Andy Hardy Comes Home

None Bigger Than Mickey Rooney

I made the dumb mistake seven or so years ago of passing on a Mickey Rooney stage show in Blowing Rock (a local source says one of his children lives up there), poor excuse being we were headed for the beach the next morning and it would keep us up too late. Well, now it really is too late. Mickey Rooney had the devil's own time convincing moderns that he'd once been the Biggest Star in motion pictures. At times, the Mighty Mite was truculent, his "autograph" (at $25 and upward) a swirl of ink unrecognizable as his or anyone's signature. Mick was by then sick of stills thrust in his face, but had to go on signing because whatever else was true or false of a fabulous career, he'd stay as short on cash as stature. That last was to height only (five foot three), his star-size a tallest at apex of a Classic Era for entertainers. To compete with and win against best performing of late 30's/early 40's, that is where it really counted (boxoffice windows), was feat far greater than silly statuettes the rest got for acting. Besides, Rooney was a better thesp than most who had Academy recognition (his own AA's along "special" line). Was Number One place he stood among showmen from 1939-41 a longest run anyone had in that position? Certainly it was for that peak of studio dominance.

Clark Gable was "King" of Hollywood in 1938, then Tyrone Power took the crown a following year, and Mickey Rooney got it afterward (co-winning Bette Davis said MR refused to don the crown because it "overpowered" him). Rooney had no peer at Metro, where rubber met road, that is, cost against gain. His Andy Hardys and barnyard musicals were dimes that earned dollars, always and reliably. An exhibitor could open doors for a Hardy to assurance of deluge. MGM overworked Rooney same as Judy, but his was iron constitution, and the most trouble this adolescent star made was inveterate tom-catting and pony-playing. That, of course, would have been OK had Mick been more of age, but love found Andy Hardy behind door of Norma Shearer/others' dressing rooms and word was studio-round that he was pounding more than soundstage drums. Maybe Mick was discreet then, but he'd spill hot chili beans in a 90's memoir that was all but porn and made Kenneth Anger's Babylon look like child's croquet. Question then as now, and always, was truth ... or not. For Rooney, interviews were so much performance, veracity be hanged, and you had to wonder at times if the career had happened to him or some other guy. Serious questioners finally got to where they stopped bothering.

There were marriages (eight) and bankruptcies. Agents and producing partners got used like toilet tissue. Mick's capacity to bounce back, often to triumph, seemed almost unearthly. How many times was he counted out, then celebrated again? There was movies, radio, television, Broadway. He dated back to silents, for land's sake, and once did voice for Oswald The Rabbit. And co-starred with Tom Mix. And was apparently working (starring) in a new version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde when he died. Lest I'm mistaken, this is a career that lasted eighty-eight years, which is longer than most people could hope to live, let alone work. Would I be safe to say that Mickey Rooney knew (at least met) or worked with every notable show biz personage of the 20th Century? If half of them met him at the Gate, it must have been some Heaven of a crowded entry.

More Mick at Greenbriar Archives: Dateline April 28, 1939, Words and Music, Metro's Accent On Youth, Summer Holiday, The Fireball, Andy Hardy's Blonde Trouble, My True Story, All Ashore, and Andy Hardy's Double Life.