What Ever Became of Francis X. Bushman? (1933) 🇺🇸

September 21, 2024

It was just an obscure item in the morning’s paper. A line or two to the effect that Francis X. Bushman was suing one Allen E. Hamilton for damages covering injuries received in an automobile accident. The item further stated that Bushman claims he was permanently disabled in the crash and that his professional career was seriously hampered.

by Katherine Albert

Poor Frank! Poor Bush! In 1918 the fact that Francis X. Bushman was suing anybody for anything would have been spread over the front pages of every paper in the country. For at that time he was the most sensational star of the cinema.

If he appeared on Broadway, Hollywood Boulevard, or any Main Stem in any town in the United States, traffic was held up for blocks.

Six stenographers and a secretary were needed to take care of his “fan mail.”

His face was, according to Arthur Brisbane, “the best known in the entire world.”

He had everything the world has to offer — fame, money, adulation, acclaim. And he lost it in three short days!

Perhaps you know that story already, but I must tell it again briefly, for it is so dramatic. When he was the greatest star of them all — and he was that when he co-starred with Beverly Bayne — it was considered bad policy for matinee idols to be married, so his wife and five children were kept at his home, “Bushmanor” in Maryland, while he worked in the studios. This secrecy and separation led to disagreements and a divorce was imminent. Also he wanted to marry Beverly Bayne.

The studio thought it would be wise to break both stories at once — the divorce announcement and the approaching marriage. And when those news items appeared in the papers Francis X. Bushman was through!

It wasn’t that his fans objected to his marrying Beverly. What made his adorers hate him was that he had been married all those years. Two days after the announcement only one stenographer was needed to handle his fan mail.

It is hard for today’s fan to imagine such a situation. Modern stars may marry and have children and lead normal lives without jeopardizing their popularity. But not then. Bushman was ruined!

“I was the bitterest man in the world,” Bushman said not long ago. “I hated the public that had ruined me. I hated the world and everything in it.”

But in 1923 came his chance at a big come-back. The public had forgotten the hidden wife, the divorce and his marriage to Beverly Bayne. He was called to a studio again to play the role of Messala in Ben Hur.

For two years he was in Rome. He came back to the States full of hope. He knew he had done a good job. He felt that this was his chance to regain his lost place among the stars. But studio politics now played an important role. While the company was in Rome the studio which first began Ben Hur was bought out by another. When Bushman got back he discovered at its head a man who thought Bushman had slighted him two years before. This executive refused to pay Bushman the salary the other studio had agreed upon. High words were said. The old grievance was aired and from that day to this Francis X. Bushman has never had a role at a major studio!

Then what has he done with his life? He resorted to the last stand of the has-been — the small “quickie” companies. He played secondary roles under directors whom once he could have hired and fired. He collected small salaries from men whom once he could have bought and sold many times over.

Working in a “quickie” company is the greatest humiliation that a once great star can suffer. Bushman suffered all of the pain to which the spirit is subject.

He did other things — radio talks m which his old glory was partially revived by a silver tongued announcer who said he was the great star, Francis X. Bushman. But seated in the radio studio waiting to step before the microphone Bushman knew he had been forgotten.

He went to England to make a picture. He played in vaudeville in the United States. Upon his return to New York, where once his appearance on the street had tied up traffic, he now walks unrecognized. Once the most expensive suite in the most expensive hotels were his. Now he lives in decent — but obscure — hotels.

He is still doing his vaudeville act. At present writing he is in Canada awaiting the outcome of his suit for damages that I mentioned up there in the first paragraph.

And yet, the strange thing is that he looks very much the Bushman of his days of glory. Frank has always taken great pride in his physical prowess and even during these long, lean years since the finishing of Ben Hur (and his second exit) to the present moment, he has kept himself in good shape physically. He walks with the spritely step of a young man. And his eyes still have their piercing, direct, blue gaze.

“I’m doing all right,” he will tell you — and you must admire his gallantry. “I feel better about things now than I did when the first crash came. Then I hated everything. Only one group of living creatures remained my friends — these were my high-bred, pedigreed Great Dane dogs. They understood. I could turn to them. I could tell them my troubles — and they stood by me.

“But I’m not so bitter now. I’ve met many charming people in these last years — people who seemed to like me for myself. And in these last years I can be sure that people do like me for myself and not for my fame and influence and money.

“That is a certain comfort!”