Victor Jory — I'll Be Suing You! (1934) 🇺🇸
For Victor Jory it never rains but it pours. And when it pours, it pours law suits.
Tall, white-toothed, brown-skinned Jory, all-around athlete, actor and adventurer, was recently signed to a Fox Films contract. The next day there was a shower of law suits that made the Biblical flood look like the drip of a leaky hydrant.
To say that Jory was bewildered, is putting it mildly. There were threats of garnishment to the right of him; liens to the left of him; honest debts front and center. Strange men suddenly began waving warrants at him. Sheriff's helpers shoved legal documents upon him. Jory's name had gone up in lights and the legal deluge was on.
It was all very embarrassing to the genial Jory who found himself catapulted overnight into the prettiest legal storm that has threatened any Hollywood actor, newly in the money. Matters developed to the point where it became a favorite morning sport at the Jory bungalow in Pasadena for the two Jeans, wife and three-year-old daughter, to watch daddy do his marathon to the garage, jump into the car and run the gauntlet of a waiting file of process servers. One morning Jory almost ran over a fellow who thrust a paper under his nose. Fortunately he missed him — otherwise there might have been still another suit.
Jory didn't mind the legitimate debts. The ones that, as a struggling, underpaid stock company actor (he's played in practically every city of size in the United States), he had accumulated, even as the rest of us do. Doctors' bills and dental bills were taken care of promptly, as soon as the film company's currency began to swell the Jory coffers.
The other bills were the ones that gave him the most concern. They took his time, his patience, his attorney's time. Like weevils they ate into his mind at a moment when he was straining every effort to give his best attention to his new contract. Many of the suits dated back four and five years. He had to rack his brain to think of circumstances surrounding almost forgotten events. The statute of limitations does not apply to a roving actor.
He took his troubles to his boyhood pal in Pasadena, John Ruskin Lane, now a successful young attorney. Together they threshed over the claims.
Jory wrinkled his brow at a judgment for $167 granted by default, that had come through the mail. A tailor? For a suit? He couldn't think of any such debt. Then he remembered. In an Eastern city, some five years previous, a friendly tailor, pleased at the amount of business Jory had brought to his shop (it amounted to something like $3,000), had made him a present of any suit in the house. Jory had picked a flannel ensemble, light trousers and dark coat. The price was $115, but the tailor had merely waved him out with a smile. It was a pleasant memory for Jory until the arrival of the judgment (they had apparently served the wrong person in the suit, in error, and won by default) plus the bill for $167. The original sum, plus court costs and various legal fees, had grown into a sizeable bill. It was up to Attorney Lane to file an answer, which he did, and the entire matter was set aside.
The next claim that the boyhood pals tackled was easier. An eastern hotel, probably gulled by a smart imposter, rendered a bill for room, meals and incidentals. At the time Jory was presumed to be running up an account, however, he and attorney Lane were on a fishing expedition at California's June Lake, Mr. Lane promptly apprised the hotel management of the facts. Equally prompt was their reply. The hotel answered that it wasn't Mr, Jory, they found, who had taken advantage of their hospitality, but a friend who had said that Mr. Jory would guarantee the account! Needless to say, the matter was easily settled.
A little groggy and gasping for breath, the boys continued the battle. Jory was getting a taste of the sort of thing that seems synonymous with screen fame. Along with the rest of Hollywood's notables, he was discovering that being famous was equivalent to becoming the target for a barrage of suits, scandals and notoriety. And he was rapidly learning what most of Hollywood has already learned — that it is often better to pay, even when the suit is a patent fraud — than to be dragged through a court trial with its attendant messy details.
Fraudulence did not enter into the next suit. It was simply a case of someone having to hold the sack — and Jory was duly appointed. A middle western stock company of which Jory, arriving from the West Coast with his small theatrical troupe, was a member, failed with disconcerting suddenness after a two weeks' run of a play. The debts incurred amounted to something under $5,000. Jory, leaving for Minneapolis to fulfil another stock engagement, left without knowing that he was being held responsible for the deficits.
A roving actor, he wasn't aware that a judgment awaited him, until notice came fluttering to him in Pasadena. Attorney Lane settled for him, out of court. It cost Jory $125.
And that wasn't all. An agent once got Jory two days' work some eighteen months before the signing of the actor's long-term film contract. Although he had received his commission for this service, the agent decided that the newest Fox player owed him ten per cent on all monies he was to draw from the Movietone outfit during his seven-year contract. In addition, he figured that it might be well to check up on the Jory earnings during the past three or four years and collect a commission on them, too. The resultant suit brought attorney Lane to the rescue. He proved that the suing agent had given up his offices and allowed his agent's license to lapse more than a year before Jory landed his Fox berth. And that was the end of that!
But Jory was still not out of the legal woods. A boxer, playing in pictures, sued Jory for personal injuries sustained in a fight scene in a film. The amount was $20,000. According to report, the pugilist told his attorney that "Victor," at Fox, had punched him too realistically before the camera. Now at Fox was also Victor McLaglen, ex-fighter, who packs a wicked wallop for screen purposes. It is coincidental that Jory is also an ex-fighter, holding both the light heavyweight championship of British Columbia, and the National Guard wrestling and boxing championship which he took at Monterey, California, some years ago.
Mix-up though it was in name similarity, it took time, energy and expense to investigate and dismiss the charge. The incident did put Jory in fighting trim, however, for the next round. En route to a tennis game at six o'clock one morning, Jory and a friend tangled cars with a lady motorist.
Jory is a bit rueful about this. Immediately after the accident, feelings seemed mutually friendly; but apparently it didn't last, The eventual demands totalled $10,000. The actor's insurance company, in a hurry, settled with the lady for $1,200. And the civil suit which hung over Jory's head has just been cleared to the actor's advantage.
At the moment, the legal skies are fairly clear. The barometer shows fair weather, and all overhanging suits are rolling away. But there is always the threat of foul weather (suits, legal entanglements, court battles) on the Hollywood horizon — and that, opines Jory, is the bunk.
His reaction is that of a number of stars too numerous to name who have likewise found that the penalties of film fame overweigh its pleasures. Too often have they heard, loud and stridently, the words "Sue you in court!"
Clark Gable's two-year-old filly, "Beverly Hills," shows great promise of becoming a heavy winner on the race tracks.
Collection: Hollywood Magazine, May 1934