Bombshells: Glamour Girls of a Lifetime

by Sullivan, Steve

  “He said, ‘I’m teaching acting at the Actors and Directors’ Lab. If you’re serious, you’ll be there.’ I was very fortunate and studied with him. While we were doing Shakespeare and the classics there, I was also able to learn cold readings of scripts, because I was going out on interviews and I needed all the experience I could get.” Cynthia also studied acting with Jeff Corey, whose students in the 1950s had included James Dean. Also in 1969, Cynthia appeared on a Bob Hope TV special in which Ann-Margret was featured.

  Russ Meyer Girl

  In the fall of 1969, Cynthia was invited by director Russ Meyer to costar in his first big-budget studio epic. “Russ had been trying to contact me for over a year. I’ve been told that I’m the prototype of a Russ Meyer Girl. I think he may have wanted me to test for Vixen.” Filmed in late 1968, Vixen had immediately catapulted Meyer from beloved cult favorite to industry phenomenon by grossing more than six million dollars at a cost of only seventytwo thousand dollars, largely on the strength of Erica Gavin’s powerfully erotic lead performance. As a result, 20th Century—Fox studio chief Richard Zanuck signed Meyer to direct and produce Beyond the Valley of the Dolls on a budget of $1.5 million.

  “Here was a man who had practically filmed in his backyard and now a major studio hires him … . Fox had taken a beating with Tora! Tora! Tora! and Myra Breckinridge [destined to be another big-budget catastrophe] was being shot at the same time.”

  Therefore, some studio execs — even those initially aghast at hiring a skin-flick director — were looking to Meyer as Fox’s financial savior. “He was quite intense, full of energy, and I realized that it was a big responsibility for him to come to a major studio that pretty much said, ‘Okay, show us your stuff. You’ve made a lot of money, now do it for us.’ He was under tremendous pressure to pull everyone together and come in under budget, and of course everyone wants miracles … . Maybe we didn’t all know what we were doing, but we put it together and it was a fun learning experience.”

  Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (cowritten by Meyer and movie critic Roger Ebert) is a propulsively energetic film tracing the rise to fame of an all-girl rock band, the Carrie Nations. Playboy Playmate Dolly Read is lead singer Kelly, Cynthia portrays guitarist Casey, and lovely black model Marcia McBroom plays drummer Petranella. In typically manic and satiric Meyer fashion, the story depicts the loss of innocence as the girls venture to the big time in Hollywood and plunge headlong into a cynical new world of sex, drugs, and violence. Ebert later noted Meyer’s intent that the movie “should simultaneously be a satire, a serious melodrama, a rock musical, a comedy, a violent exploitation picture, a skin flick, and a moralistic expose” of showbiz.

  As Casey, Cynthia finds herself increasingly embittered by men while Kelly enters into an affair with strapping blond gigolo Lance Rock (played by Michael Blodgett). One night, when the group’s former manager, Harris (David Gurian), comes to her for comfort after being shoved aside in their rise to fame — and after being sexually humiliated by Edy Williams as voracious porn queen Ashley St. John — Casey sleeps with him. Afterward, she angrily throws him out, but later discovers (unbeknownst to Harris) that she’s pregnant with his child. He attempts suicide and is left a paraplegic.

  Already drawn into a growing friendship with fashion designer Roxanne (Erica Gavin), who had eyes for her from the start, Casey tearfully confides her dilemma, and Roxanne takes her to have an abortion. Afterward, the two women share an afternoon in the countryside, and they kiss tenderly after Casey expresses gratitude for her friend’s kindness.

  The film’s denouement is a bizarre costume party at the home of the group’s flamboyant new mastermind, Z-Man (John LaZar). That night at his mansion, Casey and Roxanne bed down together and have one final, exceptionally sensuous sequence. Soon thereafter, Z-Man goes on a murderous spree, killing Lance and Roxanne. Casey runs for her life in a diaphanous black nightgown and desperately phones her bandmates for help, but is gunned down just as they arrive. The film concludes with Harris’s miraculous recovery, his romantic reunion with Kelly, and a triple wedding, topped off by a mock-portentous narrator’s voice intoning what it all supposedly means.

  Few major films have been met with such a wildly contrasting critical response as Dolls. Some reviled it for gratuitous violence, while others hailed its tremendous pace and Meyer’s masterful editing; indeed, a couple of critics subsequently listed it as one of the ten best films of the 1970s. Cynthia’s shimmering beauty and aching vulnerability in capturing Casey’s innocence and disillusionment contributed immensely to the picture’s appeal.

  “Erica was very nervous about doing the lesbian scene,” recalls Cynthia — even though Erica’s lesbian sequence in Vixen had become legendary. “We were good friends, and I thought, thank goodness I’m at least going to do it with a girl I liked. Also, it was a lovely scene. She was so upset that I came to talk with her about it. I said, ‘Erica, it’s going to be fine. Is there anything I can do to make it more comfortable?’” Thanks in part to Cynthia’s gentle comforting, their scenes together are among the finest in the movie.

  Dolls was a solid box office success, grossing fifteen million dollars, and to this day it remains Meyer’s proudest achievement; Fox finally released the video in 1993. Meyer made one more film for the studio, the very un-Meyer-like flop The Seven Minutes, and then left to return to his life as an independent.

  After Dolls, Cynthia landed a choice role as the only female in a Western called Cactus, aka Devil’s Choice. Bob Fuller (whom Cynthia also dated for a time) starred as the town marshal, and Nick Cravat played an old miner trying to protect his gold strike claim. Cynthia was the miner’s daughter who sought to help him. “Nick Cravat was Burt Lancaster’s old partner [as a circus acrobat and later in films like The Crimson Pirate], and when he learned Burt was a friend of mine he told me all sorts of great stories. I also got to ride a horse during the Indian attack in the film.”

  Sadly, the film was never released. “Bob Fuller was called away to begin shooting the TV show Emergency! with Julie London. The film had already gone way over schedule shooting in Marble Canyon, Arizona. They rewrote the ending when Bob had to leave and we did finish it, but it wound up on the studio’s shelf. I’m still hopeful that a print will turn up somewhere.”

  It was not long before she had one more opportunity, as she was hired for another Western. “Vera Miles was looking for a pretty girl to be the love interest of a man she was interested in, and I got the job.” In the 1972 film Molly and Lawless John (produced by Miles), Vera plays the neglected wife of the town sheriff, who has prisoner Sam Elliott in his jail. Vera is smitten by Elliott and schemes to help him escape with the plan that they will run off together. But Elliott already has a gorgeous girlfriend — Cynthia, as Dolly Kincaid — and once he’s out, he says thanks and goodbye. That proves to be a mistake, as Miles ends up killing him.

  Cynthia had some romantic scenes with Elliott, who became a star a few years later in Lifeguard. “I had so many petticoats on that when Sam Elliott was trying to undress me in the scene, he said, ‘How in the world can I get all these petticoats off without taking five minutes?’ I fainted once because of the heat [in Las Cruces, New Mexico] and all the clothing.” Once again, she was able to do some of her own horse riding. And this time, the picture was completed and is still shown occasionally on TV.

  Little did Cynthia know that this would be her last motion picture. Following Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, she had moved in with costar Michael Blodgett, and “I put my career on the back burner when Mike said, ‘Let’s go to the Caribbean’ or ‘Let’s charter a plane and go skiing in Aspen.’ For a girl from Toledo, this was all pretty amazing. But I should have continued studying with Bruce Dern and concentrated on my career. I guess hindsight’s twenty-twenty.” They went their separate ways in 1977.

  Cynthia had more than her share of remarkable adventures in Hollywood, which she sums up by noting that she survived a “crazy” environment in the face of m
any temptations. “I came to so many forks in the road where people were pushing me in one direction or the other. What saved me was my Midwestern upbringing and values. When people would say, ‘If it feels good, do it,’ I’d say, ‘No, that’s not the way I was raised.’”

  After going off on her own, Cynthia moved in for a time with the family of Gene Czerwinski, president and owner of the Cerwin-Vega stereo equipment corporation. They’d been introduced by former Playmate of the Year Donna Michelle, who had been Cynthia’s roommate while Cynthia filmed Dolls. Having moved out of the Playboy Mansion, Cynthia “didn’t want to go back to a lonely hotel room” when screen-testing for the picture began, so she moved in with Donna.

  “The Czerwinski family had sort of adopted Donna, and she introduced me to them. Not only were they also from Toledo, Gene even went to the same high school [years earlier].” Cynthia modeled for Cerwin-Vega, serving as the company’s “Miss Earthquake” when Cerwin-Vega developed the Sensurround system for the movies Earthquake and The Towering Inferno. She could also be seen in 1972 Cerwin-Vega ads for its sound system at the giant WATTSTAX music festival in Los Angeles. Additionally, she represented the company as a model at its Las Vegas consumer and electronics conventions almost every January for the next twenty years.

  At the end of the 1970s, while living in Marina del Ray, Cynthia was engaged for two years to an orthopedic surgeon named Richard. “It was serious enough that I began taking classes in what would have been a four-year program to become an X-ray technician, mainly so I could spend more time with him.” But the relationship ended under startling circumstances.

  “One day I noticed that a local theater was showing Beyond the Valley of the Dolls at midnight, and I suggested that we go see it. He knew about my background, but not a lot. During my scenes in the movie with Erica Gavin I could tell from his body language that he was uncomfortable. When we walked out of the theater he looked crushed, as if his Labrador had been run over by a truck. He looked at me and said, ‘Did you have an orgasm with Erica?’

  “He said, ‘I know you pretty well, and I know I could never satisfy you like Erica did in the movie.’ I tried to lighten the mood by saying, ‘You’ve paid me a great compliment as an actress. I thought [the orgasm] would be good for the scene.’ But instead of being proud of me as an actress or appreciating it as a hot movie scene, his masculinity was threatened. Making love with him after that was never the same, because he felt he could never match Erica. He told me, ‘I’ll always love you, but I’ve got to break off the engagement.’ I cried for weeks afterward, but I got over it.”

  In 1981, Cynthia set off on an extended car trip to “think about what I wanted to do.” She went to Las Vegas, and planned to drive by the Grand Canyon and then up to Aspen to visit a girlfriend. “I wasn’t on any schedule — I wanted to enjoy my new-found freedom.” Then she met “a very nice man” named Mike Spence, who worked for the government. “He was giving me directions to Lake Mead, then we started talking and he asked if I’d like to go fishing. We went fishing together, and I never did make it to Aspen.” They fell in love, and were soon married. Mike now works for the Northrop Corporation as an engineer on the B-2 Stealth bomber. On February 24, 1983, their son Robert was born, and Cynthia is very much the devoted mother.

  Cynthia had been completely away from Playboy and show business for two decades when her husband suggested that she get back in touch with the magazine. “He said, ‘You’re in good shape, you look great — why don’t you call them?’ So I called their offices, just to let them know that I’m here and I’m available. Then, five days later, they asked me if I’d like to sign autographs at Glamourcon.” Since her first appearance in 1994 at the national glamour and pinup convention, which is now cosponsored by Playboy, the semiannual show has become an important part of her life for reconnecting her to fans and to Playmate friends like DeDe Lind and Patti Reynolds.

  “It was such a pleasure to have so many fans tell me how much I meant to them. After living up in the desert away from the entertainment field for so many years, this has been a real treat.” One of the highlights of Glamourcon for Cynthia was her reunion with Hugh Hefner. “As soon as he saw me, he gave me a big, long hug. He’s a very dear man.”

  Not long after returning to the public eye, Cynthia found a new outlet when she became a leading force in the Playboy Mailing List on the Internet, whose several hundred members elected her as the “Playmate of the List.” Whenever there is a question requiring an expert Playmate opinion, participants can always count on Cynthia for a warm, incisive E-mail response to the entire group.

  And now she is ending a quarter-century hiatus from acting. While taking refresher courses in acting technique at a local university, she is reacquainting herself with her profession by accepting roles in television series such as Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, UPN’s Burning Zone, and in the film Money Talks, starring Charlie Sheen.

  Her reentry comes at an opportune time: in an extensive survey conducted by this author for the book Glamour Girls of the Century among more than twelve hundred collectors and fans in twenty-three countries (in which over three thousand women received votes), Cynthia has been voted the twelfth most beloved glamour and pinup star of the century. Only three other Playmates — Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield, and Bettie Page — garnered more votes.

  With a determination as imposing as her still-mesmerizing beauty, the Ultimate Playmate is writing a second act to a life that has already left an indelible mark on pinup history.

  Marcia McBroom, Dolly Read and Cynthia Myers

  Sheree North

  It might fairly be said that Sheree North defines the term survivor in Hollywood’s version of Webster’s, but that would be selling the lady short. She’s led a life and a half, and has emerged from it all as one of the town’s most respected performers and personalities.

  Dawn Shirley Bethel (her real name) was in fact born in Hollywood on January 17, 1933. Her parents divorced shortly after she was born; she was raised by her mother, who worked as a pearl appraiser for importers. Dawn began dancing at about the age of three. “I would dance in the front window of our home,” she recalls today with a chuckle. “My mother and I made a deal — I would stop these ‘appearances,’ and I could take dancing lessons.”

  Young Dawn was “thrilled” with show business from an early age, particularly after seeing the high-kicking dancers at the Orpheum in downtown Los Angeles. “I loved the glamour of it all.” It was at age six that she began dancing lessons at the famous Falcon Studios. Her mother made a deal with the school to let the two of them do odd jobs around the studio to help pay for the lessons.

  In the midst of World War II, the USO was always on the lookout for crowd-pleasing entertainers, and asked Falcon Studios to put together a camp show. Eleven-year-old Dawn was one of those selected, and for about two years she traveled with the show up and down the West Coast. “That’s where I first learned to communicate onstage, to have some personality,” she says. “Through that experience, I learned to find more freedom and expression on the stage that I didn’t find in life.”

  It was while dancing at USO shows that Dawn gained her first true notoriety — she developed a penchant for losing certain parts of her clothing during performances. On one occasion, she slipped while walking across the stage, causing a strap on her costume to come loose, and completed the number constantly switching hands to hold the outfit up. “They were cheering me on, and it was the hit of the show. Afterwards, I was surrounded by all these adorable young men who wanted to dance with me. I was just eleven years old, but with all that stage makeup I looked like a woman. I was floating on a cloud.”

  The clothes incidents continued on a regular basis. “It did always seem that when I went onstage my petticoat or something else was falling down,” she laughs in recollection. “My mother sewed my clothes and was always in a hurry, and I guess she didn’t do a very good job.” On another occasion, she was doing a ballet number when her costume
broke. Since her mother didn’t have white panties for her tutu, she borrowed the white Jockey shorts of a young man. “Of course, they were too big, so halfway through the number they slipped off. I did a little toe dance to the side and dropped them in the wings. I was turning the ballet into a comedy, not meaning to.” In addition to the enthusiastic response these incidents received from the soldiers, they “did teach me to have a sense of humor, to go with the flow.”

  Already an alluring beauty as well as a skilled and versatile dancer, at thirteen she lied about her age and got into the chorus lines of various shows. Living near L.A.’s Greek Theater, when news of a musical audition came she would roller-skate over to the audition. Every summer, she would work in shows at the Greek, and each time would tell officials that she was sixteen; because of her earnings, she was able to collect unemployment compensation during the school year.

  “I loved being in the chorus,” she recalls. “They kept picking me to be a featured dancer, but I didn’t like that.” Periodically, the sheriff would conduct raids after receiving a tip of an underage dancer in the show, and each time “they’d hide me in the chorus again.”

  At fifteen, she married Fred Bessire, a twenty-five-year-old draftsman and gambler; the union lasted eighteen months and produced a daughter named Dawn. Just a few months after Dawn’s birth, “my husband wanted me to work as a dancer at a sleazy burlesque house, and on the way to driving me over we passed the Florentine Gardens,” a classy Hollywood club known as one of the favored venues for legendary stripteaser Lili St. Cyr. They went in, and she was immediately hired as a dancer.