Mommie Dearest

by Christina Crawford

  The babes leave soon for school again - next week before I shoot - Everything has been paid for first semester - except your allowance -I used my two months allowance and food checks - so you have to wait for your spending money for a while but I’ll get it before you get to school.

  Love

  “Mother”

  I got the picture that she hated being in England. She was obviously miserable and being forced to live under sub-human conditions just to support us. Just look how grateful that should make us, how she sacrificed for us. The two months allowance checks and food checks had been spent by her, so I’d just have to wait. It didn’t surprise me particularly. I didn’t expect much any more. What I cared about was that nothing major had gone wrong and in a few short weeks I was off to college and a new life. I didn’t care about her nightmare. It was interesting, however, that this was the first time she’d signed any of her letters to me as simply “Mother”. Always before she had signed them “Mommie” and she had always put the quotation marks as though it were a pseudonym. Perhaps it was.

  A car and driver came to pick me up from Flintridge one week before college started. As I said good bye to Sister Benigna I felt a genuine sadness in leaving. I knew she wished me well and I promised I’d write her. I was not sorry to be leaving the top of this mountain, however, and breathed a sigh of relief as the limousine descended the hill for the last time.

  I had called my grandmother to say good bye. I knew that I’d be closely watched at home and didn’t want to give the secretary any unnecessary ammunition. I told grandmother that I’d write her from college to let her know how I was doing and where I was. She was a dear old lady and always thanked me for my sweet phone calls and for thinking of her.

  When I arrived at home, I found out that a big trunk was almost packed for me. Elva, mother’s wardrobe woman, had already finished most of the work. I liked Elva very much and thanked her for helping me. She had worked with mother for years and also traveled with her upon occasion to make sure that all of mother’s clothes for personal appearances were properly packed, ironed and ready for mother to just step into.

  My brother and sisters were home from their respective schools. I knew it was the last time I’d be seeing them for a while and we spent a good deal of the time talking about the future. I spent hours talking to Chris. I gave him my address at college and asked him to try and stay in touch with me, no matter where he was sent. I told him that I didn’t think they’d censor the mail at college and not to be afraid to write me.

  I did call some of my old friends and told them that I was going back east to school. Since I wasn’t allowed to leave my own house and yard, a few of them came to say good bye to me. My coach from Chadwick was getting married and I’d managed to save a few dollars out of my extremely meager funds for a small wedding present. Nicki and her fiance, Jim, made the trip out to the house and I gave them their wedding gift. Nicki was her usual energetic and positive self. I enjoyed seeing her again so much. She brought me up to date on all my friends at Chadwick during the couple of hours we were able to talk.

  Finally it was time to leave for Union Station. Betty was going with me on the train to Pittsburgh and I wasn’t particularly looking forward to spending two or three days alone with her. I walked from room to room through the entire house, trying to imprint the memory of how it looked in my brain. I told Mrs. Howe that I didn’t think I’d ever see this house again. She looked at me a little oddly, but didn’t try to dissuade me from my final tour of 426 North Bristol … the home of my childhood. I walked out into the yard where I could almost hear the echo of those long-ago birthday parties … the clowns and the organ-grinder music. I could almost catch a long forgotten glimpse of the big parties, the happy people and Judy Garland singing far into the summer night.

  I walked around the pool where Chris and I had played “king of the mountain” and learned to talk to one another under water. I stood beneath the big olive tree where once we’d hung a big stuffed toy in effigy, scaring mother half to death when she thought we’d executed one of the twins! I looked at the flower beds and the little vegetable garden we’d gotten one of the gardeners to help us with years ago. I went into the theater where I’d seen mother walk into the ocean in Humoresque and gotten hysterical because I thought she’d really died. I looked at the chair where Phillip had given me my spankings and then I gazed at the little empty stage upon which I’d made my disastrous debut as the mother in Hansel and Gretel.

  I tried to look at every corner and every piece of furniture. I stood under the trees and knelt beside the new rose garden. I knew in my bones that I would never see any of it again. I knew these moments were the last ones of this part of my life. I stood on the steps leading down into the garden, the same steps I’d stood on so many evenings wishing on the evening star … “star light, star bright …” wishing for a horse of my very own … wishing for the strength to stay alive until I could grow up … wishing for …

  REFLECTIONS FROM NICKI BAILEY

  Tina was fourteen when I met her at Chadwick School. She was an overweight tenth-grader who excelled academically but was very unsure of herself as a person. I was a young physical education teacher on my first assignment, fresh out of, UCLA and I wanted to help Tina because she seemed so sad and unrealized and because I liked her as a person.

  She was bright, hard-working and seeking approval in a family-like structure, which she considered “home”. Through her physical education classes, she demonstrated good swimming ability and I convinced her to join the swim team. She proved to be very coachable, a beautiful performer and she found friendship among the girls on the squad who became her support system. This gave her a sense of belonging and acceptance.

  She won her swim events in competition several times and for her it was a new and heady feeling! A sense of self-worth began to surface. She had never before been a winner!

  I remember a time when Tina’s mother took nearly all her clothes away because of a disagreement and Tina was left with almost nothing to wear to school. She had to “make do” with whatever we could collect until she could regain her own things. Through all of this difficulty, Tina maintained great dignity.

  Her status as a valued member of the school community increased greatly when she performed the lead in a school production of Mikado before students and parents one evening. She was brilliant and her star was shining brightly that night until her mother, who was in attendance, crushed its glow. It was a private moment which occurred between Tina, her mother and me. Happily, no one else knew of this as she received countless congratulations from an admiring audience on her acting and singing performance. You see, I made the mistake of raving to Miss Crawford about Tina’s presentation, remarking that she, Joan Crawford, must be terribly proud of her daughter, at which point she turned her back to me and there was absolute silence. However, from that time on we all knew that Tina had come to the realization that she was loved, accepted and very much respected by her teachers and her peers because of her achievements.

  Nicki Bailey, M.A.

  Former Chadwick faculty member;

  Retired athletic coach, El Camino College

  REFLECTIONS FROM ROBERT MARTIN

  It was a warm California evening. A Chadwick School dance was in progress. My wife, Monica, accompanied me to chaperone the students, as they seemed to be having a good time talking, dancing and laughing. That is, everyone except Christina. She was stylishly dressed but walked about somewhat aimlessly with a blank look. She was an outstanding student, attractive and popular with her classmates so I wondered why she had no escort and why she was not dancing. I asked her to dance but she politely refused, offering no reason. After some pressing on my part, I learned that she was being punished by Joan for some trivial infraction such as not writing a letter on time. Christina had to wear a lovely outfit, attend the dance without dancing, refrain from mixing with her friends, and remain until the end. After hearing this, I tried to downplay such an ir
rational dictum and again suggested we dance, but Christina was concerned that someone would report back to her mother. As always, she did not whine or solicit sympathy, but simply accepted her circumstances as stoically as a young person can.

  On another occasion I met Joan Crawford for the first and last time. Christina appeared in the school’s production of The Mikado and Joan attended. I was struck with the maturity and professionalism of Christina’s performance and in talking with Joan afterwards I mentioned this. Joan passed it off with a wave of her hand and a shrug that clearly communicated negative criticism. As Christina’s homeroom instructor I thought Joan might be interested in her daughter’s studies, but it was difficult to discuss much with Joan. She was beautifully dressed as if ready for the cameras but I got the impression that she was a person playing the part of a person and the lines did not come easily.

  Suddenly, around Thanksgiving 1995, Christina and her brother were gone. No one knew where. Months went by until one day Monica got a phone call. The caller said softly, “Mrs. Martin, this is Christina Crawford. Please don’t say anything. I am at Flintridge. I am not supposed to make this phone call but would Mr. Martin call Mother Superior and ask permission to visit me. I need to talk to him,” and hung up.

  Subsequently I called, explained that I had been Christina’s teacher for two years. She recited some of the strict rules laid down by Joan but also mentioned how concerned she was about Christina’s depression because she was cut off completely from friends, from Chadwick and was confined to the campus weekends and vacations. Finally I was given permission to come visit with Monica and our two young children, but was required to come to her office upon our arrival.

  The next day we drove to Flintridge. After promising Mother Superior that we would not tell anybody about our visit, we were allowed to see Christina.

  After warm hugs, we talked and walked outside in the garden. Christina had changed. Her wonderful, hearty, infectious laugh was gone. She was pale, dispirited, vulnerable. I could see that her confidence had been shaken and in its place was confusion and disarray.

  After that visit, my wife and I were able to keep in touch with Christina, offering our encouragement. Of course, it couldn’t substitute for what she really needed: love, affection, family, friends, and a return to her class at Chadwick, but I had no means to bring that about.

  The following year when Christina graduated from Flintridge, we were present. Christina told us that Joan’s secretary had come and that if asked, we should say that we were there to see Gay White, a former student of mine, graduate. Sure enough, the secretary confronted me and wanted to know who I was and why I was talking to Christina. Overlooking this rudeness, I gave her straightforward answers that precluded any reply and resumed conversing with Christina.

  In summary, the person I remember so well from classes and from English papers was a young vibrant student, eager to learn, warm-natured and not afraid to ask challenging questions in class. She had no difficulty expressing her ideas on paper. She hid her troubles well and never once complained about her mother.

  When Mommie Dearest was published, I knew instinctively that long pent up emotions were finally surfacing. The book articulated what Christina and Joan’s relationship was actually like. It squared with facts I knew. From long years of friendship, I also knew that this act of writing must lay bare old wounds and scars, but in the end would have a healing effect and help Christina come to terms with the past so that a future would be possible.

  I admire her courage and positive outlook despite subsequent vicissitudes that would defeat most of us and engender bitterness. Christina has persisted and survived by self-reliance, hard work and stubborn spirit.

  Robert M. Martin, J.D., former Chadwick Faculty member;

  State Director, California Department Social Welfare;

  Deputy District Attorney, Los Angeles County;

  currently civil law practice, Donahue, Donahue and Martin

  CHAPTER 20

  College surpassed whatever expectations I might have had about it.

  One of the Pepsi men met us at the Pittsburgh train station. Betty took me to the girls’ dormitory on campus the following day. There was a big stir over the rumor that Joan Crawford’s daughter was coming to Carnegie and my arrival with the secretary and the trunks did nothing to dampen student fantasy. My new roommate was understandably dismayed to discover that my things took up nearly our entire shared living quarters but I tried to assure her that I’d be unpacked in no time at all.

  The fraternity boys discovered my presence immediately and I had dates lined up for a week in advance before my first full day at college was complete.

  When I was told the rules of the dormitory, it seemed like total freedom to me. We had to sign in and out at the desk. On week nights, freshman girls had to be back by 9 p.m. but on Saturday we didn’t have to sign in until midnight.

  Class schedules were tight, but the better part of the afternoon and evenings were free.

  Coming from nearly two years of being cooped up in one place, living under the convent restrictions and mother’s strict orders, this freedom all of a sudden nearly overwhelmed me. I was completely unprepared to handle it. So, at first I ventured very slowly into this new-found world of personal responsibility.

  Of course I went to the fraternity rush parties and all the other campus activities I was interested in, but I stuck very closely to the rules.

  Mother had sent me a “Happy first day at college” telegram from England where she was still shooting The Story of Esther Costello. I felt very much away from her and very much on my own.

  My first day in acting class I was just as scared as everyone else. We had come from all parts of the country to go to this school but none of us had experienced college before and many had never been so far away from home before.

  The teacher introduced himself and then called roll, asking each of us to raise our hand when he called our name so that he could begin to identify us personally. When he came to my name, he said, “Oh yes, you’re the movie star’s daughter with all the reporters following you.” I was mortified! Stupid teacher obviously thought the whole thing was a big laugh and I knew then and there that I was going to have to get a lot tougher if I was going to make it here.

  After roll call, we were given our first assignment. He had each of us walk across the stage alone and then gave us an individual critique. No one wanted to go first. Everyone was terrified.

  Since there were no volunteers, the teacher went alphabetically. He was not kind with his remarks to the people that preceded me and I had no idea what to expect from him after his opening joke at my expense. Fortunately, for years mother made me practice walking with stacks of books on my head. If any of them fell, I had to start all over again until I could walk completely across the room with the stack of books intact. Surprisingly enough, his only remark to me was that I’d have to loosen up a little but other than that I was fine.

  I had only been at Carnegie a few days when the first letter from my mother arrived. It was dated September 14.

  Christina darling,

  Thank you so much for your sweet cable. I am sure you are having an exciting time. I loved your letters. Glad you had such a good time at home and also that you saw the babies. They are pretty wonderful, loving, sweet, kind, attentive and unselfish. Glad, too, that you enjoyed the garden with the zinnias blooming; they were bursting when I left.

  I asked Aunt Bettina to see that you helped in the household and did your packing - what was left that Aunt Elva did not do, and the next thing I hear is that you are entertaining every day and going to the Ice Follies. Would you mind telling me how that happened?

  You say you will try hard to be an actress and that “there are many questions I would like to ask, and so much I don’t understand about the way I feel.” Just ask the questions, darling, and I will try and answer them.

  Yes, darling, the house will be up for sale, since, with you at college and Chr
is at school, it seems ridiculous to keep it since I will be living in New York some of the time.

  Please let me hear from you about college, your room-mate, and how things are going.

  The picture is going slowly. Don’t know where we will all be for Christmas.

  God Bless and know that I love you.

  Your

  “Mommie”

  Loved your other two letters en route I’ll write more later as I’m signing this on the set -

  Love

  “Mommie”

  I guess I hadn’t come much a great distance after all. I knew that it had to be Betty that told mother about the people coming over to say goodbye. There was nothing wrong that I could see in spending a little time with your friends before leaving to go east, but the way Betty told the story was obviously different. That happened all the time. Betty told mother every move that was made in the house and we always ended up getting in trouble even if we were innocent of any intentional wrong doing. Betty had also gotten in touch with me during the first month of college, nearly hysterical and accusing me of stealing my own silver dresser set! I told her I didn’t know what she was talking about and that I didn’t have it. Even if I did bring it with me, I would hardly considered it stealing … since it was mine to begin with! As things turned out, the maid had packed it away in one of the dresser drawers and Betty had to apologize to me.

  I wrote mother at least once a week. I was so genuinely happy at college, making friends, going out on dates and working hard at my classes that I tried very hard to let her know in detail. It was still hard for me to believe that everything had suddenly changed so much for the better. Carnegie was a wonderful choice. I’d looked through hundreds of college catalogs and this was the only one that allowed you to begin your major in the freshman year. I knew I didn’t want to go to any other college the minute I’d found that out. I didn’t apply anywhere else, which was taking a terrible risk, but I just had a feeling I’d be accepted at Carnegie. I certainly didn’t want to go to any of the eastern women’s colleges … I’d had quite enough of girls’ schools to last me the rest of my life.