GARBO'S
SECRET VACATION
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She is generally dressed in slacks that could stand attention from a tailor, a disreputable sweater, and a sunvisor worn in a manner only Garbo would think of attempting. She takes her straight blonde hair and thrusts it up into a strange, straggling bundle on top of her head beneath the elastic which holds the visor in place, over a face devoid of any make-up. In a childish hand she signs the register “Mary Brown,” and slinks up to her room.
     Immediately the “underground” telegraph system which exists among all hotel employees starts in with “Garbo's here” whispered back and forth, and the battle starts over who shall attend to her simple wants. She comes without a maid or companion of any sort, but never desires any attention other than room service at breakfast and dinner and a boatman to deliver her favorite canoe to her daily.

HER appetite is a never-ending source of wonder to the kitchen staff. When she same up the first time she did not care to look over the menu, but merely asked for “dinner.” The nervous waiter, left alone with the stupendous problem of what to feed Garbo, ran down to the kitchen and excitedly ordered some of everything on the menu placed on a huge tray, which he staggered under all the way up to the star's room. Imagine his surprise when, returning an hour later for the tray, he found it waiting for him outside of Garbo's door with all the dishes empty and stacked neatly under a napkin. Since then, through investigation, the staff has managed to learn that Garbo likes just about everything, but must have a thick wedge of cheese at least twice a day and prefers rye bread.

     Her lunches, which would make the hardest working C.C.C. bay smile with satisfaction, consist of stacks of thick chicken sandwiches, milk, cheese, pie and fruit, delivered to her in a large box at breakfast. Breakfast is served to her at 7:00 A.M. She downs this meal hurriedly and, lunch box under arm and bathing suit under slacks, slinks out of the side entrance of the Inn down to the edge of the lake and her waiting canoe before anyone else is stirring.
     From then on, no one but the squirrels get a glimpse of the glamorous star. She paddles her canoe across the lake to secluded coves on the north shore and takes long walks among the pine trees, leaving the slacks and sweater in the canoe and striding along in bathing suit and men's shoes. Occasionally someone will catch a far-away glimpse of her earnestly paddling across the lake, but no one so far has been able to get a good close-up of the Great One in her black bathing suit.
     Garbo returns to the Inn with the heavy mantle of fog that settles down over the blue of the lake about six o'clock in the evening, slipping unobtrusively through the private entrance which is always unpadlocked on her arrival. All her trouble to remain incognito is really unnecessary, as she is never recognized by other guests who occasionally meet her coming or going. For no one would guess that the slender girl with the abominable trousers and funny shoes is the gorgeous star who glides across the screen in exotic creations by Adrian. It is an entirely different Garbo from the one we have come to know on the screen.

HER voice and eyelashes first gave her to the staff of the Inn. Though her strange manner of dressing fooled the natives, her low, guttural voice and huge eyes led them to guess who the strange “Mary Brown” was. She never budges from the Inn in the evening, remaining in her room with the stacks of books her luggage always contains. Evidently Greta suffers from luggage always contains. Evidently Greta suffers from insomnia, as her light burns far on into the night, but she is always ready for her hearty breakfast early next morning.
     These visits usually last a week, but no one ever ventures up the mountain to call and she receives no mail or telegrams. Her lonely stay is broken only by her brief conversations with those who serve her. Never arrogant or “high-hat,” she seems merely shy and terribly afraid of people. The natives are fond of her and delight in doing little things that bring a smile of grateful pleasure to her tired face. Her generosity, in return, is traditional.
     One of the most amusing occurrences during a Garbo visit at the lake happened when the management was forced to put her in a tiny room on the top floor of the Inn, without benefit of private bath. Garbo customarily takes the only room in the quaint hostelry that boasts its own bath, but unfortunately, a women's convention was in full blast on the first floor. In order to preserve the quiet insisted upon by Greta, the management shifted her to a tiny back room, where she seemed pleased and happy, though forced to run down the hall clad in a bathrobe for her daily dunking.
     The way the employees “gang up” to preserve the peace of mind of their favorite guest is illustrated by the fact that the publicity manager of the resort never knows that she has visited there until after the black car has taken its dignified, though noisy, departure down the fill. One time a news photographer, whose candid camera pictures of motion picture celebrities are well known and who has spent the better part of two years trying in vain to get an informal picture of the enigmatic Swede, actually vacationed in the room next to hers for two days without learning that she was there, even failing to guess her presence when a smitten bell-hop delivered great armloads of fragrant almond blossoms daily to the lady with the deep voice.

GARBO doesn't keep her car at the lake with her, but sends it down the mountain as soon as she is deposited, with instructions to return when she calls. Making this call to her faithful James is the only time Garbo ever uses the telephone during her stay. She never ventures down to the village proper, or walks on the beautiful trails maintained on the village shore of the lake. Chances of taking a walk on these paths without meeting someone are too slim.
     Only once was Garbo accompanied by anyone on her vacation from Hollywood. That was when Rouben Mamoulian, her director, came up the mountain with his star.
     “Now we'll see her dressed up,” ran along the grapevine telegraph, as the director accompanied Garbo at the time when rumors of their impending marriage were on the front pages of all the newspapers. The stories stated that the romantic couple were touring the country in Garbo's car, while they were actually hidden away at Arrowhead all the while.
     Much to the disappointment of those who expected her at least to break down and comb her hair properly, Garbo donned the least flattering combination of clothing she was worn at the lake at any time when she took Mamoulian along on her heretofore solitary walks among the pine trees. The visor still drew her hair up into a bushman's top-knot on top of her classic head. A mackintosh several sizes too large for her replaced the sweat shirt, and boy's plus-four golf trousers supplanted the wrinkled slacks. Her long, slim legs were encased in heavy golf socks of the sort favored by your iceman, and the shoes seemed even bigger and heavier than ever. Yet Mamoulian, to all who saw them together, was doubtless fascinated by her and Garbo seemed gay and young for the first time, laughing happily and talking enthusiastically in a foreign tongue.
     Up there they guess her age as thirty-five, but are often startled by some childish action that provides conversational topics around the fireplace in the lounge during the long winter evenings. Occasionally Garbo will leave a funny little note on her breakfast tray, making fun of the cook, the waiter, or telling a little joke. Once in a while she will run down the hill from the Inn to her canoe like a startled rabbit, with her hair bouncing along behind her.
     Sometimes she throws peanuts out of her window to the squirrels or asks that Daniel, the fat gray cat who presides over the Inn like an aged and dignified patron, have dinner in her room with her. She giggled like a school girl over the dozens of newspaper stories stating that she was touring the country with Mamoulian, and laughed heartily when informed that the news photographers had failed to penetrate her effective disguise.'
     Garbo is human! on her last visit she asked to be notified immediately when Daniel's latest consort blessed him with her first litter of fuzzy kittens.

from:  Modern Screen      October 1934
© Copyright by  Modern Screen