Days Gone By

By Nolan Cleary, Editor-in-Chief

He was the hottest name in town.

J. Barney Pritzker.  

He directed the biggest movies of the 20s and 30s. 

He was the meanest son of a gun in all of Hollywood. 

Whether it be “The Emerald Bracelet,” “The Planet of the Spiders,” “Death Whistle,” or “The Phantom Mistress,” he directed it all. 

Top dollar.

Pritz was on the set of “The Glass Mystery,” the newest film he was working on. 

Amanda Price was one of the most gorgeous actresses in Hollywood. With that type of body, she could get any man she wanted.

She’d been cast as Marradith in Pritz’s new motion picture. “Oh George, don’t stay in this heap of junk! You can join Martin, the others and myself!”

Pritz responded. “You know I can’t, Marradith. If anyone were to find out, it could be the end of us.” 

She cried. “Oh, George!” 

“We’ll always be together, Marradith. In my heart.”  

And cut! 

Pritz called the shot.  

 “Scene! Take five, folks!” 

Pritz walked off of the set and Amanda approached him.

 “That was a mighty fine directing,” Amanda said. “That’s the art of the job,” Pritz responded. 

Amanda smoked a whiff of her cigarette. 

“That was some mighty fine acting skills that you’ve got there. Really movin’, truly,” Pritz told her. “Well, a good actress is only given the material from the captain,” Amanda responded. “Can I take you out to dinner?” Pritz asked. 

“I thought you were a married man?” She inquired. 

“Married? What’s marriage got to do with dinner, my dear? One’s a union between two people who love each other, the other is takin’ a sweet dame like yourself out for a bite.” 

She giggled.  

As the years went on, Pritz constituted to gain glory. Twelve academy awards and twenty-two nominations. Films like “The Purple Valley” and “The Dark Mask” became hits in the box office, but they began to fade over time. The old sport began to decline in popularity; one bomb after another. One person can only go through a wringer so many times. It was his fate that he’d deteriorate. 

Things became bad at home, as well. His ol’ wife, Marie, became impatient with what she read in the papers. A drinking, flirtatious and ranting lunatic. He’d been kicked off the set of “The 17th Mile” after a meltdown with his producers.  

“I’m concerned, J., The press ain’t friendly toward you,” Marie said. 

“Hush down now, Marie, things’ll be alright. They always are,” Pritz assured her.

 “No, not this time. Not this time, J.” Pritz tried to look away from her. “I’m sick of this. I’m sick of your drinking, partying and your whimsical platonic relationships,”

“Well come now, Marie…” Pritz was stopped by his wife.

 “You listen here, Jerome Barney Pritzker, I’ve had enough. I’ve put up with your games for too long. I’m out of here.” Marie began to storm out. 

“Marie what’s the meaning of-” 

“I’m leaving you, J. What the hell else would it be?”  

His wife, career and relationships all seemed in tatters, and Pritz had become a shell of his former self. Making matters worse, his next release, “St. Agatha’s Cathedral” was a flop. To top it off, the 1940s begun and the war was brewing. No one had the time or money for Pritz’s fame or glory. After a series of scandals involving Pritz’s drinking and a car accident that rocked the publications, the Warner Brothers removed their contract with Pritz.

 His lady was gone and his movies were no more. His career was finished. At last, it seemed the nail of death had been sounded for Jerome Barney Pritzker.   

George was having regular get-togethers with his old friends at parties. In his later years, he became old and grizzled. This wasn’t the same Pritz they knew as this man seemed like a cheap copy of the giant he once was. 

“Well, I told Marianne I’d buy the nicest necklace if I had the chance,” Amanda told her old pal, Sally. “Say, Pritz, when’s the next film coming?” Nicolas, their old friend at the party asked. 

“Next film? Why don’t ya read more about it in the funny papers, won’t ya?” Pritz responded. 

His friends collectively laughed. “Really, though, I haven’t seen one of your pictures on the big screen since… when was it? 1938?” 

“1939,” Pritz responded. 

“Yes, 1939. What happened?” Nicolas continued. 

“Well, what’s it to you friend?”

“Well, it’s 1950, Pritz. You’re getting old, you don’t have much longer to make an impact.” 

Nicolas had crossed a line. “Impact? Let me tell you, pal. I’ll show ya impact!” 

Pritz punched his old friend in the face. 

Pritz!” Amanda shouted. 

Amanda rushed to hold Pritz back. Nick’s old gal, Sally, did the same. 

“Now, you listen here, ya old son of a gun! I’ve had more of an impact than your sorry face will ever have! Get out of my house!” Pritz demanded. 

“Well, good golly, can’t a fella ask a question?” Nicolas asked. 

“Get out!” He demanded again, and the two began to leave while Amanda apologetically attempted to excuse her man. 

“Are you crazy?” She asked. 

“Right now, I think we’re all crazy!” Pritz responded. “Nothing’s worth a damn anymore.” 

“You were like this in Hollywood!” She proclaimed. 

“Listen, princess, does any of this look like Hollywood to you? The world’s different now and the whole darn game is different. We aren’t the same.” Pritz stormed up the stairs and Amanda continued to shout his name.

 As he walked up, Pritz entered the bathroom and saw his reflection. It was of a different man; a younger man with more freedom. He walked out towards the guest bedroom, and in there lies a stack of old movies he directed. 

He took out the films and inserted them into the projector. On the screens was a capsule of another time.  Pritz played all the classics: “Monday In London,” “The French Maiden” and “Frank Durby’s Cottage.” He began to feel a strange sense of nostalgia; a longing for the good old days.  

As the tape went on, it became more haunting. Pritz’s feelings went from youthful and optimistic to bitter and enraged. Reality sank deeper for the old man. This was the end, so Nicholas was right. The good ol’ days were long behind him.  

  Pritz stormed into the other room. He knew there was one option left for him. Opening a box, he found a revolver from the set of “Indian Hunter Jack.” John Wayne held the gun when Pritz directed it, but this wasn’t just a prop. This was the real deal, after all. 

He loaded the gun.  

Then, he aimed it at his temple. “Nothing to lose now, old sport.” 

Just as he was about to pull the trigger, Amanda appeared. His golden goose witnessed the whole thing in shock.

 “No please Pritz, don’t do it!” She cried, hugged and begged him. “Please don’t do it, for me!” Amanda insisted. 

“I know we don’t have Hollywood anymore, Pritz, but we have each other.” Pritz dropped the gun and kissed her passionately.  

In the months ahead, Pritz’s life went back to normal, with no new offers or arrangements until an offer came at his door. “Baton Rouge” was a proposed period romance film screen written by Frank Capra. That genius bastard, he’d stolen “Mr. Smith Goes To Washington” from right under Pritz’s feet! RKO Pictures picked up the rights and J. Barney Pritzker was just the man they were courting for the job.  

 Day 1 of filming began. Pritz had the camera ready. Whatever happened now was fate and fate alone. 

“And action!”