Richard Widmark: A Princeton legend

Richard Widmark was deluged by fan mail of all kinds after portraying Tommy Udo on screen in the “Kiss of Death” in 1947. He even got communications from inmates of Leavenworth who were curious to know where he did his time, and even got an offer of employment — “I need a front man like you for my business. I don’t know how much you are getting as an actor, but I will pay you more.” People wrote him letters who wanted to know whether he was at reform school with them. Tommy Udo Clubs were founded by fraternity men on college campuses to “keep their women in line.”

Richard Widmark’s family saw him in his first screen role and had just about the same reaction. It is written that his mother was horrified; his wife was disgusted; and his little daughter started crying. Did they actually let little Anne see that movie? Richard’s grandmother, Mary (Ogorman) Barr, age 78, died April 27, 1938, in Sioux Falls, S.D., missing his movie debut by about nine years. I bet she would have sat through the “Kiss of Death” at least three times, and loving every moment of seeing her grandson on the screen.

The star of “Kiss of Death,” Victor Mature, who played Nick Bianco in the movie, was the first to sense that Richard Widmark was going to be a star. “Don’t tell me this guy has a wife and child,” he gasped, “No girl could be that brave!”

He was sold on Widmark’s abilities as an actor from just the one performance. Widmark always carried around the letter from the shady fellow who wanted him to be the front man for his business, to show friends like Victor Mature. Fans begged him to repeat the moronic laugh of Tommy Udo, instead of asking for his autograph. The laugh had trademarked him. One writer said that Widmark “looks like an undernourished knife grinder and has the idiot laugh of a ring tailed baboon.” These impressions of the actor were very far from the truth about the man.

Richard Widmark spoke softly in real life. He didn’t sneer, cackle or use violent language. He had pale blue eyes and a gentle smile. Widmark did have that recognizable laugh though, that would always identify him since his childhood, but it being that of a rapacious hyena was only his own enhancement for the movies. Widmark said of it, “If that was my natural laugh,” smiling painfully when confronted with the accusation, “I think they’d have me in the loony bin.”

The persons that we interact with in our lives affect us. The influence our parents and teachers have on us when we are young developing persons has a lot to do with who we become. We have a lot to do with it ourselves, of course, but outside influences play a role. Widmark said his parents forbade him to ever be an actor, after he ran a rusty nail into his foot, when he was 6, imitating Rudolph Valentino in his backyard. This was after seeing Valentino at the movies with his grandmother, Mary Barr. Had this declaration from his parents been adhered to, to the letter, we may never have ever seen this young boy grow into the actor we see on the screen today.

The more things a person learns to do and do fairly well, the more comfortable that person is in their own skin. Knowing you have skills in many areas is like owning stock in a successful company, and that company is you.

Piano music had been a constant in Richard Widmark’s life since he was 3 years old, when he and his grandmother went to the silent movies. Mary Barr, in going to the movies, became acquainted with the young lady playing the piano at the Apollo.

Ethel M. (Anderson) Rieck was a pianist for the silent movies at a couple of area theaters, including the Apollo in Princeton. Ethel lived in Granville at 156 Hawthorne St., and was born April 18, 1902. She had two sisters, Jessie and Arvilla. Her father was John Anderson who was born in Sweden in 1861, and immigrated to the United States in 1877. Her mother Clara (Walborn), was from Pennsylvania. Ethel married Max Rieck when she was 16. He was five years older than her. They had two children, Jean in 1921 and Sonny in 1928. Ethel was 23 when the Widmark family moved to Princeton in 1925. Mary Barr soon introduced her daughter Ethel Mae to the young lady and a friendship was struck between the two Ethels.

Mary and Ethel Mae hoped Ethel Rieck might give piano lessons to Richard. An agreement was made, and Richard was driven to Granville. He was left with Mrs. Rieck who had an upright piano and did give lessons. This worked for a while, but personal problems for Ethel Rieck, plus getting there, and the cost of the trips became more than Ethel Mae could contend with. The advent of sound in the cinema, in 1927, ended Ethel Rieck’s job. She divorced Max Rieck in 1929 and married Walter Engelhaupt in 1930. She died in March of 1984. Her sister, Arvilla Anderson, married Howard Wray in 1916. They had a child, Dorothy, April 3, 1917, and Arvilla died weeks later, in May. Her sister Jessie adopted Dorothy in 1918. Dorothy married Frank O. Serrine in 1934. She was the Putnam County Circuit Clerk working at the courthouse with my father when he was the Putnam County Treasurer.  She was a sweet lady I was privileged to know. She died June 30, 2007.

Richard then took piano lessons at the Congregational Church and practiced on an old upright that his family finally bought. It stood in the back of the bakery. He also had access to one at school and at his friend Tom Best’s home. Tom and Dick had a real bond through music. They would play together in a little group in high school called the Rhythm Kings, and long after that when movie star Widmark would quietly glide into Princeton. He would stay at the Best home, where they rattled the windows with evening jam sessions in the basement. The piano would always get a thorough workout, but not always work to perfection or thoroughly. Virgil Fox, two years ahead of Tom and Richard in high school, visited with the Best family on one occasion, after he had already made his mark in the world. Tom showed him to his “music inner sanctum” in the basement, so he could play with the now world famous master of the organ and piano. Fox sat down and started to pound out — an awful sound, making the two grown men look at each other with “what the” faces, then causing both of them to burst out in hysterical laughter. The piano was so out of tune that no ivory magic would ever be made, even with a great virtuoso on the keys.

Richard Widmark and Virgil Fox had a history also, and it was of course connected by the piano. They would have the same piano teacher to give them their lessons. She would be one of the teachers to have an influence on who they would become in life.

Thanks and a tip of the hat to Kathryn (Serrine) Whitely of Granville (Dorothy’s daughter), and Fred Best (Tom’s son) for the anecdotes on the Ethel M. (Anderson) Rieck-Engelhaupt and Tom Best/Virgil Fox items. I’ll have some more for you in a couple of weeks, with Grace Luella Farwell, piano teacher.