Robert Taylor: The Man with the Perfect Profile

"I got into pictures because I was good-looking,” he said simply.

Someone in Hollywood once said, “God only made one Robert Taylor.” It’s true: It doesn’t matter that he was eclipsed by Bogart in brashness, Tracy in talent, Grant in suavity. It doesn’t matter that he will never be spoken of as passionately as Gable, or become as iconic as Peck—he was Robert Taylor, one of the best things to come from Hollywood.

Taylor was born as Spangler Arlington Brough in Nebraska in 1911. His wealthy parents gave him pets, a bicycle, and guns. But he was not spoiled. “I don’t ever remember being able to evade any punishments,” he would later say. As a youngster, he was teased as a “little Lord Fauntleroy” because of the way his mother dressed him. He was also called “Buddy”, “Arly”, and later on, “Bob”. In high school, he did track, acted, and played the cello.

Spangler at age nine

Discovered by an MGM talent scout while performing in a school play, Spangler Arlington Brough was offered a $35-a-week job with the movies. Actress Rosalind Russell remembered the day the “kid” signed with MGM – “They redid his teeth, shaved back his hairline, and a year later as Robert Taylor he was a big romantic star.” (He was also instructed to put on some weight.) At the time, Taylor was supporting his mother and grandmother. He was considering  switching to work as a salesman for more pay, when Louis B. Mayer intervened and promptly gave the young man a raise – $59 a week.

“Boy Meets Girl” was the usual plot of his earlier films.

"I was this punk kid from Nebraska who had an awful lot of the world's good things tossed in his lap."

James Stewart and guess who, taking a tea-time break while filming Small Town Girl (1936).

He was indeed a big star. In the early 1930s, he was mobbed regularly by crowds of up to 5,000 women (some people claimed sourly this was only a publicity stunt). “On all of Mt. Olympus,” agreed Ronald Reagan, “he was the most handsome.” But while women adored the new star, the men derided Taylor for being “dangerously pretty”. Male fans were raising eyebrows, questioning his masculinity. His looks became the butt of jokes; some said they couldn’t tell him apart from Hedy Lamarr. Taylor would eventually address the subject himself: “Looks are good or bad, according to taste. My appearance doesn’t fascinate me. But I’m not the one who has to be pleased, either. It’s a big help to an actor if people like to look at him, but it has nothing to do with acting.” Yet, as one source noted, “He was so pretty that people didn’t take him seriously” – a problem which was similarly shared by Fox’s Tyrone Power. Taylor hated the term pretty, an image that embarrassed him. So, MGM launched an assignment to toughen him up in the late 1930s, placing him in The Crowd Roars (1938), a boxing picture that successfully boosted his career and admitted acceptance from the male fans.

1930s

1940s

1950s

Suddenly, Taylor was not only a star, but a part of American culture. Ranked third in Hollywood in 1937, his was a recognizable name on screen. (“We can now again see American films – Robert Taylor and Greta Garbo,” exclaimed a just-liberated French youngster in 1943 during WWII.) “Acting is the easiest job in the world, and I’m the luckiest guy,” Taylor smiled.

Along with his prominent widow’s peak, his profile (he was known as “The Man with the Perfect Profile”) set him apart from other leading men. He possessed a wry sense of humor, was well-spoken, and a definite gentleman. He never lost himself in a role; he always stood out sharply on screen as none other than Robert Taylor. While his ramrod posture worked to give the illusion that he was tall, he was only 5’ 11½”, which Hollywood sought to remedy by teaming him with petite leading ladies.

Some insisted they couldn’t say who was prettier: Hedy Lamarr or Bob Taylor

The worst thing that can be said of Taylor’s acting is that he often fell into standard reactions and dialogue delivery. But he was never a scene-stealer. As Shelly Winters said, “He was the sweetest man to work with. By that I mean he was cooperative and understanding, in contrast to most leading men of today, who try either to elbow you out of camera range or are off in a corner somewhere practicing Method acting.” In 1967 Taylor was reported as saying, “I’ve never been terribly ambitious – simply wanted to do a good job at whatever I did. The reviews usually said I gave an adequate or good performance . . . . I’ve never had an Oscar and probably never will. I’m content to try to do as well as I can.” A fellow actor said that he “can be remembered by millions of moviegoers with gratitude that in the darkened theater he never embarrassed them in front of their children.”

With Lionel Stander and Frank Morgan in The Crowd Roars (1938)

It is unclear at this point in the film whether Taylor is more interested in his banana or Norma Shearer in Her Cardboard Lover (1942)

The 1940s gave him a good list of films. Billy the Kid (1941) was filmed in a rush, despite the fact that he had practiced his left-handed gun draw for weeks. Although he seemed unnatural as a cowboy talking in unrealistic “aint’s”, he genuinely relished the role. In Flight Command (1941), he was delightful, and had some good lines. Critics suggested that in Her Cardboard Lover (1942) the adjective “cardboard” suited him. Bataan (1943) was a gritty no-nonsense war role (“I’ll bet you could strike kitchen matches on the back of his neck”, remarked Robert Walker of Taylor’s Sgt. Bill Dane). The High Wall (1947) was an especially good performance. His own favorite was Waterloo Bridge (1940), the first film in which he sported a mustache.

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As he aged, Taylor’s handsome face bore a pinched seriousness, and his voice gained a sharp edge of wary grimness. He moved into grittier films, completing a long list of Westerns. In the 1950s, he lapsed into costume pictures even though they were not his preference: Quo Vadis (1951), Ivanhoe (1952), Knights of the Round Table (1953), Quentin Durward (1955). He spent 24 years at MGM, setting a record. Remarking he wasn’t “proud” of various films he made after leaving the studio, he nevertheless continued acting, later taking on TV.

 as Sgt. Bill Dane in Bataan

With Deborah Kerr in Quo Vadis

Yet he was probably least “proud” of Song of Russia (1944). He claimed the original script contained Communist propaganda, testifying that Roosevelt aides had delayed his naval commission until he had finished making the picture. MGM attempted to smooth things over by admitting Taylor had “mentioned” his commission; however, they believed Song of Russia would be useful for “the war effort”. Taylor was ruffled.

Testifying before HUAC in 1947

That troublesome film: Song of Russia (1944)

In fact, he was very active in Hollywood politics. In 1944, he and several others founded the Motion Picture Alliance for the Preservation of American Ideals, which began lobbying for investigation of Communist influence in Hollywood. Taylor was a foremost force: “If I were even suspicious of a person being a Communist with whom I was scheduled to work, I am afraid it would have to be him or me, because life is a little too short to be around people who annoy me as much as these fellow travelers and Communists do.” Years later, Taylor was even considered for California governor (before Reagan). Taylor’s political credo can be summed up in his 1951 statement, “I am pro-freedom and pro-decency.”

When World War II came, he enlisted and became a lieutenant in the Naval Air Corps. He had acquired his pilot’s license earlier, and now trained pilots, as well as directing and narrating military training films.

Lieutenant Taylor, U.S. Navy

What was Bob Taylor like? A 1939 Modern Screen article gushed, “He’s from the cornfields of Nebraska. He loves horses and guns . . . . He’s nuts about flying.” He liked hunting, fishing, writing letters, and listening to classical music. A definite meat-and-potatoes man (he liked steak and fried chicken), he was an early riser and a heavy smoker (3 to 5 packs a day). Describing himself, he confessed he was never outgoing: “I am uneasy when I am with more than one person.” He always dressed to the nines – legend has it that in the early 1930s, actress Luise Rainier asked Taylor his aspirations for life; he jested lightly that he wanted to own ten “perfectly tailored suits.” But if there was one thing he hated, it was pretention. He never claimed to be the big star he was lauded as; he never understood why he remained so famous throughout the decades. A Hollywood writer commented, “The studio workers will tell you Bob is considerate, respectful and friendly.”

Wedding bells rang for him in 1939. “Robert Taylor and Barbara Stanwyck, whose friendship had been in the hand-holding stage for nearly three years, tonight settled down on an alfalfa farm to begin a night of wedded bliss” (Pittsburg Post-Gazette). He and Stanwyck shared a love of the outdoors, as well as the same political views. The marriage increased his popularity, and delighted fans. Sadly, the couple divorced in 1952. Stanwyck said she was “very shocked and very grieved over it. It made me quite ill. For several weeks I was under the care of my physician.”

Bob and Babs

“I doubt that there ever has been, or ever will be, a greater pro than Barbara.”

Not long after, Taylor met German actress Ursula Thiess on a blind date. When they married in 1954, the press quipped snidely that “he’d finally met someone even prettier than he was.” The new Mrs. Robert Taylor was applauded for giving up her acting career to become a housewife. The couple would have two children, Terrance and Tessa. Tessa recalls sitting on her father’s lap as a little girl while he typed letters. Now decades after his death, it comforts her whenever she hears his voice on TV, and her reaction is still “Hi, Daddy!” She remembers him as a loving, patient father and family man.

With Ursula Thiess

"The Most Beautiful Woman in the World" and "The Man with the Perfect Profile" 

With Terrance, Tessa, and wife Ursula.

Robert Taylor was diagnosed with lung cancer toward the end of the 1960s, and had his right lung removed in the fall of 1968. He was aware his disease was terminal and had been trying to quit smoking shortly before his death in 1969. His parting wish to his wife was “to be happy”.

Among those attending the funeral service were Barbara Stanwyck, Robert Stack, Walter Pidgeon, Van Heflin, Eva Marie Saint, and George Murphy. Ronald Reagan gave the eulogy: “In all the years of stardom he never got over being embarrassed at the furor that his appearance created. He went a long way to avoid putting himself in a position where he could become the center of attention.”

Truly, God did make only one Robert Taylor. The actor shall be remembered, if not by hordes as he should be, then by a loyal few who will always respect him for his talent, modesty, ideals, and for being a gentleman.

"He was more than a pretty boy," Ronald Reagan said.

Doing one of the things he loved best: flying. "I'm the luckiest guy," Taylor said.

Photograph credits: Pinterest, Nebraska-history-robert-taylor-wayback-pdf-1994, artdeculov.tumblr, backtogoldendays.blogspot, bunnysvintagevictory, jakeweird.blogspot, Wikipedia.