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so alluring. However, the chances of getting represented by a literary agent, then having one's manuscript accepted by a publisher are pretty slim. There seems to be gatekeepers every step of the way. Chuck Ross met those gate keepers before. During the nineteen seventies, Ross had been an aspiring mystery novelist making ends meet by selling cable TV subscriptions door

to door. When the day was done and his feet were sore from walking all over Santa Monica, California, Ross sat down at his typewriter to put words on the page. He spent nights and weekends plotting out a mystery novel he was sure would become a hit. Ross knew he would be one of a hundred other authors mailing in their books to prospective publishing houses that month, so he did something to stand out. He fixed a seal over

the last few pages to hide the big reveal. If an editor had gotten to the point and wanted to see how it ended, they could break the seal and read on. Ross sent his manuscript to over a dozen publishers and then waited for their request to pour in. Weeks later, his mailbox started filling up, and Ross noticed something peculiar. Not only had every publishing house rejected him,

but many had barely read the manuscript at all. Most had still left the seal in place over the last few page is another writer might have sent their novel out to different publishers or tried their luck with literary agents. Not Ross. He got to work on another book right away, except this time he branched out from the mystery genre. His next manuscript was a collection of short stories and

conversations told from a first person point of view. None of the characters or settings had names, and its subject matter was much more serious than a simple Who Done It. It touched upon a man's life in Poland controlled by the Soviet Union, followed by the character's eventual move to the United States. He touched upon themes of capitalism, violence, sexuality, and loneliness. It was his finest work and a stark departure from the kind of material he had tried to

get published before. Ross mailed out sample pages to four publishers, and just like before, each publisher sent back a rejection letter. But he wouldn't give up. He continued to work on his story collection until it was ready to send out in its entirety. In nineteen seventy nine. He's some mimitted the full book under the pseudonym Eric Demos, to fourteen more major publishers. Apparently the extra work didn't help. Ross received rejection after rejection from every editor who read his book.

They called his prose lucid, but his content on inspiring literary agents responded the same way. All twenty six that Ross had reached out to it seemed nobody wanted his new book, which was surprising considering it had already won the National Book Award. Ross's collection, titled Steps, wasn't actually his to begin with. It had been written by author Jersey Kazinski in ninety eight. You see Ross, frustrated by publishers indifference to his first novel, had wanted to try

a little experiment. He retyped several pages of Kazinski's second book, which had already sold over four hundred thousand copies by that time, and sent them in under a different name. When that didn't work, he'd tried again with the whole book, only to achieve the same results. What had surprised him most, though, was one publisher's decision not to accept it. After all, they had been the real publisher of Cosenzi's book, the

one that Ross had retyped. Another publisher who had released Kazinski's first novel, admired the writing and style of Steps, going as far as to compare it to the work of one of their own authors, Jersey Kazinski. Unfortunately, it just didn't, as they put it, add up to a

satisfactory hole. Sadly, Ross's stunt didn't earn him his own book deal, but he did write a piece about it for a popular magazine, which led to a new career as a freelance journalist for publications like The Hollywood Reporter and San Francisco Chronicle. Ross wasn't ready to give up his experiments just yet, he tried his luck one last time in n except instead of testing the saleability of

bestselling novels, he used an iconic film. He sent two hundred and seventeen Hollywood agencies a copy of his brand new script, Everybody Comes to Rix. He told the story of a club owner during World War Two who helps his long lost love and her new husband, who are rebels on the run from the Germans. Ninety agencies refused to read it due to a policy regarding unsolicited submissions, eight felt it was too similar to another film, and

thirty eight agencies flat out rejected it. They said Ross's dialogue was excessive and the storyline was weak, among other negative comments. Thirty three agencies, though, recognize what they've been sent. One agent went so far as to tell the writer that he'd already seen the film one hundred and forty seven times. If you haven't guessed already, Ross had mailed out the script for Casablanca. Suffice it to say his

prank was not the start of any beautiful friendships. We can't always help who we become, so my to who we are is grounded in what we come from. It's no surprise that children of musicians often start bands of their own, or that sons and daughters of famous actors becomes stars in their own rights. Francis didn't have a chance either. Her parents, Ethel and Frank Gum, had been

vaudevillian entertainers before settling down in Grand Rapids. They ran a movie theater together, which featured a stage where their fellow vaudevillians would perform. Together. They had three children, Mary Jane, Dorothy, Virginia, and Francis, the youngest. Francis was born in nine two and was performing for audiences by the time she was just two years old. Her debut came when she walked onto the stage during a Christmas show at her parents theater,

singing jingle bells alongside her two sisters. There was an act that would seal her fate and her future forever. The family was forced to move a few years later after illicit rumors started to swirl about her father. Frank Ethel and the girls headed west to Lancaster, California, where heats an ownership of another theater. Ethel, on the other hand, had no interest in running a theater again. Instead, she saw something special in her daughters and how audiences reacted

when they performed. She became their manager, signing them up for dance lessons to help them break into the movies. Her efforts took a toll on her marriage, though Ethel was often away from home with the girls as she hauled them from audition to audition while Frank watched the theater and the young men who worked there. Francis, Mary Jane, and Virginia Dorothy got their first taste of fame in short films, which they performed in together from the late

twenties to the mid thirties. Under their mother's guidance, they even sang and danced their way onto the vaudevillian circuit, taking the stage together as the Gum Sisters. Unfortunately, the name didn't wow audiences. A theater in Chicago once listed them as the Glum Sisters. They changed their last name after that, though the origins of the change are still contested to this day. A common story claims that vaudeville star George Hustle inspired their new surname after commenting on

their beauty during a show. As with other duos and trios in Hollywood's heyday, one member always stood apart from the rest for the sisters, it was Francis. Burton Lange, a songwriter for MGM Studios, had been in the audience at the Paramount Theater when the sisters came on stage to perform. As soon as Francis opened her mouth, lane was sold. He called the head of the studio's music department, Jack Robbins, to tell him about the young girl's amazing voice.

Francis was invited to MGM the following day for an audition. She arrived with her father and performed two songs with Burton Lange accompanying her on piano. When it was over, Robbins ran out of the room. Minutes later, he came back with the head of MGM himself, Louis B. Mayer, who was so floored by her singing he paraded writers, producers and directors from all over Hollywood through the room

to hear her. Francis's marathon audition had begun at nine o'clock in the morning and didn't finish until seven thirty at night, but it had done the trick. The Gum Sisters were no more. Only Francis had been signed to MGM. She started attending school at the studio while acting and singing in big budget motion pictures. She practically grew up in the Hollywood system, going from a straight laced girl next door to the sophisticated songstress she was known as

later in life. Over the course of her career, she would perform in over twenty five films with such stars as Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire, Angela Lansbury, and Mary ast Her. Sadly, her father never got to see the little girl become the star. On November sixteenth of nineteen thirty five, frank Gum was diagnosed with meningitis. Francis, then thirteen at the time, was singing on an NBC radio show while her father

was in the hospital. He passed away the next day, but he would have been proud of her, watching her rise to the status of cultural icon. Though the world would never whisper the name of Francis Gum among Hollywood legends, they would certainly come to know and practically revere, the girl who traveled somewhere over the Rainbow to become none other than Judy Garland. I hope you've enjoyed today's guided

tour of the Cabinet of Curiosities. Subscribe for free on Apple Podcasts, or learn more about the show by visiting Curiosities podcast dot com. The show was created by me Aaron Manky in partnership with how Stuff Works. I make another award winning show called Lore, which is a podcast, book series, and television show and you can learn all about it over at the World of Lore dot com. And until next time, stay curious. Yeah,