Hollywood Happenings

Hollywood can forget quickly. Two days after it was over, the national election was as dated as last week's newsreel, as dull as last week's gossip. The local election was a different story. Unseated after twelve years was Los Angeles' redbaiting Republican District Attorney Buron Fitts, who has more titillating Hollywood scandal under his bonnet than a dog has fleas. With just an occasional heckle from the film colony's left wing because of his unvarying kindness to the industry's big shots, Fitts sashayed complacently through his duties without any qualms about serious opposition for his job. After election, Hollywood awoke to find him replaced by a local Democratic attorney named John Dockweiler.

Consternation ran high. When Dockweiler combed the studios before election, palm outstretched for contributions, all he got was the air. Fitts had been there first. On election night the "Fitts Victory Ball" collapsed early in a welkin of gloom. Industry patriarchs burned their lamps late exchanging phone calls on ways & means of getting on pleasanter terms with Dockweiler. In his next Hollywood Reporter editorial, W. R. ("Billy") Wilkerson, the industry's mouthpiece, trumpeted: "The King is dead. Long live the King." With lachrymose solemnity he recalled that Fitts had been a great friend, protecting the industry from phonies. But Wilkerson hopefully observed that "nervousness" over Dockweiler was premature: "John Dockweiler, aside from being a most able jurist, is a fine man; the son of a fine father and one certain to make a GREAT District Attorney. . . . [He] may feel a bit peeved at our very rich industry, but that peeve, if there is one, would never be reflected in his office because he is entirely a too high type gentleman to carry a personal peeve into the administration of his duties." Dockweiler kept his peeves, if any, to himself.

It took the Hollywood Marines to open a brand-new topic. Fortnight ago, the 22nd Battalion of the Marine Corps Reserves under the command of wiry, abrupt, outspoken Major W. S. ("Woody") Van Dyke II, ace M. G. M. director, was ordered to San Diego for active service. It was a great moment for Woody Van Dyke, who loves pomp and patriotism even more than pictures. Last fall he hung the stars and stripes outside his studio office, tacked up a sign proclaiming it a Marine recruiting station. After Thursday-night drills with his outfit, Woody would stride into Chasen's restaurant and climb aboard a stool in full regimental regalia. Hollywood said good-by to Woody at a formal dinner for 500 on an M. G. M. sound stage climaxed by a hectic scuffle for the check by the studio, the Screen Directors Guild, Producer Edward Mannix.

Just as the Hollywood Marines were about to board the train, a swarm of process servers descended with writs for 15 of the men. Major Van Dyke exploded, declared he would turn the whole matter over to his attorney, Mabel Walker Willebrandt.

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