Paula and I laugh about that now, but that night it wasn’t funny. While my mom watched my father rip into Paula, she said nothing, but then again, neither did I, because that’s what I had learned, that was the macho way. Paula bawled all the way home that night, but she needed to survive—and living at our house was surviving—so she learned how to do just that. It must have been very painful for her to fall deeper in love with me and not immediately get that love back, but somewhere inside she knew that this was right. Wise beyond her years because she had been through so much at such a young age, Paula knew we were supposed to be together, she knew that the real attraction was a deeper bond, born out of dark times in both our lives. Paula’s philosophy was firm and simple: if you love something, set if free, and if it comes back to you, it’s yours forever, and if it doesn’t, it was never yours to begin with. So, although she was vulnerable, Paula lived with me and put up with me and gave me space to find my way back to her.
Years later in Los Angeles, a therapist, one of the many who have guided me over the years in my search for self-enlightenment, helped me recognize what a caveman I could be. I am grateful that I came to see I needed to be a better man, partner, and husband, but before I got to that point of understanding, I put Paula through a lot.
Despite everything, I was a lucky man. I just didn’t realize how lucky at the time.
Chapter Six
God Part II
During that time I was determined to get my career right, so I pressed on and before long started getting roles in plays. I loved being onstage in front of an audience because the applause I craved as a little boy singing “Ben” was now multiplied tenfold and heady. When I garnered some good reviews onstage in San Francisco in Three Views of Mount Fuji and Community at Risk, I felt like I was on my way. I was in a metropolitan city that was not only exploding with theater and culture, but in the eighties San Francisco was the home of many bands, and a new upstart TV station, MTV, was playing music videos twenty-four hours a day, reinvigorating the dying music industry. A plethora of music videos were shooting constantly, so I decided to try out for one that the band R.O.A.R., comprised of members from Carlos Santana’s band, was casting, but they wanted someone who was Italian and the name Mauricio Jose Morales didn’t exactly scream Italian.
I didn’t get a callback, so I decided in order to work and get preconceptions out of the heads of those making the casting decisions, I would change my name. Once again, Michael Olten pressured me to use the name Rick Madrid, but instead I took my grandmother’s maiden name—Benard—and shortened my first name to Maurice, and that is how Mauricio Jose Morales became Maurice Benard. It’s ironic: for years most people thought I was Italian because of my new name and because I played Sonny as an Italian, even though I found out a month or so after I started at General Hospital playing him that way that he was Cuban and Greek.
I may have changed my name, but I’m still proud of my heritage—it’s good to have brown skin and it’s nice to see so much of it on-screen now, although there’s always room for more. One of my favorite movies is El Cantante, an amazing film with Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony. There was a time when that movie probably wouldn’t have gotten made, but now media is far more diverse, which is important. I can still remember the time, because it wasn’t long ago, when basically everyone on TV was white.
Yet another person to join the team of Maurice Benard at that time was Alan Drew, a short, heavyset older man who became not only my teacher but my mentor. He was very intuitive and even predicted my success as an actor long before I truly believed it was possible. I knew from watching videos of my performances that, while I wasn’t good, I could become good with time and a lot of hard work, which I was more than willing to do. I had never cared about anything this much in my life, including cars or the many different girls in my world, and was convinced if I worked at it, I could be the next Al Pacino.
And then, out of the blue, I got a call from Jimmy that R.O.A.R. was giving me the job in the video after all, because Carlos Santana had contacted legendary San Francisco promoter Bill Graham, who called R.O.A.R. Someone at the audition had seen something in me, I guess, even though it was raw, regardless of my last name and my brown skin, and lobbied for me, and to this day I wish I knew who it was so I could say thank you.
The video was my first paid acting job and it felt incredible. My character was a fighter, a big brother, and a bad boy who realizes he has to change his ways to be a role model for his younger brother, which I thought was ironic, given that I was the bad boy in my family. We shot for two days in a moody, cool setting in a big warehouse in San Francisco and I loved every minute of it. It felt familiar, like the little boy singing “Ben” to a room full of spectators, or dancing at the clubs and in the competitions in high school, with everyone watching and clapping. Silently prancing for the fashion world was one thing, but performing in front of a camera, to music, was an entirely different sensation—it was creative and fun and I wanted to do more. Things truly seemed to be headed in the right direction and I chased that road more than ever.
But had the pressure to be somebody and the nonstop obsession with acting taken a toll?
One night, a few months after I had stopped taking my lithium, Paula and I went to the mall to hang out, as we often did, and I was hell-bent on buying her anything she wanted. As we walked through the stores browsing, I was suddenly drawn to a lacquered wood painting of Jesus and insisted on purchasing it for her. We took it home and hung it in our room at my parents’ house. Shortly after that, when Paula was at work one night, I was reading and when I looked up, the Jesus on the wall had morphed into the devil. I quickly turned the lights off so the terrifying demon wouldn’t look back at me. I was shaking with fright, my heartbeat rapidly pounding in my ears.
God, I’m not ready for this, I’m not ready to die, I prayed, certain the devil was coming for me.
Suddenly the devil picture hurtled off the shelf of its own accord and fell crashing to the floor, and I jumped, afraid of what might happen next. Still trembling, I stared at the wooden Jesus face down on the floor, afraid to touch it, but after a few moments reached for it, and as I turned it over slowly, a beautiful warm gold light flooded the room and the devil face disappeared. Instead, Jesus gazed back at me compassionately and, although the painting had flown off the shelf from a good height, it was still in pristine condition, without a dent, scratch, or scuff on it. It was as if an unseen hand had exorcised the devil from the painting, and I believed the devil had been there with the same conviction I believed that God had come to save me.
A few days later I had an interview with the local morning show on ABC, AM San Francisco, as America’s Most Watchable Man, and when they presented me with a gift someone had sent in care of the station, I opened the box to find a beautiful cross from Jerusalem. I couldn’t take my eyes off it and suddenly had an intense urge to find a church where I could take confession, so I abruptly left the station and began walking, asking random strangers where I could find the closest cathedral. The more I walked, the deeper the sense of urgency grew to talk to a priest.
Then I began running, as if the devil inside me had to get out, and when I saw a church, I barreled toward it, but it was locked. I ran to the next one only to find the doors were bolted as well, so I ran farther and was encouraged to finally see a light on in a mission, where I knocked relentlessly until a man answered the door. I was told everyone had gone to bed but I pleaded to see the father and handed the cross to the man, begging him to take it inside and tell the Father I needed to confess.
He disappeared back inside and I waited awhile, and just when I was turning to go, the monsignor appeared and led me inside and down a corridor to the chapel. The cross had persuaded the monsignor, and he asked what was troubling me.
“I saw God in my room,” I told him, relating the events that had happened.
The monsignor listened, and when I was finished he put his hand over mine, placing the cross i
n my hand. “I don’t know if you saw the devil or God . . . I can’t tell you what it was, but don’t be afraid.”
I suddenly felt a sense of peace, and after I finished talking with the Father I returned to the street only to realize I had run so far, I had to call a taxi to get back home that night.
I hand’t had a full-blown breakdown like when my parents admitted me to the mental institution, but the manic episode had unnerved me, as well as Paula and my parents, and I thought it was probably better to start taking my lithium again.
Once I did, the religious visions calmed down and it looked like my life was finally going to turn around. It started with a call in 1987 from my agency at the time, Stars, who put me on videotape and submitted the tape to ABC to consider me for several new roles on the network’s popular soap opera All My Children. I was stunned and excited, and my first thought was how much my dad loved the show and how often we had argued about my future while it was on TV in his living room. I remembered yelling at him that it was the only job that would make him proud of me, and smiled at the irony.
After watching my performance, the executives liked what they saw and flew me to New York to audition in person for the producers. I had never been to New York and I was traveling alone. The city seemed very big, so I have to admit I was scared and just getting through the flight took everything inside me. Once I got to the hotel room, I had that familiar antsy feeling and needed to run, so I sprinted to Central Park and kept running until I almost dropped, listening to “Eye of the Tiger” over and over on my portable CD player.
The next day, sitting in the audition room with a bunch of other guys who looked just like me didn’t help my nerves much, but I got through the reading and thought I was good. I waited with all the other guys for the outcome, staring at the producer when he came out, on pins and needles to hear whose life was going to change.
“We found our guy,” the producer announced to the room.
But it wasn’t me. My heart sank and I went back to my hotel room to prepare for the flight back to San Francisco in the morning, but after a few hours the phone rang.
“Can you come in and audition for another role?” the voice on the other end asked.
My spirits soared—they liked me! So the next day I auditioned again, and again I waited for what seemed like forever for a producer to come back out with a verdict.
“We found our guy. Thanks everyone, best of luck,” he said, shaking another actor’s hand and ushering him back behind closed doors.
I was crushed and stared at the closed door for a long while before returning to my hotel room for the second disappointing night, where I immediately threw all my things into my luggage, more than ready to get the hell out of New York. I was interrupted by the phone and I picked up thinking it was Paula, bracing myself to tell her the bad news, however it wasn’t Paula on the other end.
“You didn’t get either of the roles . . . but we’re creating a role just for you,” the producer said. I wasn’t sure I had heard him right, but he continued, “You did a fabulous job, congratulations.”
The role they created was a character that would become wildly popular almost instantly—I would be playing Nico Kelly, a young rough type, the nephew of bad guy Creed. I had gotten a job on an actual TV show and it wasn’t just a one-off job, it was a contract role. I hung up and let it sink in for just a moment, then dialed Paula because I couldn’t wait to tell her the good news. It was so good to hear her voice on the phone when she picked up.
“Hi, babe, you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, actually, I’m great.”
“The audition went okay?” she asked. “Do you have to stay and do more?”
“I think the third time was the charm,” I joked.
“They liked you?” she pressed.
“They not only liked me, they created a role for me, babe, a contract role!”
I heard a little yelp of joy on the other end. “Honey, that’s so great! I knew you could do it!” she said, and then she was silent a moment before broaching the obvious subject. “So I guess that means living in New York.” She was wondering what me living in New York meant for her, but I hadn’t gotten to that thought yet in my mind.
“Yeah, New York.” There was another awkward pause before I ended the call. “Well, look, I wanted to tell you and now I’m gonna pack and see if I can get an earlier flight out.”
“Okay, I love you,” she said.
Although it didn’t come easily to me, I said I loved her, too. Once I was on the plane back to San Francisco, I had hours to think about everything that had happened and what it meant for my future. I kept hearing Paula’s voice, the absolute certainty in it, and I kept seeing her face, smiling at me, always encouraging me. I think that was the moment I realized nothing ever seemed real until I told her about it and that we were in this thing together.
I may have said a thousand times I was going to move to Los Angeles with my buddies, but now that my future was calling, I couldn’t imagine moving anywhere without Paula and I couldn’t wait to get home to tell her—and ask if she would join me. When I got off the plane, Paula was standing in the baggage claim to pick me up. She hugged me tight and kissed me and I held on to her for dear life, then she looked into my face, sensing something was different.
“Honey, what is it? What’s going on?”
I looked at her and kissed her again. “I want you to move to New York with me,” I said.
And at that, Paula threw her arms around me and kissed me deeply.
“I take that as a yes,” I teased.
It was what Paula was hoping for, but given our history, and my inability to commit, something she wasn’t sure would or could happen yet.
“I’d go to the moon and back,” she whispered in my ear, kissing me again.
Because All My Children wanted me to start immediately, we barely had time to say goodbye to everyone, so my parents threw a party at the house and Manny and Jeff and all my friends were so excited we stayed up all night talking. Paula and I left for the airport the next day with only a few small suitcases—and lots of big dreams. A guy I knew had moved to New York earlier, and when he found out we were moving to the city, he found a place and rented it for us, so we moved into the small apartment in Hell’s Kitchen on Fifty-Third and Ninth sight unseen. It was right next to an animal shelter, so we both took that as a sign it was where we were supposed to be.
My first day at work was Paula’s nineteenth birthday and she walked me to the ABC studio on Sixty-Sixth and Columbus, a routine that continued the entire time we lived there. It was the first day of the rest of my career and I was nervous, and meeting Michael Knight and Susan Lucci that day exacerbated the feeling. It was intimidating because I had watched them on the show when I was a teenager and never thought one day it would be my destiny to work with them. I was so driven I wanted to learn as much as I possibly could in the two years of my contract before I headed back out West to L.A., only not with Manny and Jeff like we had talked about, it would be with Paula, and nothing would stand in the way of my success as an actor.
The All My Children producers had no idea I suffered from bipolar disorder, because an acting coach had told me not to tell people about it or I would never get hired. I sure as hell wasn’t going to screw up my big chance, so I hid it and I hid it well.
The pressure was now on, and on a whole new terrifying scale. The need to prove myself, just as it had been throughout my childhood, was immense, and although I didn’t have much dialogue and was only in a few scenes that first day, I was determined to stand out. When the fan mail started pouring in after I had been there a few weeks I finally lost that sense of being on the outside looking in.
Nico and Tad Martin shared story lines and I enjoyed doing scenes with Michael Knight. Off set we had fun, too, because he’s got a great sense of humor. I also became friends with Cameron Mathison, who’s a great guy.
But I worked long hours and was pushing myself to the limit
on All My Children. I was taking my meds, so I thought things would stay calm, but I had stopped therapy when I left Dr. Noonan and San Francisco without finding a new doctor in New York, ignoring the possibility that it would cost me down the line. Being bipolar doesn’t just go away one day; it’s something you have to manage every day, your whole life. I had barely begun to understand my condition and had not mastered all the tools to control it instead of letting it control me.
Since I was gone from early in the morning until late at night, Paula wanted an animal to keep her company, but since my parents had always told me I was allergic after one ill-fated dog rescue, I believed that and told Paula. Even though we had a tiny apartment, Paula really wanted a dog, and after researching decided a toy poodle would affect my allergies the least, so we got one in the city and named him Nyco after my character on All My Children. I had zero allergic reaction to him, so a few months after that, I came home from an event with a beautiful charcoal-gray kitten I also clearly wasn’t allergic to. I named him Charlie, after one of my character’s rivals.
When I wasn’t working, Paula and I hung out with the friend who had found the apartment for us, but after a while it became clear he was schizophrenic when he started talking in different voices and exhibited other bizarre behavior. It went downhill quickly from there when he became extremely possessive and that turned into stalking, calling constantly from morning to night, and even calling my dad to insist I was gay and Paula was my cover. My father told him off but he threatened to “tell the world” about me, and no matter what we tried, he refused to get any help. His increasing outbursts really shook us, so we wondered if he would start getting violent, and, unable to help him, we finally took ourselves out of the situation and moved to a nice neighborhood in Jersey City to share a two-bedroom flat with Michael Hawthorne, a model we had met who became and still is a dear friend. Our landlord lived below us and didn’t mind the animals—or that we would add more when a tiny Pomeranian we named Mitzy joined the brood.
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