My Days Page 12
I just felt that my career was not moving along quickly enough. I was rapidly closing in on my thirtieth birthday, and in accordance with my old five-year plan, I should have been a star by now. Yes, I was regularly mingling with the elite of Hollywood, doing films and television shows with them and, for the most part, being treated very kindly and respectfully by the biggest names in the business. And yet I still never felt like I belonged.
I was still that player sitting on the bench who, while the legendary coaches and big-name star quarterbacks knew me and were nice to me, constantly questioned if I even had the right to be dressed in the same uniform and to be on the team. I had been in some impressive productions, including the Vincente Minnelli–directed feature Some Came Running, with Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Shirley MacLaine. But the parts I had played were all small. So small that in some cases I could have stood out in front of a movie theater, waving to people as they filed out after seeing a film I had been in, and they would have wondered who the hell this nutty lady was who was waving at them.
Not only did I feel unimportant—like a nobody—but I was also constantly around people who were some of the most important and famous people in the world. If you ever wanted to feel like a real nobody back in the late 1950s, all you had to do was spend a little time hanging around with the likes of Gable, Coward, Grant or Sinatra.
While I may have tried to blame that current wave of frustration and melancholy on hormones, the fact is those feelings constantly unnerved me from the time I signed the Paramount contract right on through until Happy Days had been on for a few years. It was only after about the third or fourth season of Happy Days, by which time it had become this cultural phenomenon, that I finally felt as if I had made it and really belonged. Up until then, even during the first few seasons of Happy Days, when the cast would go on these softball tours, everyone would be screaming and climbing all over themselves to see Henry Winkler, Ronnie Howard, Anson Williams and Donny Most. And then, if they even noticed me at all, they would say, “Oh yeah. You’re the mother, right?”
“A hit show and I’m still a nobody,” I would mutter to myself during our public appearances and then drift into the background—back to the bench.
And so I was back in Los Angeles, and if it wasn’t enough that I was fighting off these frustrating feelings of inadequacy in regard to my career, I was also facing seven months of pregnancy with a husband who embraced the idea of being a father with the same feelings one would welcome a serious case of the flu. Luckily, the weeks that followed his initial anger over my pregnancy saw Effie calm down quite a bit. I never got the feeling he was really thrilled about our pending offspring, but as with just about everything else, he seemed to lack the drive to keep up the level of anger he had displayed at first.
While one may think that this would have been an extremely trying time for me, it really wasn’t. I wasn’t at peace with my career, I was carrying a baby that my husband didn’t want, and within a short time I would be showing a huge stomach and then meeting the needs of a newborn, both of which would hamper my getting roles for some time to come. And yet I recall being rather content and even happy during that time.
I felt very strong physically throughout my pregnancy. I really took care of myself, ate all the right things, drank almond milk, and swam every day. I felt very fit and healthy right up until I gave birth to a baby boy at Providence Saint John’s Health Center in Santa Monica on September 10, 1959. While all I had ever dreamed of being was a famous actress, I was now the wife of a man whom I seemed to understand less and less as time went by and the mother of James Ross Meskimen.
We had decided to name our baby James after Effie’s grandfather James Loveless, whom he dearly loved. From the moment I suspected I was pregnant, I had started to think of names and felt if I had a boy, I would love to name him Ross as a tribute to my family. I did bring it up to Effie once or twice, that I really liked the name Ross, but I never pushed it. I knew he was set on naming him after his grandfather, and I felt that, perhaps, that would be the magic to changing Effie’s feelings about becoming a father.
In the days and months following Jim’s birth, Effie genuinely surprised me. In a complete turnaround from his initial reaction to becoming a father, he seemed to be happy to have a son. And yet he always seemed to keep a certain distance from Jim. He was attentive and helpful, but there just seemed to be a lack of the normal connection one would expect to see between a parent and their child.
During the last few months of my pregnancy, when it became impossible for me to work or even go on auditions for future work, I started to worry about two things: our finances and my career, both of which were dwindling. Because of this concern, I made it clear to my agent that within a short time after my baby was born, when I felt I was physically ready, I wanted to get back to work. And that happened. Jim was only a few weeks old when I was called for a role in CBS’s General Electric Theater, an anthology series that was sponsored by General Electric’s public relations department and hosted by Ronald Reagan.
When I showed up for rehearsals, I felt weird: I was unfocused in a way that was out of the ordinary for me. I had trouble remembering my lines, something that had never happened before. I remember mentioning this to someone on the production, and they told me that I shouldn’t worry and that it was just because I had recently had a baby. Well, I, for the life of me, couldn’t figure out why having a baby would affect my memory. But I just tried to ignore it and forged on with determined diligence. I had no choice. Yes, I had a baby who wasn’t even two months old. Yes, it was highly out of the ordinary for a mother to leave her baby and go back to work so soon during that time. But, no, I had no choice. We had rent to pay and mouths to feed: three of them!
I had looked into hiring a nurse to come in and help Effie take care of Jim, but the cost was beyond what I could afford. That meant I had to do everything possible to care for Jim when I could, and I had to have everything arranged so it would be as easy as possible for Effie to handle when I couldn’t be there.
Fortunately, as the final months of the decade slipped into history and the 1960s began, there was a lot of television work available for an actress with my experience. I didn’t feel I could commit myself to anything that was long running or demanding or that would take me away from Los Angeles, so realizing that stage and feature film work were out of the question for a while, television was fine with me. Doing work on a television series was the closest thing to having a “normal” job, and my hope was that I could keep getting work and return home each day to a more and more “normal” family life.
By the dawn of the new decade, I seemed to go from show to show without much of a break. The roles were rarely ones I could really sink my teeth into or that would make me a household name, but it was work—which translated into a paycheck and the continued building of my résumé—and it fostered the belief that every actor clings to, which is that any part, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant it may be, could lead to the coveted “big break.”
The name Marion Ross may not have been one to garner something more than blank stares from most Americans, who were at the time seeing women’s hemlines reach unprecedented heights, were embracing or fighting against a new genre of music known as rock ’n’ roll, were watching a hotly contested presidential campaign play out that pitted then vice president Richard Nixon against then Massachusetts senator John F. Kennedy, and were being affected personally, emotionally, or both, by the escalation of the United States’s involvement in the Vietnam War, but with television set sales booming, they couldn’t help but to see my face.
When I think back on that time, the shows I worked on and the roles I played are pretty much a blur. I would get up very early, get everything ready for the baby’s day, get myself ready, and then have Effie drive me to whatever studio I was working at that day. I would then go to Hair and Makeup, slip into my wardrobe, and play everything from someone’s daughter to a mail-order bride for
series such as The Chevy Mystery Show, Zane Grey Theatre, Philip Marlowe, Father Knows Best, The Untouchables, Thriller, Stagecoach West, The Barbara Stanwyck Show, The Loretta Young Show, Markham, Rawhide, The Detectives, Mrs. G. Goes to College (which was retitled The Gertrude Berg Show), Kraft Mystery Theater, and far too many other comedies or dramas to mention or recall.
When I wasn’t working, I loved being a mother. I was as fascinated by Jim as he seemed to be by me. I enjoyed playing with him, talking and singing to him, and showing him things. From the day I brought him home, he was a good-natured and well-behaved baby. He was curious about everything and interested in anything I showed him. Always cooperative, he caught on to things quickly and seemed to understand how to play various games without being taught. If ever there was a perfect baby, especially for a working mother, Jim was it.
While Effie never seemed totally comfortable in the role of a father, I believe he did try to interact with Jim to the extent he was capable. I’m not quite sure what their days were like when I was off working, but to his credit, Effie did seem to keep the ship running in my absence and didn’t complain much when I returned. But it was clear that he lacked the paternal gene. When I was around, he was more than happy to have Jim in my care.
It made me sad that Effie just seemed to be unable to really enjoy his son, his family or even his life. But he did try, and he did have his moments. As Jim got older, Effie even began showing signs of embracing responsibilities more so than he ever had before. I would be thrilled when I saw those moments and would delude myself into thinking that things were really changing, but there was always an underlying tension, which stemmed from my being a working actress while he still drifted along without much of a plan, if any at all. And there was still his constant, and increasing, consumption of Scotch.
While Effie dealt with his demons and depression, I found myself getting antsy. It wasn’t a bad time of life for me; in fact, there were some times in which we seemed like we were on our way to becoming a normal and happy little family. We were a bit unconventional, perhaps, but as I easily reasoned to myself, a conventional life would have left me quite bored.
I can’t say I gave a tremendous amount of thought as to what was going on behind Effie’s all too often stoic veneer, but I was well aware of what was brewing within me. I was in my early thirties, which was, at the time, a bit old for having just had a first child and way old for breaking out in starring roles as an actress. I also began to have longings that did run more along conventional lines. When I was at work, I would sit on the set while the crew was setting up for the next shot and would hear people talk about this home they were building or remodeling or decorating. I may have prided myself in not being the conventional type, but the more I heard these stories, the more I found myself falling into the role of a conventional thirtysomething woman who wanted her own home.
I became as obsessed with putting down roots in a home as I was with noting how time was running out for me to make it as an actress. Just as I thought that having a baby would establish us as a regular family, I became convinced that the one thing that was holding us back was that we didn’t have a real home to call our own. The reason for that was, of course, that we were living on the money I was making, which, while it wasn’t bad in comparison to what other women (and even some men) were making at the time, was a mere pittance compared to what would be needed to purchase a home in Los Angeles. Everywhere I went, especially in the Studio City area, where we lived, I began noticing houses. For the first time in my life, I took notice of various types of architecture, the colors and textures of materials used, and how trees and gardens were incorporated into the design of homes.
During that time, Effie had taken to spending time with José Ferrer, who was preparing to direct the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical State Fair. José had a beautiful home with a tennis court and a pool, and he enjoyed having Effie over to play tennis with him. It seemed to be good for Effie to get out in the sun, exercise, and mingle with all the stars and fabulous people who seemed to gather at José’s house on a daily basis. I was always invited to accompany Effie, but I never did. I had a baby to care for, and I greatly treasured the time I had with him when I wasn’t working.
One time when José was begging me to come over, I told him that I couldn’t but that there was something he could do for me.
“What’s that, Marion?” he asked.
“Well, I know you are preparing for your new show, and I was wondering if you could give Effie a job.”
José truly liked Effie and, like me, knew that a regular gig would do a world of good to his outlook on life, as well as to our financial situation. And so he hired Effie, not as an actor, but as his personal assistant. Effie embraced the work with gusto, and he and José got along so well that he decided to cast Effie in his next show, the Saul Levitt play The Andersonville Trial, which recounts the trial of Captain Heinrich Wirz, the Swiss doctor who commanded the Confederate garrison at Andersonville, Georgia, during the Civil War.
The role Effie was offered was not a significant one, but it was work, acting work, and not just acting work—but acting work on Broadway, on the stage of Henry Miller’s Theater. The cast included Herbert Berghof, who, along with being an actor, was considered one of the nation’s most respected acting teachers and coaches; Lou Frizzell, who is, perhaps, best known for his small role as the pharmacist in Summer of ’42; character actors Albert Dekker and Russell Hardie; and a then thirty-two-year-old actor by the name of George C. Scott, who won critical acclaim for his portrayal of the prosecutor in The Andersonville Trial.
When José first offered Effie the role, he was hesitant to accept it. He knew it would entail going to New York for an indefinite period of time, leaving me alone in L.A. with an infant. I assured him I could manage and told him that he simply must go—that it was a great opportunity that could lead to bigger roles. And so off to New York he went. I had conjured up and used all my acting skills to convince him I would be just fine, although I wasn’t exactly sure how I would take care of Jim and continue to work. That concern, however, was quickly quashed when a lovely woman who lived next door to us and loved Jim offered to watch him while I worked.
And so it all seemed to be working out: I had child care, consistent work, and a husband who wasn’t only employed, but employed doing what he had always hoped to do in the world’s biggest arena. I would try to manage my workdays so that I could get home during my lunch break to give our neighbor a break, do wash, and fold some diapers. From what I could tell from his calls, Effie seemed to be happy to be working and earning a paycheck. He even seemed proud to be able to send me a little money every week.
My feelings about Effie may have been ambivalent at times, and there was never a doubt that I just didn’t understand his lack of ambition, but I did love him, and while he was gone in New York, I missed him terribly. When I spoke with him, he sounded upbeat and told me he was meeting a lot of people and making good contacts. He said that he felt New York was his ticket to finding the acting career that had eluded him in L.A., and on a few occasions he made reference to having Jim and me join him there. When he had moved to New York, he had left this big old empty steamer trunk right in the middle of our living room, and sometimes during our phone conversations, he referenced the trunk, said that I should sell everything except some essentials, pack those in that trunk, and head east.
“Broadway is what you always really wanted,” he would tell me. “Forget Hollywood and television. Theater is where your heart is, what you really love. I think we could really do well here—both of us.”
It was rare to hear Effie sounding so upbeat and positive, and while I hated to throw a wet towel on his newfound enthusiasm, I just could not imagine packing up my baby and going back to New York, where I would have to establish all new contacts and start at the bottom again. Heck, I wasn’t that far from the bottom after all I had done in Hollywood, but at least I knew I could get work.
I was a
lso finding myself becoming more and more head over heels in love with the idea of having my own home. When I would drive to work, I would look at all these darling little houses I would pass on St. Clair Avenue, right off of Moorpark Street. At the time, those homes, which now sell for close to a million dollars, were selling for around seventeen thousand dollars. At night, just before falling asleep, I would try to think of ways I could make enough money to put a down payment on a house. I knew getting a loan from a bank was out of the question. Banks didn’t lend money to actors—any actors. The ones on my side of the financial equator were too much of a risk, and the ones on the other side—the stars—didn’t need loans.
There was, however, one idea that kept recurring, and one day I mustered up the courage to act on it. I called my father, made some small talk about how things were going with Jim, my career and Effie, and then took a deep breath and said, “I would like to ask you a question. Do you plan on leaving me anything when you die? I mean anything, as in money.”
There was a long pause and a little laugh before he told me that was, in fact, his plan.
“Well, whatever you plan on leaving me, I would like to have it right now so I can buy a house,” I blurted out in such a point-blank way that my words came as a surprise even to me.
He said that he would consider it, but felt it was only fair to talk it over with my brother and sister first. After doing that and, I assume, getting their blessing, he called to tell me he would open a bank account in my name, put three thousand dollars in the account, and send me the passbook.
I was elated. I quickly found a cute little home, put a down payment on it, moved in, and began fixing it up to make it a home. Effie, who never seemed to be either happy or upset that I had bought a home, just took it with a “What the heck are you thinking and doing?” type of attitude. Well, as time went by, just what the heck I was doing proved to be a far wiser choice than joining Effie in New York. After The Andersonville Trial closed, those friends and contacts Effie was supposedly making didn’t exactly come through for him.