Mr. Willson was a Hollywood agent during the early forties into the sixties. He is credited with discovering Lana Turner, but his biggest fame comes from the stable of boys he handled, many, more than professionally, e.g. Rock Hudson, who was his mother lode, but included Guy Madison, Rory Calhoun, Troy Donahue, Robert Wagner, Dick and Dack Rambo, along with some lesser lights.
Henry represented the pretty boys. He taught them how to walk, how to talk, which fork to use and when, paid their bills (sometimes for a couple of years), and introduced them around. He got them small parts in other client’s films, just for film exposure.
Robert Hofler tells tales out of school, but only about those actors who are dead. The dead can’t sue for libel. Still, tidbits about Rory Calhoun and Guy Madison on a dark street stemming the rose (as it was so eloquently phrased in Brokeback Mountain) is so salaciously satisfying an image one only peripherally cares if the tales are really true.
Harry Willson has been defined as a predator on young, socially ignorant boys, trading their having sex with him, or allowing themselves to be pimped out to the powerful, for a chance at stardom. What the book eventually reveals is that he was as preyed upon as he preyed. Young men, hearing of him, offered him their bodies for the shot at fame. Even “straight” men bartered what virginity or scruples they had, to Harry, just to be STARS.
In the end, to protect their own careers from the growing understanding out side the industry that to be a Henry Willson client was suggestive of the client’s homosexuality, dumped him, even Rock Hudson. Stars like Robert Wagner, (Henry also handled his wife, Natalie Wood), begin to vehemently deny that they had ever been part of Willson’s stud stable.
Henry died old, broke and alone in the Motion Picture Retirement Home, a charity case. Of all for whom Henry had built careers, only Troy Donahue and Rory Calhoun came to the funeral, serving as pallbearers. Hudson, reportedly, sent flowers. Who used whom? I really can’t say. It seems like a fair exchange, to me, but then, given my own life experiences, my testimony is tainted.
Truthfully, the book is trash and will be forgotten tomorrow, but it's wonderful trash. Gay men of my generation are, and were, notoriously hungry for gay gossip(that is probably true, too, for today's generation). We delight in it, mostly because hearing it is a validation of self and we had so few validations. There were so few icons upon which we could model ourselves. Even to come to self-acceptance of who we were, let alone joy, was a devastating, take no prisoners, minute by minute inner battle. Often it was a public battle as well. We had to watch every thing we said, everything we did and be willing to defend what we said and did as well as we could.