Thornton Freeland and June Clyde — "T" and "T.N.T." (1937) 🇬🇧
Hollywood marriages, like any other, may be made in Heaven, but they are more prone than most to come down to earth with a bang. Looking back over the years we see most of Hollywood's "ideal marriages" end in a note of tragedy.
How much did we not hear of the devotion between Douglas Fairbanks Sen. and Mary Pickford? Of Ann Harding and Harry Bannister? Or Ginger Rogers and Lew Ayres? Or Douglas Fairbanks Jun. and Joan Crawford? And many, many more.
Whom have we left to-day of the real Hollywood love matches of a few years ago? My mind jumps at once to two expatriated Hollywoodians — Thornton Freeland, the director, and his charming blonde film star wife — June Clyde.
The general film public as a rule knows little of the men who direct films — and probably cares even less. You may never have known, for example, that Thornton Freeland directed the phenomenally successful Eddie Cantor film Whoopee! or another famous screen musical Flying Down to Rio.
Yet in the last few months Thornton Freeland (whom everybody in the film industry knows as "T") became world famous in the space of a few weeks, when the papers of the world showed the public for the first time some of the risks and dangers that attend the making of a successful film.
"T" was engaged by Capitol Films to direct their Paul Robeson-Henry Wilcoxon-Wallace Ford film "Jericho" which has been produced for this company by Walter Futter who made "Africa Speaks."
Last winter "T," accompanied by cameraman Johnny Boyle and an explorer, set out deep into the Sahara, farther than white man had penetrated before, in order to get pictures of the amazing salt caravan — fifteen thousand camels strong — which plays an important part in the film.
After a fortnight's trek into the wilds they were due to reach Bilma, whence a cable was to be sent to Capitol Films' headquarters telling them of their safe arrival.
Bilma, it should be added, was the only place en route from which any communication to the outer world was possible.
Six weeks elapsed without any news from the unit, until at last the company was reluctantly compelled to consider the possibility of the party being lost.
Thornton Freeland crashed into front page news: the newspapers, ever looking for sensational news, wrote vivid stories of the hazardous trip, reproduced the last cables received in London from the expedition.
In an ultra-modern flat near Hyde Park, tiny June Clyde waited from hour to hour to hear from her husband.
All the gaiety so apparent in her films, had deserted her; white faced, anxious, she told me how bitterly she regretted that "T" had undertaken this trip.
"He can make all the films he wants right here," she said. "It's so exactly like him to want to go into the wilds of North Africa just for the sake of getting something different."
At last news came from Freeland's party. Unable to reach Bilma and catch the salt caravan at the same time. "T" had wandered for six weeks in completely unknown parts of the desert from which it was impossible to get into touch with the outer world.
I was with her when — transformed with joy — she clutched a cable from "T."
"Sorry to miss Christmas with my baby," it read. "longing to see you love. Gus."
"I'll never let him get out of my hands again," June smiled at me through tears of relief.
She noticed that I had raised my eyebrows when I came to the signature. "Everybody knows him as 'T'" she told me, "but believe it or not Augustus is one of his christian names, and so I call him Gus and 'T' alternatively and he calls me Peter. Why 'Peter' nobody knows — not even 'T' himself!"
I met them again after they were re-united and what a different June it was — bubbling over with fun, pulling everybody's legs within sight or reach, wisecracking with every other sentence. But really oblivious of everybody except "T" by her side.
It was then that the heading of this article occurred to me — "T" and "T.N.T."
June is certainly Dynamite!
Conversation between husband and wife crackles with the crispness of a practised crosstalk act. The only difference is that it's perfectly spontaneous.
"When's your new film starting?" asks "T."
"Tuesday next."
"Well, I hope it finishes before they get wise to you."
"You know, 'T'," says June, surveying him critically, "I think you ought to wear blue sometimes. Yeah, I think a little blue here and there would suit you, 'T'."
"T" surveys his all-blue outfit, blue suit, blue shirt, blue tie, ruefully, while he thinks up the next one.
They have now been living in London for three years, and both seem in such demand for British films that it is unlikely that Hollywood will see them back for some time to come.
Their bright little flat overlooking the park seems to express admirably their bright personalities. The walls are painted white throughout, with bright blue carpets, white furniture with thin red lines, and blue upholstery.
Over each door is an illuminated sign declaring the function of each room. "Here We Sleep " for the bedroom, "Here We Play" for the drawing room, "Here We Eat" for the dining-room, "Here We Work" for "T's" own little den.
"T" has some interesting theories about switching the signs around — but June is a little nervous about his plans.
"Pray keep the party clean, 'T'," she says primly.
Talking about parties, the Freelands don't believe in lavish formal entertainment, but most of their free evenings four or five friends drop in casually and it inevitably turns into a party. Four or five more friends are rung up and then the fun starts. And the curious thing is that nobody seems to resent being dragged out of bed at one o'clock in the morning to be invited to the Freelands; they even seem to like it, for sure enough they turn up.
I once persuaded June (with a great deal of difficulty) to talk to me seriously about the success of their marriage.
"I guess." she said, "it's because "T" and I both have a job of work to do which we both enjoy doing and which keeps us both out of mischief.
"The fact that we're both in the same business gives us common interests and the same set of friends, which I think is terribly important. And also because we both try to be unselfish about each other, and that is the most important thing of all."
"Is 'T' jealous?" I asked.
"No," said June, "isn't it infuriating?"
Mr. and Mrs. Thornton Freeland — "Mr. and Mrs. Thin Man" in real life.
Collection: Picturegoer Magazine, September 1937