Trivia: American actress and gossip columnist Hedda Hopper was born Elda Furry, but used the last name of her then-husband, Broadway star DeWolf Hopper, when she launched her movie career in 1915. Never a major star in silent films, Hedda was a competent character actress specializing in "best friend" and "other woman" roles. When she divorced DeWolf Hopper, Hedda found that she had to take any roles that came her way in order to support herself and her son DeWolf Jr. (who later became a film and TV actor under the name William Hopper). Her career running smoothly if not remarkably by 1932, Ms. Hopper decided to branch out into politics, running for the Los Angeles city council; she lost and returned to movies, where good roles were becoming scarce. Practically unemployed in 1936, Hedda took a job on a Hollywood radio station, dispensing news and gossip about the film capital. Impressed by Hedda's chatty manner and seemingly bottomless reserve of "dirt" on her fellow actors (sometimes gleaned from her own on-set experiences, sometimes mere wild-card speculations), the Esquire news syndicate offered Ms. Hopper her own column, one that would potentially rival the Hearst syndicate columnist Louella Parsons. Carried at first by only 17 papers, Hedda did much better for herself by switching to the Des Moines Register and Tribune syndicate; her true entree into the big time occured in 1942, when she linked up with the behemoth Chicago Tribune-Daily News syndicate. Between them, Hedda and archrival Louella Parsons wielded more power and influence than any other Hollywood columnists - and they exploited it to the utmost, horning in uninivited at every major social event and premiere, and throwing parties that few dared not to attend. While Louella had the stronger newspaper affiliations, Hedda was more popular with the public, due to her breezy, matter-of-fact speaking style and her wry sense of humor; she also more flamboyant than Louella, given to wearing elaborate hats which cost anywhere from $50 to $60 each. On the credit side, Hedda touted several new young stars without expecting favors in return from their studios; she'd admit her errors (and there were many) in public, giving herself "the bird" - a bronx cheer - during her broadcasts; and wrote flattering and affectionate pieces about old-time stars who had long fallen out of favor with filmakers. On the debit side, Hedda carried long and vicious grudges; demanded that stars appear for free as guests on her radio program, or else suffer the consequences; and set herself up as an arbiter of public taste, demanding in the '50s and '60s that Hollywood censor its "racy" films. Hedda's greatest influence was felt when the studio system controlled Hollywood and a mere handful of moguls wielded the power of professional life and death on the stars; the studios needed a sympathetic reporter of their activities, and thus catered to Hedda's every whim. But as stars became their own producers and film production moved further outside Hollywood, Hedda's control waned; moreover, the relaxing of movie censorship made her rantings about her notions of good taste seem like something out of the Dark Ages. Also, Hedda was a strident anti-communist, which worked to her benefit in the days of the witchhunts and blacklists, but which made her sound like a reactionary harpy in the more liberal '60s. Evidence of Hedda's downfall occured in 1960 when she assembled an NBC-TV special and decreed that Hollywood's biggest stars appear gratis; but this was a year fraught with industry strikes over wages and residuals, and Hedda was only able to secure the services of the few celebrities who agreed with her politics or were wealthy enough to appear for free. By the early '60s, Hedda Hopper was an institution without foundation, "starring" as herself in occasional movies like Jerry Lewis' The Patsy (1964) which perpetuated the myth of her influence, and writing (or commissioning, since she'd stopped doing her own writing years earlier) long, antiseptic celebrity profiles for Sunday-supplement magazines.

Trivia: While studying for the ministry, George Barbier participated in a seminary pageant, and thereafter worshipped at the altar of acting. He was a stage actor of some 40-years' standing when he made his first film in 1930. Barbier was usually cast as corpulent business executives and flustered fathers. You might remember him as the theatrical agent of Faye Templeton (Irene Manning) in 1942's Yankee Doodle Dandy; he's the fellow who described George M. Cohan as "the whole United States wrapped up in one pair of pants." Barbier also played the small-town doctor with literary aspirations in The Man Who Came to Dinner (1942). George Barbier died at age 80, shortly after finishing his last film, Lucky Night.

Trivia: Tall, handsome, wavy-haired character actor George Meeker was never in the upper echelons of Hollywood stardom; off-camera, however, he was highly regarded and much sought after -- as an expert polo player. Meeker switched from stage to screen in the silent era, playing leading roles in such important features as Four Sons (1928). In talkies, Meeker seemingly took every part that was tossed his way, from full secondary leads to one-line bits. In his larger roles, Meeker was frequently cast as a caddish "other man," a spineless wastrel who might be (but seldom was) the mystery killer, or the respectable businessman who's actually a conniving crook. He showed up frequently in the films of Humphrey Bogart, most memorably as the white-suited gent in Casablanca (1942) who turns to Bogart after the arrest of Peter Lorre and sneers "When they come to get me, Rick, I hope you'll be more of a help." Other significant George Meeker credits include the role of Robespierre in Marie Antoinette (1938) (cut down to a sniff and a single line -- "Guilty!" -- in the final release print), the supercilious dude who wins Mary Beth Hughes away from Henry Fonda in The Ox-Bow Incident (1943), and the smarmy would-be bridegroom of heiress Dorothy Lamour in The Road to Rio (1947).

Trivia: Beefy, puffy-faced Canadian actor Joseph Sawyer spent his first years in films (the early- to mid-'30s) acting under his family name of Sauer. Before he developed his comic skills, Sawyer was often seen in roles calling for casual menace, such as the grinning gunman who introduces "Duke Mantee, the well-known killer" in The Petrified Forest (1936). While under contract to Hal Roach studios in the 1940s, Sawyer starred in several of Roach's "streamliners," films that ran approximately 45 minutes each. He co-starred with William Tracy in a series of films about a GI with a photographic memory and his bewildered topkick: Titles included Tanks a Million (1941), Fall In (1942), and Yanks Ahoy (1943) (he later reprised this role in a brace of B-pictures produced by Hal Roach Jr. for Lippert Films in 1951). A second "streamliner" series, concerning the misadventures of a pair of nouveau riche cabdrivers, teamed Sawyer with another Roach contractee, William Bendix. Baby boomers will remember Joe Sawyer for his 164-episode stint as tough but soft-hearted cavalry sergeant Biff O'Hara on the '50s TV series Rin Tin Tin.

Trivia: Western star "Wild Bill" Elliott was plain Gordon Elliott when he launched his stage career at the Pasadena Playhouse in 1928. Under his given name, he began appearing in dress-extra film roles around the same time. While he had learned to ride horses as a youth and had won several rodeo trophies, movie producers were more interested in utilizing Elliot's athletic skills in dancing sequences, in which the still-unbilled actor showed up in tux and tails. Beginning in 1934, Elliot's film roles increased in size; he also started getting work in westerns, albeit in secondary villain roles. In 1938, Elliot was selected to play the lead in the Columbia serial The Great Adventures of Wild Bill Hickok, in which he made so positive an impression that he would be billed as "Wild Bill" Elliott for the remainder of his cowboy career, even when his character name wasn't Bill. Elliott's western series for Columbia, which ran from 1938 through 1942, was among the studio's most profitable enterprises. Fans were primed to expect an all-out orgy of fisticuffs and gunplay whenever Elliott would face down the bad guy by muttering, "I'm a peaceable man, but..." Elliott moved to Republic in 1943, where he continued turning out first-rate westerns, including several in which he portrayed famed fictional do-gooder Red Ryder. In 1945, Elliott began producing his own films, developing a tougher, more jaded characterization than before. A longtime admirer of silent star William S. Hart, Elliott successfully emulated his idol in a string of "good badman" roles. The actor's final western series was a group of 11 above-average actioners for Monogram in the early 1950s, in which Elliott did his best to destroy the standard cowboy cliches and unrealistic Boy Scout behavior symptomatic of the Roy Rogers/Gene Autry school. During his last days at Monogram (which by the mid-1950s had metamorphosed into United Artists), Elliott appeared in modern dress, often cast as hard-bitten private eyes. In 1957, Bill Elliott retired to his huge ranch near Las Vegas, Nevada, where he spent his time collecting western souvenirs and indulging his ongoing hobby of geology.