which Alex seemed to favor as the lesser evil. It was a .100 blunder, slightly better than the Magriel. The best play is bar/22, and then slotting with 6/5! Sometimes duplication is overrated, and sometimes it is a great play.

 

No matter what he played, he was getting doubled. After Steve’s play it is .975, still a take, and he correctly took.

 

I made my five and bar with my next two rolls, but then thanks to 42 followed by 33, Steve matched my four-prime. I made a small error with my next roll, a 31. I played 13/9, thinking that it gave me an extra builder for my 3pt over 13/10, 6/5, and let me make a broken five-prime with 4s. XG prefers 13/10, 6/5 by .026. Steve responded with 22! From a borderline take to a borderline favorite in three rolls, without ever hitting.

Time for hidden blunder number two. The second-best play is only .50 worse than the best play, while the third-best play is a .202 double whopper! Guess which play I made? Guess which play is best.

I chose to run. There is some duplication, in that 4s hit in two places, but unless he can make his 3pt, we know where he will hit. Meanwhile, I give him 2s, and his “bad” rolls, 6s and 5s, aren’t so bad. He can hit with 65, his two biggest doubles are great rolls, and his other rolls with 6s and 5s aren’t really bad. Perhaps if I thought longer, I would have played 13/7, 13/11, which leaves fifteen numbers and cedes outfield control, but turns out to be much better than my choice. The right play, according to XG, is 7/5, 7/1. Even having seen it I would have trouble making that play. All it does is avoid immediate trouble, while weakening my position.

 

I was rewarded for my play, getting the sort of sequence I hoped for. Steve rolled 53, bringing around his outside spare, and hitting loose. I responded with 63, hitting back and jumping out. Unfortunately, Steve rolled an immediate two, and a roll or two later I faced this position.

After entering I played 14/10, but the correct play is to hit loose on my deuce. Not hitting is a .117 blunder. I am not sure if that was a “hidden” blunder, but I didn’t think it worth a lot of consideration, though I saw the play. Nor did the commentators mention it as an option.

 

I was again rewarded after a fashion, since Steve rolled 42, and could only hit me once, not twice. I fanned, and he next rolled 62, popping out to hit me on my 10pt. I entered both men with 31.

What say you, sports fans? It is 0 – 0 to 7; would you take this redouble? It is scary, but this is actually just barely a redouble by a whisker, due to the score. I can always redouble to kill gammons. Passing would be a huge blunder.

The commentators (Alex had been joined by David Wells) like 11/5, while I liked 7/1. Neither of us liked making my deuce, but it is the right play. Only by about .02 over the other two, but best is best. I was once again rewarded for the wrong play, when he rolled 51. I next rolled 21, a great shot, but after 24/23 I played 13/9, which gives him 63 and 62, but seems better than stacking builders with 6/4. XG says ‘stack,” by .022. He fanned again, and I rolled 64, playing 23/17, 9.5. Stack this, XG!

Steve came out with the 5, but then played 4/3, a .052 error. He was punished when I rolled 42, hitting, and covering. He fanned, and … I rolled 44. Slump! 

He picked up a second checker, after my board had crashed some more. I anchored on his ace.

There are worse rolls that 65, especially when he was forced to close me out.

When we reached this position I was resigned to trailing 0-4 to 7. The he rolled 66. But I could still save the gammon most of the time, especially if I entered quickly.

I entered bar/21, then played 13/8. XG says I should have played bar/16, but my play was only a .01 error. Then he rolled 66 again. I needed at least 18 pips over the next three rolls to save the gammon. And I got 21 pips! Unfortunately, they came 11, 41, 63, and with no men on my 3pt, 63 failed to save the gammon.

Oh, well, I never was good at playing the sax.

 

He’s Got Your Back

 

In the mid-seventies, backgammon swept the USA. Some of the dust settled north of the border, and inspired an entrepreneur there to launch a backgammon magazine. Its trajectory must have been shallow, as there seems to have been only one issue, but its short flight was impressive. One of its intrepid reporters was dispatched to the Mayfair Club in New York City. If the scientists at Los Alamos ushered in the Nuclear Age, the scientific players at the Mayfair Club helped usher in the Backgammon Age. The man from the Great White North cornered a few Tellers, Oppenheimers, and Feynmen, to see what they might tell, or opine, as they were fine men and women. To each there was one question he could not resist asking, almost before they had given their names and their achievements: “What about the backgame?” To which most replied: “What about the backgame?” It was clear that he expected the equivalent of the lore Hermione found in the restricted section of Hogwarts Library, and soon would know how to brew the backgammon equivalent of Polyjuice Potion. The experts all tried to let him down gently, essentially saying that the most special thing about backgames is that you should avoid them.

Still, I understand how he felt. A few years later, when I took up the game, backgames held the same fascination for me. The books of the era couldn’t resist describing them in terms that would naturally lead beginners to think backgames were a secret weapon of the experts, and that mastering backgames would show that, you, too, had joined the expert ranks.

If only someone would write a book? Around the time Mr. Canada was in the Mayfair, a Mayfair player, Paul Magriel, wrote his magnum opus, and said he would be writing many more books, with one on backgames being among the first he planned to tackle. It was never forthcoming. Over the years others would promise they would tackle it. I was among them, but backgames slipped all tackles.

Finally, someone wrote the book! Partial credit goes to Mochy, who wrote a quarter of a book, Backgammon Masterclass, on backgames. But full marks go to Encino dermatologist, Dr. Alex Eshaghian, who got the itch and scratched out Backgammon Backgame Strategies. Heft the book, peek inside, and you will see and feel why it took so long: doing the job properly took an immense amount of work. It’s 8.5 x 11, three hundred pages, nearly a kilogram in weight, and that hardly hints at the contents. There are hundreds of diagrams. I haven’t counted, and guess it is hundreds, but there could be over one thousand. Where there aren’t diagrams, there are tables, dozens at least, probably at least one hundred. The positions had to be conceived, rolled out, transcribed: that’s a tremendous amount of labor, even if it is a labor of love.

My one complaint is that I wish there were less of the first three-quarters of the book, and more of the last third. When I started playing, the books of the era decreed that the best three backgames, in order, were the 2-3, the 1-3, and the 1-2. That the higher the anchors, the less like a backgame it was. That if the gap between anchors was more than one pip, e.g. a 1-4, it weakened the backgame, etc. As I progressed a bit, and discussed backgame theory with my friend, Tim Wisecarver, he confirmed the received wisdom, and offered insight into the whys and wherefores. One of Alex’s achievements is to confirm what everyone took for granted. The received wisdom is correct, but he has the numbers to prove it, and the explanations was to why.

 

I am not sure if the terms Hintrose and Suhise are Alex’s coinages, or if he borrowed them from elsewhere, but they are crucial in understanding many of the explanations in the book. Hintrose is: Hits In the Next Two Roll Sequence. Suhise is: Subsequent Hitting Sequences. For example:

 

 

 

The defender (Black) has 35 Hintrose. That is derived this way: 65 (two numbers) times any 6 (eleven numbers) equals 22; plus 44 (one number) times 6 or 51 (thirteen numbers) totals 35 numbers out of 1296 where Black gets and hits a shot. Alex notes that calculating Suhise is more complicated, and seldom does so, but notes that the lower the blot left, and missed, the harder it will be to clean up, so the more Suhise will occur.

 

 

 

The checker play problem above is the first of a set of three, shown in diagrams 4.15 through 4.17 in his chapter on bearing in against backgames. The next two diagrams move Black’s man on his 8pt back to the 23pt and 22pt respectively. How should White play her 31 in each case? (The diagram wrongly shows 33 as the roll, instead of 31. Updating the images is such an enormous pain in the ass on Blogger that I hope this note of explanation suffices.)

In the position about White should not make her 8pt. Black’s timing is such that playing 11/7, leaving no Hintrose, is best. Move the checker back to the 23pt, and now making the 8pt is best. It blocks sixes, forcing Black to dump to his acepoint should he roll one. If the spare is on the 22pt, safety is once again preferred, since fives play to Black’s deuce, the next point he wants to make, and sixes are a problem for Black, whether or not the 8pt is made.

Here is another example of the thoroughness of his comparisons.

 

 

The above is position 8.40, in a section called “Comparison of Single Gap Backgames During the Attacker’s Bear In.” He notates the position as 1-3 (3), which means it is a 1-3 backgame, and the defender’s prime is from the 3pt out. The spare on the defender’s 6pt will always sit there, no matter whether the five-prime is from the 7pt through 3pt, the 8pt through 4pt (1-3 (4)), etc. Suppose the attacker is on roll in each case, what are the equities?

	CL E	SW	GW	BGW	SL	GL	BGL	GAW	E ND	E D/T
1-3 (3)	0.491	62%	26%	2%	38%	3%	0%	75%	0.701	0.676
1-3 (4)	0.388	56%	27%	3%	44%	3%	0%	70%	0.518	0.380
1-3 (5)	0.321	51%	29%	4%	49%	3%	0%	66%	0.390	0.201
1-3 (6)	0.293	49%	29%	5%	51%	3%	0%	65%	0.306	0.105

 

That is his table 8.13. I trust you can decipher everything, except possibly “GAW,” which stands for “Gammon Adjusted Wins.” He also has tables 8.14 and 8.15, which give similar information for an additional eight positions, for the 2-4 and 3-5 backgames. For those White’s formation is shifted back one or two places as appropriate.

 

The two most important columns are the SW and E D/T. The defender’s gammon and backgammon losses increase as his prime is moved further back, but his overall losses drop dramatically thanks to his improved timing. Even the position pictured above is not a double. I won’t reproduce table 8.14, but only 2-4 (3) is a double, the E ND being 0.869 and the E D/T 0.905. Nor will I reproduce table 8.15, but there 3-5 (3) and 3-5 (4) are passes (the first with a no double equity of 0.984 is nearly too good), and the others are borderline D or ND. Oddly, 3-5 (5) is barely no double, while 3-5 (6) is barely a double, 0.870 versus 0.874.

 

On the next page, tables 816 through 8.19 compare apples to apples, i.e., the first compares 1-3 (3), 2/4 (3), and 3-5 (3), the others the (4)’s, (5)’s, and (6)’s. This is all excellent, and useful information, but it reads more like a reference book than a textbook.

 

Which is why I was happy to reach page 233, and Chapter 13: Unorthodox Backgame Tactics. Chapters 13 through 15 are devoted to checker plays. This is the section I wish was much longer, because there is a tremendous amount of material covered in fewer than seventy pages. As the author admits, it would take several volumes to do these concepts justice, and I hope he is the one to expand on what he has done so far. Here are some examples.

 

 

A few years ago I think most people would have played 17/9 without hitting. Now I expect many open players would get this right: 17/11*, 4/2*.

 

 

 

This is position 14.8. In positions 14.9 and 14.10 White’s blot on the 21pt is shifted to the 22pt and 23pt. In each case, how should Black play 44?

 

In the position shown, Black should play 22/18(2), 8/4(2)*. Black does not have ideal timing for a backgame. With the recommended play he trails by only 13 pips, 166 – 153. He equalizes the board strength, and has the flexibility to continue priming, or otherwise shift game plans as things develop.

Move White’s man back a pip to the 22pt, and making a five-prime from the 4pt out is best. He has 4s, 5s, and 6s to run of one of his anchors, while keeping his prime intact.

Move the man back to the 23pt, and now Black should make both barpoints. White’s 66 and 65 are blocked, and 64 slots her 3pt, but leaves a direct shot.

 

 

 

 

I imagine that seeing these two side-by-side you know how to play them both? When White has the blot on her ace, Black should hit; when the ace is made, Black should make his 4pt.

 

Alex Eshaghian has written a book that belongs on every serious player’s shelf. No one will ever write the definitive book on backgames. The topic is too broad and complex for anyone to do that. But for now, Backgammon Backgame Strategies is as close as we have come, and will probably remain so far into the future.

 

Imitation of Life

 

In 1920 F. Scott Fitzgerald described Fannie Hurst as an author who wouldn’t be read “ten years from now.” Had he said: “Ten years from when she stops” he’d have been nearer the mark, because in 1933 she produced her best-remembered novel Imitation of Life. The book was a bestseller, snapped up by Universal Studios. Carl Laemmle, Jr. had taken over from his father. While concentrating on the pictures the studio was known for, low-budget Westerns and horror, he wanted to show his studio could compete with the Big Four in making prestige projects. He assigned veteran director John M. Stahl, and the movie was released late in 1934. It starred Claudette Colbert and Warren Williams. Though if you see the trailer they are hardly mentioned; instead, the performances of two unknowns, Louise Beavers and Fredi Washington are singled out. Twenty-five years later something similar happened. The remake starred Lana Turner and John Gavin, with two more male romantic figures, Robert Alda and Dan O’Herlihy in supporting roles. Yet again, a pair of comparative unknowns, Juanita Moore and Susan Kohner, essaying the roles played earlier by Beavers and Washington, were nominated for Best Supporting Actress Oscars. While the primary plots differ from each other, and from the book, in significant ways, the essential story is as follows. A pair of single mothers meet, and live together, each raising a daughter. One becomes very successful, the other is her maid, though treated like a member of the family. The primary plot in each tracks the star’s path to success. There is a subplot involving the daughter of the success, one which I found contrived. But the movies are remembered, indeed, both are in the National Registry of Films, for the other subplot, involving the maid and her daughter. They are black, the mother obviously so, but the daughter is able to pass for white, and tries to do so, breaking her mother’s heart.

 

Both movies are very much of their period, and require some effort by the viewer, who must place them in context to appreciate them.

 

In the earlier version Colbert plays Bea Pullman, mother of Jessie, who takes in Delilah Johnson (Beavers), mother of Peola. The girls are played by three actresses, when the characters are 3 and 4, Peola the elder by a year, 8 and 9, and finally 18 and 19. The oldest pair are Rochelle Hudson as Jessie, and Fredi Washington as Peola. Bea tries to support the menage by selling pancake syrup door-to-door. Her breakthrough comes when Delilah makes the best pancakes she has ever tasted. She opens a restaurant on the boardwalk. Five years pass, and a hungry man, Elmer Smith (the deadpan Ned Sparks), grateful for some free cakes, tells her to “box it.” She begins selling “Aunt Delilah’s Pancakes,” with a smiling Delilah on every box. Bea becomes hugely successful. Ten years pass, and Elmer, now her right-hand man, invites a friend, Steve Archer (Warren William) to one of her soirees. He is an ichthyologist. That ichthyologists attend glitzy black-tie parties seems fishy to me, but maybe he was paid scale. Meanwhile, Peola from the time she is small wants to be thought of as white, and hates it when her friends discover who her mother is, realizing the truth about her. When grown, instead of attending a Negro college, she secretly takes a job as a cashier at a segregated restaurant in Virginia, but is outed when her mother turns up. She tells her mother she will go away, and “if you see me on the street, don’t acknowledge me.” While Delilah and Bea searched for Peola, Steve looked after Jessie, who fell in love with him. While he never encouraged this, Bea tells Steve that until Jessie is older, and over her infatuation, she cannot see him, but will wait for the day to come when they can finally be together. Meanwhile, her heart broken by her daughter’s rejection, Delilah takes to her bed, and soon dies. Her one wish was for a lavish funeral. Peola turns up at the funeral, realizing at last what she has done to her mother.

Seeing it today, a likely reaction is to cringe at the character Delilah. The nadir of post-Civil War African-American life was in the 1930’s. It was the decade when the tide began its slow turn. Imitation of Life was a major turning point, but it is hard to recognize that. Delilah is a woman who just wants to be housed and fed. She is the happy black servant, as unthreatening as Aunt Jemima, the figure who inspired Aunt Delilah. When the business becomes successful, and Bea wants her to sign papers showing that she, Delilah, is a twenty-percent owner of the million-dollar business, she refuses. Just to keep living in Bea’s house is enough for her. That, and a good funeral when the time comes. That actual Black attitudes even then were at odds with what whites of the period wished to believe is clear when learning of the backlash by Blacks, who hated Beavers playing a maid. To which Beavers replied that she’d rather play one, than be one. The character she plays is in many respects similar to the one Hattie McDaniel played five years later, in Gone With The Wind. (McDaniel plays an extra in the funeral scene, but I was unable to spot her.) Beavers’ portrayal of Delilah was perhaps the first significant Black role in a major Hollywood film.

 

Then there is Peola! Fredi Washington, born in 1903, was only three years younger than Beavers. But she could pass for younger. Moreover, she could pass for white. Indeed, it was suggested that she do so, in furtherance of her career. Though having outed herself by playing this part, I am not sure how that would have worked. She refused to deny her race, turned her back on Hollywood to return to the New York stage, and was a civil rights activist.

 

1934 was the year the Code came back into force, and the studio was worried that the movie might be banned. Not for any of the expected problems, crime, violence, sexual content, etc. The issue was one other thing banned by the Code: miscegenation. Neither Delilah nor Peola is given a love interest, but Peola’s skin color makes it clear that miscegenation must have occurred. Though Peola has a change of heart at the end, she is not shown as being in the wrong by passing for white. Her sin is to have rejected her mother, but that is seen as tragic, the result of forces beyond their control. The strength of the film is that it forces the audience to sympathize with Peola’s plight, and to ask tough questions as to just why Peola cannot live as white. That’s because Fredi Washington, with her light skin and finishing school diction (like her “sister” Jessie’s) is hard to see as Black. All of the very real restrictions placed upon her at that time, because of her race, seem absurd. Indeed, the concept of race seems absurd. Which it is, but here that absurdity is as apparent as black and white.

 

Twenty-five years later, the story goes like this. Lora Meredith (Turner) and her daughter Susie, meet Annie Johnson (Juanita Moore) and her daughter Sarah Jane on the beach at Coney Island. The year is 1947, and they also meet Steve Archer (John Gavin), a photographer, who develops an interest in Lora. Lora is an aspiring actress, and when Steve, after proposing, tries to order her not to pursue a career, she breaks it off. Agent Allen Loomis (Robert Alda) has her audition for successful playwright David Edwards (Dan O’Herlihy). She becomes a star, O’Herlihy’s muse, and his girlfriend. A decade later she is considering giving it all up, and is reunited with Steve, but then a prominent Italian director offers her a part in a movie. Her now sixteen-year-old daughter (Sandra Dee) develops a crush on Steve, while mom is away in Italy. Meanwhile, Sarah Jane hates being black, and once again breaks mom’s heart, but turns up at the funeral. (Where the great Mahalia Jackson sings a solo.)

 

The 1959 remake was helmed by producer Ross Hunter, and director Douglas Sirk, a partnership synonymous with 1950’s melodrama. Sirk is considered a great director, but a difficult one to “get.” The reason is that he made subtle points hidden beneath a glossy, melodramatic surface. What you see seems corny and overwrought: and that’s the point. The tension between life and his slightly funhouse version of it was deeply ironic, a commentary on the manners of its period. Lana Turner is central to his expression here. A bit of context which might escape modern audiences, but which would have been in the minds of those seeing it in 1959, was that Turner and her daughter had recently been at the center of a major Hollywood scandal.

 

Lana Turner was married eight time, twice to Stephen Crane, father of her only child Cheryl Crane. Besides all those husbands, she had many boyfriends. In the late 1950’s, after divorcing husband number four (or five, counting Crane twice) Tarzan actor Lex Barker, she began living with a low-level gangster named Johnny Stompanato. One night in 1958, allegedly to protect her mother from a beating, her fourteen-year-old daughter stabbed Stompanato to death. Inevitably, there were rumors that it was the actress who stabbed him, and the daughter took the fall because as a minor (and non-movie star) the repercussions would be less. Crane would lead a troubled life for some years, but later became a real estate broker and author. She is still alive, having turned eighty in July.

Audiences would have had the scandal in mind, and read things into the relationship in the movie between Lora and Susie. The relationship between the daughter and Steve Archer felt contrived in 1934. The age gap then between Hudson (18) and William (40) was greater than that between Dee (16) and Gavin (27), and William seemed an old forty. Nonetheless, it felt less inappropriate. Hudson was a mature eighteen. Dee, who may actually have been two years younger than her official biography has it, making her fourteen, not sixteen, plays a very perky kid. She is supposed to be graduating from finishing school, but when she and Steve go to a nightclub, he pointedly orders her a Coke. She seems much younger than she would in A Summer Place, made a year later and released later the same year. Dee was too interesting an actress to be dismissed so quickly. When she and her mother have a confrontation over her feelings about Steve, and her mother says she will “give him up,” Susie tells her mother to “stop acting.” Dee real depths of emotion, and neatly skewers Turner’s acting.

Turner’s performance was part of Sirk’s triumph. I can’t think of a role in which she has impressed me. She seems stagy and over the top in most of her scenes in Imitation of Life, but the critics attribute it to Sirk, something he coaxed from her. It makes her slightly silly, but it works for the character, who in contrast to Colbert’s version, is artificial, and narcissistic. There’s a great moment when Annie, late in the movie, mentions all of the friends she wants at her funeral. There are the members of her church, and of the various lodges she belongs to. Lora says she never knew Annie had all those friends. “You never asked.” She doesn’t say it as a rebuke. Annie is as saintly in her way as Delilah was in hers. But it brings Lora up short, because it’s true.

 

The title in this version might fit Lora’s life even better than it does Sarah Jane’s. But it was meant for Sarah Jane’s part of the story. The idea that a Black woman would try to pass as white was, sadly, still plausible despite the passage of twenty-five years. What had changed was how much stronger that point might be made. The very first night the Johnsons move into the small apartment the Meredith’s occupy, on being gifted with a black doll, eight-year-old Sarah Jane cries that she wants Susie’s white doll; she doesn’t want a black doll. She also does not understand why she and her mother have to sleep in a tiny room off the kitchen.

The grown-up Sarah Jane is played by Susan Kohner. Kohner was the daughter of a film producer born in Bohemia, and an actress born in Mexico. Unlike Fredi Washington, she was not black, but with darker coloration than Sandra Dee (almost everyone had darker coloration than Sandra Dee) she could pass as an African-American passing as white.

 

By 1959, the Code having already been challenged a number of times, the filmmakers were slightly less concerned about the repercussions stemming from miscegenation. Not so blithe as to include explicit sex, but that was generally true in the fifties. Sexual allusion was the order of the day, and they made the most of it. Annie tells Sarah Jane she wishes she would go to church socials, and meet a boy. “You mean, bus boys, janitors …?” African-American men were undesirable, not only because dating them would make her own race obvious, but because in a racist society their socio-economic status was limited. She secretly has a boyfriend. When she returns from sneaking out to see him, she tells Susie about it, while stripping down to a slip for bed, confiding that “he’s white.”

We meet him. Later that year Sandra Dee would pair with Troy Donahue, in a role that would make him a star. In this film he has just one scene, but it got him noticed. It’s not the Troy Donahue we think of. Sarah Jane meets Frankie, and can see something is upsetting him. “Are you a nigger?” The line was even more shocking then than it is now. Despite its banishment from common usage, and its replacement with “the N-word,” the original has been used so often in popular music and R-rated crime dramas that we are immured. She denies it, but Frankie says he has heard it from “the other kids,” who know who her mother is. He beats her, and leaves her sobbing in a puddle in the alley.

She takes a job, telling her mother she works nights filing books at the library. Annie discovers she is working at Harry’s Bar, as a dancer in a skimpy costume, flirting with the white patrons. After her mother’s arrival outs her, she runs off to Hollywood, to dance at a club called Moulon Rouge, where she and another dancer date customers.

 

Kohner was terrific, but five years later she married, and quit acting. That was around the time acting quit Dee. It’s a shame that neither had the careers they deserved, though unlike Dee, Kohner, who is still alive, age eighty-six, probably got the life she wanted.