In the early 1950s, while Grant was staying at his luxurious Mayfair Hotel penthouse suite, he placed chocolates on the suite’s bedroom pillow for a certain woman who was meeting him there. He was married to actress Betsy Drake at the time – his third wife out of five – but he had another ‘female friend’ in mind. And for his plans of seduction, he designed a breadcrumb trail of chocolates, leading from the suite’s sitting room into the bedroom where he placed the final bit of sweets on his pillow. The name of his soon-to-be bedmate is still unknown, as are the contents of a love letter he left beside the chocolates. As expected, the woman arrived at the suite before Grant, where his romantic ploy was an Oscar winning success.

The manager on duty noticed Grant’s ploy and started the regular practice of leaving a nighttime chocolate on guests’ pillows. And that very tradition still continues at the Magnolia St. Louis, as part of its turndown service, but with chocolates now from Bissinger’s, regarded as one of the finest chocolatiers in St. Louis.

Today, guests can stay at the Magnolia’s Cary Grant Suite which is a fusion of old-world style with modern elements and technological enhancements The augmentation also includes an executive desk; tufted faux leather headboards with ecru woven textured bedding; gray and taupe textured fibers, woven into carpeting repeating the color palette of the floor to ceiling drapery with sewn-in blackout lining. And, of course, the suite is shrouded with Cary Grant photographs amd momentos.

Guests can continue their Cary Grant homage by dining at the Magnolia’s Robie’s Restaurant and Lounge, named for John Robie, Grant’s suave former jewel thief in the Alfred Hitchcock 1955 film, To Catch a Thief. So, the next time you stay at a hotel and enjoy the chocolate, cookie bite, or mint, remember that we have Cary Grant’ to thank for it. Readers, please note, you will not find Grant’s letter on the pillow: believed to be, Compliments of C. Grant: Have a restful sleep.

Who Was Cary Grant & Why Do We Keep Talking About Him?

Everybody wants to be Cary Grant. Even I want to be Cary Grant. I have spent the greater part of my life fluctuating between Archie Leach and Cary Grant; unsure of either, suspecting each. I pretended to be somebody I wanted to be until finally I became that person. Or he became me. – Cary Grant

Grant was born Archibald Alexander Leach (1904) in a working class home in Bristol, England, a fishing town which offered few opportunities. In his youth he possessed a sense of drive, much like the early life of Charlie Chaplin in the slums in Victorian London. He felt he had no choice but to pull himself up by his bootstraps to eventually becoming an American stage and vaudevillian star, and then, after seemingly endless years on the road to be one of Hollywood’s most iconic film actors. With his distinctive Mid-Atlantic accent and impeccable timing, he was considered the foremost exemplar of the debonair leading man, not only handsome, but also witty, charming and masculine.

Film critic Robin Wood noted that the Bond films would never have happened if not for Alfred Hitchcock’s North by Northwest (1959), with Grant in the lead role. Grant was the first actor asked to play the role of James Bond in Dr. No (1962) at the advent of the James Bond film franchise, but decided to pass due to age. He had come a long way since he worked as a stilt walker at Brooklyn’s Coney Island.

Grant, His Mother & Failed Marriages

Grant’s father, ravaged by years of alcoholism, worked as a tailor’s presser, while his mother was a seamstress. His older brother passed away at age one, and biographer Geoffrey Wansell notes that his mother blamed herself bitterly for the death, and never recovered from it. Nevertheless, his mother taught young Archie to sing and dance, insisted on piano lessons, and occasionally took him to the cinema.

Grant’s biographer Graham McCann claimed that his mother did not know how to give affection and did not how to receive it either. Grant acknowledged that his negative experiences with his mother affected his relationships with women later in life. Grant attributed her behavior to overprotectiveness, fearing that she would lose him as she did John..

When Grant was nine years old, his father placed his mother in a mental institution, and told him that she had gone away on a “long holiday”, which later ended with her death. To a degree, this resembled Chaplin’s relationship with his own fragile mother, often returning home from grade school to find that she had been placed in a mental ward. Grant did not learn that his mother was actually still alive until he was 31; and made arrangements to support her for the rest of her life, yet only visiting her once in 1938.

Cary Grant’s 1949 marriage to Betsy Drake constituted his longest martial union, but they separated in 1958 and divorced in 1962. Grant credited her with broadening his interests beyond his career and with introducing him to the then-legal LSD therapy and to hypnosis.

In the 1950s, after Grant had become the wildly successful star, he sought professional help to cope with the lingering emotions over his traumatic childhood. In particular, his failed marriages weighed on him. He tried hypnosis, yoga, and supervised LSD experimentation. During his LSD hallucinations, Grant was able to confront and overcome the unconscious motivation that had undermined his marriages: anger and sorrow over his mother. He credited Dr. Hartman’s treatment for helping him understand how his mother’s disappearance had triggered a self-sabotaging pattern of relationships.

A Brief Look at Grant’s Career from an Auteurist Perspective

Upon Cary Grant’s arrival in Hollywood he was dismissed by casting directors due to his thick neck and bowlegged walk. But, a year later, he appeared in crime films or dramas as a handsome, yet wooden, costar in films by Josef von Sternberg in Blonde Venus (1932) with Marlene Dietrich, and She Done Him Wrong (1933) with Mae West, who apparently took one look at him and said, If can talk, I’ll take him. But Cary Grant becoming Cary Grant, the Cary Grant persona in which he is famous, began with his role co-starring with Katherine Hepburn in George Cukor’s Sylvia Scarlett (1935) as the rough, but charming Cockney swindler, Jimmy Monkley. Leo McCarey’s 1937 comedy The Awful Truth (1937) with Irene Dunne proved to be a smash box office success and furthered to concrete Grant’s sophisticated comedic image; later he followed with two more Cukor comedies with Hepburn, Holiday (1938) and The Philadelphia Story (1940).

But it was his roles in Howard Hawks’ screwball comedies, Bringing Up Baby (1938) with Hepburn again, and His Girl Friday (1940) with Rosalind Russell, which are frequently cited among the greatest comedy films of all time. Hawks continued to cast him in what are regarded as the lesser comedies, I Was a Male War Bride (1949) and Monkey Business (1952), and but also in the earlier 1939 drama, Only Angels Have Wings, where Grant delivered the goods with a powerful dramatic performance.

Cary & Hitch

During the 1940s and 1950s, Grant developed a close working relationship with Alfred Hitchcock, who cast him in four films: Suspicion (1941) opposite Joan Fontaine, Notorious (1946) opposite Ingrid Bergman, North by Northwest (1959) alongside James Mason and Eva Marie Saint, and To Catch a Thief (1955) with Grace Kelly. The last two of the four capitulated audiences and film critics alike, while the first two film dramas, Suspicion and Notorious, Hitchcock revealed a darker, more ambiguous nature in Grant’s characters.

Toward the end of his career, Grant was praised by critics primarily as a romantic leading man, and received five nominations for the Golden Globe Award for Best Actor, which included a pair of Stanley Donen features, Indiscreet (1958) again with Bergman, and Charade (1963) with Audrey Hepburn. Cary Grant died at age 82 of a cerebral hemorrhage. His marriage to Dyan Cannon, which ended in divorce, produced his only child, Jennifer, who was the centerpiece of his life and his greatest work of art.

Cary Grant is most remembered for his broad appeal as a handsome, suave actor who did not take himself too seriously, and able to play with his own dignity in comedies without sacrificing it entirely. The story of chocolates on the pillow continues to speak to lovers throughout the world with a special affection to the art of seduction.

For more on Celebrity Suites, visit Hemingway, John & Yoko, Oscar Wilde Celebrity Hotel Rooms & Suites: Part I – Traveling Boy; The Beatles, Coco Chanel, Jim Morrison Celebrity Suites, Part 2 – Traveling Boy; Katharine Hepburn, Salvador Dali, Gwyneth Paltrow Celebrity Suites, Part 3 – Traveling Boy; Francis Ford Coppola, Nelson Mandela, J.K. Rowling, Richard Harris Celebrity Hotel Rooms & Suites, Part 4 – Traveling Boy; and Elizabeth Taylor & Richard Burton, Ava Gardner, Audrey Hepburn Celebrity Suites Part 5 – Traveling Boy

A Bite About Chocolate – Courtesy of the World Cocoa Foundation

Cocoa and other chocolate products are enjoyed by billions of people around the globe, but surprisingly few people know the history of the confection. In fact, cocoa has appeared in different cultures worldwide for hundreds of years. Cocoa was first developed as a crop in many ancient South American cultures, with the Aztecs and Mayans being the most well-known of these indigenous populations. Researchers have found evidence of cocoa-based food dating back several thousand years. READ MORE History of Cocoa | World Cocoa Foundation

Click here for further information about the Cary Grant Suite at the Magnolia St. Louis.

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Most of us have been on a cruise ship, riverboat or barge; some good, some bad, and generally with a bit of overeating. We’ve asked the members of the T-Boy Society of Film, Music & Travel what were some of their cherished moments, or lack of, when traversing the world’s waterways.

Ringo Boitano – T-Boy Writer:

Chaplin’s “City Lights” Revisited

On a Mediterranean sailboat cruise, an older and heavily intoxicated British gent would approach me and demand I sit at his table. Due to the martini in his hand and strained attempts at a posh British Received Pronunciation, his words were incomprehensible, but I always enjoyed playing along. Later, in the daytime, I would often notice him and greet him with a warm hello. He had no recognition of me at all, and would meet my greeting with a sour grimace as if I had just escaped from a penal colony in Australia. Didn’t I see this in Chapin’s “City Lights”?

Susan Breslow – T-Boy Writer:

Don’t Fall in the Water

On Lake Kariba in Zimbabwe was a place called Water Wilderness, comprised of four houseboats and a lodge. My traveling companion Tony and I were brought there by motorboat, served tea and scones, and then instructed to take a canoe and choose a houseboat. “Try not to tip over,” advised the guide. “There are hippos in the center and crocodiles by the shore.”

Tony complained of not hiking after several days on safari in Land Rovers. “I’ll take you tomorrow,” the guide offered. Good to his word, he showed up bearing a long rifle and had bandolier ammunition belts strapped across his broad chest. They held the longest bullets I had ever seen. The day before, he had talked about what a conundrum it would be for him to decide whether or not to shoot if he were charged by an endangered rhinoceros.

As we motored to a nearby shore for the hike, my mind raced. What if I was charged? What if my legs gave out? What if I fainted? What if I were bitten by a tsetse fly? What if I fell in the water disembarking and a crocodile ate me?

The other hikers eagerly alighted from his vessel.

I burst into tears. The guide looked at me sympathetically.

“Do you want to go back to the houseboat?” he asked. I nodded.

He tossed his rifle to Tony and turned the motorboat around.

“Please, don’t cry,” the guide said kindly. “If someone stuck me in the middle of Times Square, I’d have the same reaction.”

Then Tony called from the shore: “What am I supposed to do if we get charged? Whack him with the butt of the gun?” Everyone laughed.

I spent the rest of the day on the deck of my houseboat, watching a herd of cape buffalo leisurely graze on the hills beyond. Tony, the guide, and our fellow travelers all returned safe.

Roy Endersby – Philosopher:

Regional Food on the Columbia River

The Empress of the North continues to make voyages along the Columbia, Willamette and Snake Rivers. My memories of this historic riverboat voyage; a voyage to commemorate the 200th anniversary of the Meriwether Lewis and William Clark expedition into the nation’s new Louisiana Purchase, still color my thoughts today. The history, sites and day trips were profound. But I was anxious to return to the dining room for the Empress offered something that is often not found on a cruise vessel: Regional Sourced Food. Menus included everything from Dungeness Crab Cakes Benedict, herb rubbed Ellensburg lamb and Tillamook cheddar cheese soup to smoked salmon, grilled halibut and scallops. You could quite literally taste the landscape and waterways.

Deb Roskamp – T-Boy Writer & Photographer:

Frolicking on a Tahitian Motu

Each port of call was better than the last as my ship glided through the waters of French Polynesia. One day – a day at sea – passengers were offered a luncheon on a motu. As we arrive at the island in Zodiac boats, the cooking staff was already in order with delicious Tahitian and French hybrid dishes waiting for us. To see fellow passengers frolicking around the beauty, food and merriment of the small motu was an experience I will never forget.

Audrey Hart – T-Boy Culinary Writer:

I charged off the vessel, and somehow managed to reached the Bridge of Sighs, where the crowd had grown so thick that (ironically) I could barely look above the men’s mandatory Venetian straw hats to get a glimpse of the famous window. Of course, this is the window which prisoners would pass and take their final view of Venice before their descent into the darkness of the dungeons. A petite woman, almost hidden in the crowd, asked me to take a photo of the window with her camera; so she could actually see what it looked like. As I returned her camera, she politely smiled a thanks and disappeared into the crowd. My own personal sigh illustrated that I needed a break from the sweltering hordes of tourists. Yes, Venice is Venice, and everyone must experience it once in their life. But I felt it best to take a break.

Problem solved. My cruise pass allowed me two days of accommodations at a hotel. I accessed a water taxi in the Grand Canal to my pre-planned cruise lodging at the Molino Stucky Hilton. At first, it seemed strange that I would be staying at a Hilton property in Venice, but that was before my eyes set on the palatial Molino Stucky, a former flour mill that has been painstakingly refurbished into a swank hotel, but still very much in the Venetian character. Luxuriating by the roof top pool, with Venice’s unforgettable city skyline in the distance, it occurred to me that I was experiencing something that even a Doge in all his glory would find unimaginable. Trips to the Molino Stucky’s Rialto Bar & Lounge offered complimentary regional snacks; coffee and the Venetian mainstays of spritz, grappa and Prosecco. Both the terraced pool and bar and lounge, proved to be a welcoming venue to relax and refresh. Plus, my batteries were soon recharged for a further exploration of Venice’s major attractions. This time, hopefully, with less heat and crowds.

Richard Carroll and Halina Kubalski – T-Boy Writers & Photographers:

Heartwarming Experience on a Cruise Ship

We danced our way across the Atlantic on a 10-day dance-themed crossing from Lisbon to Miami on the Crystal Serenity. The vision of sea and sky, the foamy wake trailing behind, and the ever-changing rhythms of the sky evoked a sense of freedom. The bad news of the world, if only for a moment, could be tucked away in the heels of our dancing shoes. Throughout the cruise we were dancing Salsa and West Coast Swing, and meeting most of the guests on the dance floor, some who had not danced in years but were having a great time.

Following a morning dance session, we would enjoy a casual lunch and Halina, born and raised in Warsaw, quickly became friends with three or four of the Polish waiters. They were excited to speak Polish with Halina, hovering around her, and our service was beyond special. Halfway through the crossing, Halina ordered PlackiZiemmiaczane, one of her favorite Polish dishes which is potato pancakes Polish-style, and it definitely was not listed on the menu. The plate arrived at table and the Polish waiters were silent and staring at one another. One of them in Polish said to Halina, “That is not the correct PlackiZiemmiaczane! The cook on duty is German” and” picking up the plate, “I’m going to the galley and will create the correct Polish PlackiZiemmiaczane.” Guests were staring, but he returned to the table with a steamy plate of PlackiZiemmiaczane, the Polish waiters all broadly smiling. Halina said in Polish, “What about the German cook?” They answered, “No problem, he’s a friend and the Executive Chef is not on duty.”

Then one morning the ship came to a dead stop in the middle of the Atlantic. Everyone rushed to the port side and below was a ragged group of sun-tinged would-be amateur sailors from Boston, near death. standing helplessly in their sailboat. They were far off course, lost in the vast sea for days without food or water. It was a heart-rendering experience to watch the Crystal Serenity lower boxes of food and water down the side of the ship to the sailboat, but no PlackiZiemmiaczane. Crewmen also boarded the sailboat to help them get back on course. Later, the Captain told us that it was a one-in-a-million chance for the ship to encounter the sailboat and if it had been dark they could have easily missed them altogether.

A day later Halina spotted a large double-rainbow from our balcony, and she was thinking it was a positive omen for the sailors on the sailboat. This dance crossing was a travel memory to savor.

Fyllis Hockman – T-Boy Writer:

Love That Drink

So I was just finishing my soup at dinner on a river cruise when I spied a waiter walking by with a bottle of Disaronno Amaretto. Oh, I love that drink I mumbled as he walked by. Without skipping a beat, he stopped and poured a hefty amount into my soup bowl and casually continued on. The recollection has brought a smile to my face for years!

Ed Boitano – T-Boy Editor:

Salty Food in Moscow, Aspirin on a Plane

My group of journalists returned to our cruise ship late at night after a delayed flight from Moscow. Starved and thirsty – yes, thirsty due to the highly salted Muscovite food we had consumed earlier – and well aware that it was too late for dinner and beverages on our ship. To our surprise, we found the vessel’s staff waiting for us with champagne and a lavish buffet, complete with smiles and applause.

Earlier in Moscow, my restaurant tablemates and I had poured down a bottle of champagne and liter of water with a vengeance. When we requested addition water, our Muscovite waiter politely informed us there was no more available. Welcome to the Russian Federation.

Previously, on the tarmac for the flight from St. Petersburg to Moscow, I climbed the stairs to enter the chaotically packed plane that was well past its prime. I flashed my ticket to the flight attendant, but she decided to snatch it away into her own hand. She pointed to my seat, and then opened my hand and returned the ticket into my palm, not forgetting to close it into a fist.

Yes, I thought I was ready for anything. But as I took my seat, I found the seatbelt was out of order and the back of the seat refused to stand straight. I realized it was useless to complain, but when another attendant passed by and gave me a hello, I took a chance, informing him that I had a headache of the splitting kind. A short minute later he returned with a glass of water on an elegant tray with two aspirins by its side. Spoiler alert: My headache disappeared and I enjoyed a fascinating day of exploration in Moscow, one of the world’s most remarkable cities; salty food or not.

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