Few actors in modern times have come close to the fame and glory of Clark Gable, the original macho man of movies for three decades. Gable stamped his image indelibly on the public consciousness in 92 motion pictures including "Gone With the Wind," one of the most popular films of all time.
Although not the greatest actor in the world, nor the most handsome, Gable was probably the most popular romantic star Hollywood ever produced. So wonderfully human, so manly and magnetic, he was loved by millions of women, admired by their husbands and millions of other men, and worshiped by children.
Many stars are short men who appear bigger than life on screen. William Clark Gable, who was born Feb. 1, 1901, in Ohio, was bigger than life on and off screen, and the public realized it: He had that magic quality called presence or charisma. In every film he made, even the early ones, he made his roles believable. In my opinion, Gable would be an even bigger star today because so much emphasis in current films is on plot contrivance and computer gimmickry rather than fully rounded characters.
I'd grown up watching Gable films in theaters in my hometown, and later saw them projected on sheets hung between poles on various islands in the South Pacific during World War II. He defined masculinity for an entire generation of us young adult males. Like many Americans, I was a childhood fan of the hero/actor. As an adult who came to know him, I became a fan of the real-life man.
I first met him during the fall of 1951 when he was in New York to promote "Across the Wide Missouri," his latest film. The assignment editor at the New York Herald Tribune, where I had just started working as a reporter, told me to find out how Gable was spending his time in Manhattan. An MGM press agent arranged for me to see Gable at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel.
By that time, Gable was the biggest star in the Hollywood firmament. He had won an Academy Award for 1934's "It Happened One Night." Instead of a long-winded speech, he said only, "Thank you." He was nominated two more times, for "Mutiny on the Bounty" (1935) and "Gone With the Wind" (1939). He'd been married four times. Three of the wives he divorced were his senior by many years. His marriage to actress Carole Lombard ended with her tragic death at 33 in a plane crash in 1942.
When I phoned Gable's room from the hotel lobby, he answered the phone himself. "I'll meet you in the lobby," he said. "I have a short errand to do. Maybe you can go with me and we'll talk."
A few minutes later he came out of the elevator wearing a double-breasted, camel hair wrap-around coat, a tan, wide-brim fedora hat, and the Gable grin. He was taller and more rugged looking than I had expected, every inch of his 6 feet the movie star. I introduced myself and we shook hands. He headed out the Park Avenue door with me following. I'd expected a limo to be waiting, but he started walking briskly uptown with me alongside. We exchanged some pleasantries about the cold weather. He asked me if I liked guns.
"Not much," I said. "I had an M1 slung over my shoulder for three years as an infantryman."
"I was in the Air Corps myself," he said.
Someone shrieked, "Clark Gable!" Within minutes we had a small crowd following us. By the time we had reached 57th Street and Madison Avenue, the crowd had become a parade. Gable seemed as unconcerned about them as a drum major leading a band.
We entered Abercrombie & Fitch followed by the entourage. A man wearing a green apron over his black suit, obviously expecting Gable, greeted him with a handshake and led us to the elevator. Someone blocked the door to allow us to get in alone. We went up one flight and entered a room furnished like a hunting lodge, which, in a way, it was.
The man put a cloth over the table and excused himself for a moment. He returned wearing gloves and holding a shotgun that he very carefully handed to Gable. "Just as you ordered, sir," he said.
Gable's gray eyes squinted as he handled and examined the gun for a few minutes. He gently caressed the burled walnut stock before hefting the gun to his shoulder sighting it at targets only he visualized. Satisfied, he put the weapon gently back on the table. "You're one helluva gunsmith," he told the man.
There was some talk between them about the recommended ammunition for various types of hunting and another handshake. The fans waiting on the ground floor parted respectfully to let us pass. Someone hailed a cab for us.
While we were stopped for a light at Madison Avenue and 50th Street, a woman on the corner shrieked, "Clark Gable!" Before the light changed, traffic was stopped and a hysterical mob of women were trying to open the cab doors. Gable managed to lock them. He sat calmly, smiling and waving, until police arrived and cleared the crowd.
