by Kim Fields
In 1975, my mom auditioned for a Broadway revival of the play Hello, Dolly! It starred the legendary Pearl Bailey, whose performance in a 1968 production featuring an all-black cast made her one of the all-time great Dolly Levis and earned her a Tony Award. This production was a mixed-race cast, a “flower garden,” as Miss Bailey called it. Mom auditioned for the part of Minnie Fay in front of Miss Bailey herself. As she waited for word on whether to return the next day, the producer asked her to go to the Chinese restaurant across the street to get the star some soup.
My mom did not know whether she was being mistaken for an assistant or taken advantage of as she waited. Yet she ran the errand (because why not?) and then continued to wait at the theater, the soup she held for Miss Bailey passing from hot to warm to cold, mirroring her hopes for getting the job, as she sat there.
Finally, as night arrived and people began to go home, the producer came by, took the soup, and told my mom that she had made it to the next round. The following morning, several dozen prospective Minnie Fays lined up in a large rehearsal hall. As music played, everyone danced, and one by one they were dismissed. “Number three, thank you very much…Number twenty-seven, you can go. Thank you.” There were several rounds of this. Debbie Allen was one of the finalists. So was my mom, who was not a trained singer or dancer, but just like in the play A Chorus Line, she needed that job. Oh God, she really needed that job.
And in the end, she was the only one left.
She was the new Minnie Fay—and it ended up changing her life, and ours.
* * *
The play opened in midsummer in Dallas and went on to Philadelphia, Chicago, Los Angeles, Boston, and the Kennedy Center Opera House in Washington, DC, before arriving at the Minskoff Theatre on Broadway. They did forty-two performances in New York, starting with three previews in early November. The theater critic in Boston praised the entire production, in particular my mom, and on opening night in New York, that glowing review was pasted onto a sandwich board in front of the Minskoff Theatre, with the part about my mom highlighted, thanks to Miss Bailey, who was extremely fond of her “little Chip.”
As it turned out, my mom had brought my grandma to that opening night performance, and prior to the show, as she thanked Miss Bailey for her kind gesture, she also mentioned her mother was in the audience and that many years earlier she had actually been a backup dancer for one of Miss Bailey’s nightclub shows. Mind you, they had been on the road for nearly six months, since July, and my mother had never brought this up. It got a look from Miss Bailey, one of those why-have-I-never-heard-this looks.
“Who’s your mother?” she asked.
“Patsy Styles.”
“Oh my God! You’re Patsy’s daughter!”
Three weeks later, my grandmother passed away. It was cancer. She had been a lifelong smoker.
My grandma was laid to rest on a Wednesday morning; my mom performed that afternoon in the matinee. Afterward, Miss Bailey sent her home in her personal limousine. To this day, my mom speaks about the special qualities Miss Bailey brought to the theater every night, onstage and off.
As I said, that play changed her life—and mine. When I think about the moment I decided I wanted to be an actor, I can honestly say that performing was in my blood. I only had to look as far as my grandmother and my mom. A door wasn’t opened for me, but there was a path, and there were breadcrumbs on it. However, there was a particular moment, one I remember clearly. It happened when I visited my mom while she was on the road doing Dolly! Then it happened again backstage at the Minskoff on Broadway. Both times my mom’s sister, my Aunt Pat, who, with my Uncle Lou, watched me when Mom couldn’t, took me to these shows, and when we stepped through the backstage door, something special happened. I let go of her hand and looked around at the hustle and bustle of the actors and the crew getting ready for the performance, and I knew this was my life—or going to be someday.
Seeing this transformation happen right in front of me, with people like my mom and Miss Bailey and others coming in from the outside, from whatever they had been doing, from their regular lives, and turn themselves into other people who then created a different world, well, it was thrilling. It was magical.
It was the spark—me sensing who I was and what I was supposed to be.
One thing my mom learned while touring with Dolly! was that she loved Los Angeles and wanted to live there. No disrespect to Harlem, but in the mid-1970s, the city was not in one of its many heydays and my mom did not want to be there anymore. She did not want to raise her kid there either. She also sensed more opportunity for her as an actor in Los Angeles. Her friend Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs had moved there and landed Welcome Back, Kotter, and another close friend, Tim Pelt, the stepfather of Danielle Spencer, who played Dee in What’s Happening!!, had also gone west. Both pals encouraged her to do the same.
So one day I came home from school at P.S. 92 and found our apartment all packed up. We did not have much, but everything we did have was in boxes, and Mom told me, “We’re moving to California tonight.”
My reaction?
Uh, okay.
I was a kid.
But that was it.
Goodbye, Harlem. Hello, Hollywood.
2
Commercial Girl
We arrived in Los Angeles and settled in a tiny apartment on Larrabee Street, in West Hollywood. Both of us were open to this new adventure. I attended West Hollywood Elementary School. Mom and I loved a joint on Sunset Boulevard called Power Burger. For free fun, we walked to Tower Records and spent hours sifting through the record bins and people-watching while listening to the latest hits piped through the store. On nice days, we hung out at West Hollywood Park. I won the park’s annual Halloween costume contest dressed in a homemade costume as Groucho Marx. Mom and I jumped, squealed, and cried with joy. I think subconsciously it was validation for us that we didn’t know we needed; she knew we didn’t have much, I was self-conscious about wearing a costume my mom made.
Mom went on auditions, took classes, and booked commercials for Kentucky Fried Chicken and Pizza Hut. Each job, no matter how big or small, was a cause for celebration, but a national commercial was huge: We had money for rent, and then some. At some point, my mom decided I had a look and disposition that might get me some commercial or TV work, too. I met with Dorothy Day Otis, who headed up the top agency for children, and she signed me.
Days later, I went on my first audition, a commercial for Mrs. Butterworth’s syrup. Since we did not have a car, my mom and I took the bus across town. As we settled into the orange fiberglass seats of the RTD bus, my mom made up a song, which I still remember: “Look out, world. Look out, hills. Here comes Chip and Kim Fields.”
I was excited and hopeful as we walked into the casting office and checked in—that is, until I recognized the other girl waiting her turn. It was Janet Jackson, the baby sister of Michael and his brothers. I had seen her on the Jackson 5’s summer TV special. She was sitting in a chair, dressed beautifully, and staring back at me.
I could not believe it.
I was starstruck.
Then reality kicked in. My smile disappeared, along with my enthusiasm for the tryout. This was my first audition, and she was Janet Jackson. My mom noticed the change in me. She took my little hand in hers, led me to the bathroom, sat me on the counter, and gave me a pep talk for the ages.
“Don’t do that to yourself,” she said. “Don’t let anyone intimidate you or make you feel unsure or insecure about yourself. When your name is called, you go in there and know that you are the perfect you. If the casting people want something else, that’s their choice. It does not reflect in any way on who you are or who else is sitting next to you. You show them confidence, baby. You show them pride. You show them Kim Fields.”
Of course, it wasn’t anything Janet was doing. It was all me, all in my mind. Ever been there? It’s crazy how young insecurity or self-consciousness can creep up on us. That’s why you have to catch it and don’t l
et it take root.
The audition went well. The casting people liked my pigtails and smile. When my mom and I got back home, my new agent called and said the tape they had shot of me messed up and they wanted me to come back that afternoon for a reshoot. My mom said we’d be there, but it wasn’t that simple. The bus didn’t run at the right time and we didn’t have the money for a taxi.
Undaunted, my mom grabbed her purse, took my hand, and we walked about a half mile to Santa Monica Boulevard, where she found us a clear patch of curbside and stuck out her thumb. We were not there for more than ten minutes before a man in a Porsche stopped for us—if you can picture that, this little black lady and her little black girl—and drove us to the address my mom gave him. He let us off in front of the building and wished us luck. Amazing, right? Then again, luck can often be seen in retrospect as a prayer that’s been answered. Mom said, “God looks after fools, babies, and us.”
I redid my audition and the next day found out that I’d booked the job. My mom and I screamed, hollered, jumped, danced, and cried—and then did it all over again like Jesus had come back and we were the only two going home with Him. It was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me.
* * *
The Mrs. Butterworth’s commercial ran nationally, and casting directors fell in love with my little face and my whack teeth. I scored TV ads for Frosted Flakes, Kraft barbecue sauce, and ALPO dog food, though the latter became my first disappointment and a lasting lesson in telling the truth. Here’s what happened:
At the audition, I was asked if I liked dogs. I said, “Of course I like dogs.” I was asked if I was afraid of dogs. “No, I’m not afraid,” I said. Then came time to shoot; I was in front of the cameras and they let the dog out of his little kennel. He ran straight toward me and I turned and ran off the set. “I’m afraid!” I screamed. The director yelled, “Cut!” and they got another girl.
After Mom put together a string of guest spots on Rhoda, What’s Happening!!, and several other TV shows, we moved to a kid-friendly neighborhood in Studio City. In the summer of 1977, she landed her biggest role to date, a three-episode arc on the series Good Times, and as was our routine, we hugged, danced, screamed, and cried. Good Times was a Norman Lear show, an imprimatur that made it important. It starred Jimmie Walker and Esther Rolle and was about a family living in a Chicago housing project. Although best known for J.J.’s catchphrase Dyn-o-mite!, it was—like all of Norman Lear’s shows—plugged into topical social issues.
Norman Lear absolutely adored my mom (he still does; I wish you could see how his face lights up and produces the warmest smile when he says her name). Until this book, I thought he loved her because he saw her in Hello Dolly! when she toured in LA. Ohhhh noooooo…Turns out, she auditioned for the role of Thelma on Good Times!!!! Yep. And the audition scene was J.J. and Thelma fighting over some money. In the audition, fearless Chip turned on her stunt-woman vibe and did some sort of flip and roll at Norman Lear’s feet to get the money in the scene. That endeared her to him for their lifetimes. He even honored her by listening to her and giving a sibling singing group from New Jersey a shot on his hit series What’s Happening!! Now, he wanted her to breathe dramatic life into what would become the iconic, abusive mother of Penny.
Mom’s three episodes were about child abuse. She played a neighbor whose husband abandoned her after she got pregnant. Upset, her character loses control and abuses her ten-year-old daughter, played by Janet Jackson. The story line was important, powerful, and controversial. Knowing it was special, Mom wanted to get it right. She knew this was out of Janet’s comfort zone, as it would be for any child actor, so she invited Janet to work on their scenes at our house.
For Mom, this was serious, intense work. But I could not imagine anything cooler or more surreal than Janet Jackson coming to our house. This was going to be a whole different experience than that first nerve-racking time I saw her. Try as I might, I had a nearly impossible time picturing my celebrity hero walking through our front door and saying hi to me.
A few days later, though, that’s exactly what happened: Janet walked through our front door and said hi to me. Her big sister La Toya dropped her off. After a few moments, I was shooed away. But I was dying. Janet Jackson was in my house! I spied on them from the kitchen. Over the course of several weeks, I got used to Janet’s presence. Sometimes La Toya stayed. But more often than not, she dropped Janet off and my mom and I took her back to her family’s Tudor mansion in Encino.
Oh my gosh, I used to think as we waited for the guard to open the massive front gate that protected the house from fans who stood out front hoping to glimpse her brother Michael. I had a crush on Janet’s youngest brother, Randy, and my eyes forever wandered in search of him. That made Janet laugh.
The Jacksons respected my mom, and they became friends of ours. Janet and I, in particular, became very good friends. Like a big sister, she taught me fun tween makeup and hair tips (putting eyeliner in the bottom rim of my eye and making tiny “kiss curls” with my hair near my ears). When I had a costume party, she let me wear one of her famous Mae West costumes from the family’s TV show. Her generosity blew me away.
But her entire family was like that. Over the next few years, I visited their house many times and went swimming with her brothers and sisters. They embraced me as Janet’s little friend. It was thrilling, nice, and eventually even normal.
I remember playing with Janet one day at her family’s house when Michael was filming the movie The Wiz. We found the mold of the scarecrow mask in the Jacksons’ bright yellow kitchen and toyed with the idea of making Jell-O in it. Both Janet and I thought that was so funny.
Once, I went to Disneyland with Janet and Michael. His chief of security drove us in a brown Rolls-Royce. Michael wore a hat and sunglasses, and that seemed to be enough to avoid getting recognized. The Enchanted Tiki Room musical attraction was his favorite. I remember laughing the entire day.
* * *
Our simple life of school, work, TV, and bed was interrupted when both my mom and I were hired on TV shows that shot in different places. Hers was a recurring role on the daytime soap Days of Our Lives, and I was cast on the new CBS sitcom Baby, I’m Back, starring Denise Nicholas and Demond Wilson as a man who reenters his family’s life after abandoning them seven years earlier.
Since my mom couldn’t be on the set with me, she asked my Aunt Pat and her husband, Lou, to move to LA, which they did. At home, she coached me through my scenes, though not like a stage mother. That was not her style of mothering or coaching. When we worked on scenes, she shared her insights and experience, but she was like her mentor, Pearl Bailey, who had patiently let Mom find her own way in Hello, Dolly!
Lots of work—that was my mom’s thing. Hard work, learning, and faith in the process, that whatever it is you are trying to accomplish will work out the way it is supposed to. Those are the principles she taught me, until I got them, too—a little chip off the Chip.
But some lessons were impossible to accept. One day in September 1977, Mom learned her friend Tim Pelt was killed in a car crash on the Pacific Coast Highway. His stepdaughter and my playmate, Danielle Spencer, who costarred on What’s Happening!!, was also seriously injured in the accident. I had never seen my mom that upset, and in turn, I was a bundle of raw emotion trying to understand something that was far beyond me. It was easier being an innocent kid.
3
Tootie
I had recently turned nine years old when I was invited to play Janet Jackson’s friend on the show Good Times. The part seemed written especially for me. The producers knew me as Chip’s daughter, they knew I was friends with Janet, and they had seen our rapport on the set. They even named the character “Kim.”
After Good Times, I auditioned for a spin-off from Diff’rent Strokes, a new hit sitcom on NBC starring Charlotte Rae, Conrad Bain, Gary Coleman, Todd Bridges, and Dana Plato. However, outside the room where tryouts were held, I found myself the only African Amer
ican among an assortment of cookie-cutter white girls, each one cuter and prettier than the other. What am I doing here? I thought.
My mom hauled me off to the bathroom for “the self-confidence pep talk” about how I shouldn’t let anyone or anything intimidate me, and brought me back just as my name was being called. In the next room, I said hello to the casting director and several producers and read for the part of a girl named Tootie—“Dorothy ‘Tootie’ Ramsey.” Afterward, I answered several questions, which generated some laughter, and left on the heels of someone saying, “You were great.” Later, I heard it was love at first sight.
But there was one more audition—and a problem. Tootie was supposed to be twelve years old, and I was only nine. And “a small nine,” as I had been called. Fortunately for me, executive producer Al Burton came up with a brilliant, silly, and maybe even borderline ridiculous idea.
“Can you roller-skate?” he asked.
I nodded and someone produced a pair of roller skates. I put them on and went for a spin around the sound stage. As I coasted back to the production table with my arms outstretched and a smile on my face, like an Olympic gymnast finishing her routine, I got a round of applause. I also got the job.
The episode, titled “The Girls School,” was the last one of Diff’rent Strokes’s first season. TV insiders knew the network was giving Charlotte Rae her own show, an all-female version of Welcome Back, Kotter set in a boarding school, where her character, Edna Garrett, would be the housemother.
They cast seven girls as students, starting with Felice Schachter, who had been in the running for Dana Plato’s part on Diff’rent Strokes, and Lisa Whelchel, a beautiful sixteen-year-old from Texas who could have doubled as a Miss America. The others—Julie Piekarski, Julie Anne Haddock, and Molly Ringwald—were all experienced child actors. Then there was Mindy Cohn, an ordinary kid with a big, ebullient personality who was spotted by Charlotte and one of the producers. I skated onto the scene toward the end of the casting process.