Not Young, Still Restless

by Jeanne Cooper

  Meanwhile, back at the Y&R set, there was a spontaneous party atmosphere among the cast and crew that day, and I was walking on air, surrounded by a group of people who truly do know how to be happy for one another when the situation demands. I had work to do, though, so I collected myself by midafternoon and was in the midst of shooting a scene when suddenly Corbin strolled right into the Chancellor living room, on-camera, and presented me with a huge, gorgeous bouquet of flowers while everyone around me applauded. It quite literally took my breath away.

  (I found out later, by the way, that he’d planned to wait until we’d finished shooting that scene, but Lauralee Bell insisted this was far too big a deal for proper on-set behavior. “Who cares if they’re in the middle of a scene? Get out there,” she reportedly whispered. “Your father [Bill Bell] will kill me,” he whispered back. “I’ll deal with my father,” she told him. “Walk in there and give your mother those flowers!”)

  Our whole family was there on Emmy night. The Emmy in Corbin’s category went to Bruce Willis, and the Emmy in my category went to Alfre Woodard—both of them well deserved, and who on earth could complain about losing to either one of those spectacular actors?

  Of far more importance, September 12, 1987, was one of the most magically unforgettable nights of my life, a night of profound mutual pride between a mother and son, honored not only in a profession they share but also for work they did together. Never in my life will I forget it or stop being grateful.

  By the time the 2008 Daytime Emmy Awards came along, I’d had a total of eight nominations without a single win. I can honestly say I was completely relaxed that night, enjoying myself and not giving a thought to the outcome of the formidable Outstanding Lead Actress competition between Crystal Chappell, Maura West, Michelle Stafford, Nicole Forester, and me. After eight “losses,” getting your hopes up has a certain Charlie Brown vs. the football feel to it (i.e., at some point you just feel silly falling for it one more time).

  My two sons were with me that night, and Collin clearly wasn’t exactly on the edge of his seat about it either—shortly before my category was announced, he headed for the men’s room.

  Tyra Banks, looking spectacular, stepped to the podium, read the names of the nominees, and said, impossibly, “And the Emmy goes to . . . Jeanne Cooper!”

  We’ve all heard countless people say they weren’t expecting to win. I can’t stress this enough: I happened to be one of the people who actually meant it. In fact, for a few seconds I was sure I’d misheard her. I don’t think it really sank in until, after a kiss from Corbin, I turned to look for Collin and was swept into Doug Davidson’s arms for one of the greatest hugs of my life. (For the record, by the way, there are few people on this earth I love more than I love Doug Davidson.) I vaguely remember making it to the stairway and having to be helped up the stairs because my legs had suddenly turned into well-cooked linguini. I remember spotting Crystal Chappell, who was on her feet cheering at the top of her lungs, and giving her a thumbs-up as I crossed the stage to the podium. I remember Tyra Banks giving me a kiss right on the mouth as she welcomed me and, with a quick glance at my gown, whispering, like a true supermodel, “That’s Icho! I love Icho!” (Toru Icho is one of my favorite designers, in case anyone’s wondering.) And I definitely remember the out-of-body experience of stepping to the microphone knowing millions of people were watching and not having the first clue what I was going to say. So I kicked it off with a simple “I’ll bet you all thought I was dead.”

  Having spent the evening listening to everyone carry on about their wonderful castmates and their fabulous crews and their brilliant writers, producers, and directors, I spontaneously decided it might be time for a change of pace and began thanking our lousy actors, lousy crews, and our lousy writers, producers, and directors. It relaxed me a little to hear everyone laugh, and I almost started enjoying myself.

  But then, as indisputable proof that I was still out of my mind with shock, I ended with a special thank-you to my children . . . Corbin and Collin. Yes, it’s true, I forgot to even mention that I have a daughter, let alone a daughter I wouldn’t trade for any other daughter in the world. I took it much harder than Caren did. She laughed it off. I, on the other hand, saw a clip of it later and literally yelled at the TV at the top of my lungs, “What about Caren, you idiot?!”

  There were more congratulatory hugs and kisses that night than I can count, but none of it meant more than the heartfelt ones from my fellow nominees, Crystal, Michelle, Nicole, and Maura. I hope you all know how much I admire you and consider it a privilege to count you among my most treasured colleagues.

  To add to the joy that evening, Anthony Geary, one of my favorite actors and people, was the winner of the Outstanding Lead Actor Emmy. I couldn’t get to him quickly enough when he came offstage, and when we were finally finished hugging and jumping around in a circle, I said, “Let’s do the pressroom together.”

  “I’d be honored,” he replied, and off we went, hand in hand, to try to answer an unanswerable question for the media: “How does it feel to win an Emmy?”

  I also find myself at a loss for words trying to answer the question: “How does it feel to be presented with your own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame?”

  On August 20, 1993, I proudly became the first daytime actor to be given that honor. My JEANNE COOPER star is located at 6801 Hollywood Boulevard, at the corner of Hollywood and North Highland Avenue, a corner that has a special significance to me: five mornings a week in the early 1950s I would leave my apartment in Hollywood, drive east on Hollywood Boulevard, turn left on Highland, and proceed into the Valley to Universal Studios, where I was under contract.

  It was Corbin who submitted my name to the Walk of Fame Committee, and I was nothing short of ecstatic when it was announced that I’d been accepted as an honoree. The thought of taking a permanent place in Hollywood history among the likes of Katharine Hepburn, Spencer Tracy, Clark Gable, Bette Davis, and so many others whose work had inspired me and impelled me, and raised the bar for the rest of us, left me in awe and still does to this day.

  The presentation ceremony was every bit as much of a dream come true as the star itself. The late, great Johnny Grant, Hollywood’s honorary mayor, presided. My children and their spouses were there. Jeff Sagansky, president of CBS at the time and a man I’ll always admire, was there with a full battery of his top executives and offered such flattering words as “She’s a true professional,” and “She’s the backbone of our network’s success in daytime.” Many of my castmates were there, including Eric Braeden, Melody Thomas Scott, Peter Bergman, Jess Walton, and Kate Linder. Bill and Lee Bell were in Chicago and couldn’t attend, but all three of their children, Bill Jr., Lauralee, and Bradley were there. I felt loved and I felt valued, and how much more can any of us hope for in the course of our careers?

  In case you’ve ever wondered if the impact of an honor like that tends to dissipate over the years, I want you to know that, at least for me, it doesn’t. Not one bit. I still pass the corner of Hollywood and Highland fairly often, and occasionally I see people stop to acknowledge my star on the Walk of Fame. Every single time that happens, I get the same rush of warmth, privilege, and cherished memories I had on the day it was unveiled in 1993.

  For sheer, unmitigated glamour, though, it’s impossible to beat the annual Monte-Carlo Television Festival. Cast members from a variety of American television shows that are popular in Monaco, including The Young and the Restless, are invited, as they are every year, to a fabulous whirlwind of parties, events, screenings, and press receptions, and in 2005, those invitations were extended to Jess Walton and me.

  My longtime hairdresser, makeup artist, stylist, and friend, Gino Colombo, was right by my side every minute of that incredible trip, keeping me from looking wilted and stale in the heat of Monaco in June, so that all I had to think about was where I was supposed to be next. Jess and I laughed and played and partied and glittered and gambled and enjoyed the endle
ss sights of that tiny, gorgeous principality. We were treated like royalty, up to and including having a battery of security guards with us at all times and practically being carried on a litter through the crowded airport and onto our plane when we flew from Monaco for four spectacular days in Paris.

  The only flaw in an otherwise flawless trip, and one that couldn’t have been helped, was that Prince Albert II, the reigning monarch, was unable to join us at the festivities. He was observing the traditional year of mourning for his late father, Prince Rainier III, who’d passed away on April 6, 2005. We were all aware and respectful of the fact that he was in mourning, and we were honored that he did choose to attend the formal reception to welcome his country’s guests from the United States.

  Prince Albert and I were never formally introduced. Our eyes met briefly at that reception, though. I’m not quite sure what brought this on. It may have been because I wanted to acknowledge his having joined us so graciously in spite of his recent loss. It may have been because, early in my career, I knew his mother, Grace Kelly, and felt an almost maternal warmth toward him. It may have been because I saw a glimmer of recognition cross his face when he spotted me.

  Whatever the reason, when our eyes met, I winked.

  And he smiled so quickly and so subtly that I’m sure no one else noticed but me.

  A tiny moment in an otherwise once-in-a-lifetime trip, but one that fondly crossed my mind from time to time after we were all back home, back to work, and back to normal again.

  Four years later, in 2009, Prince Albert II was visiting Los Angeles as a part of a US fund-raising tour for the Monaco Foundation, a charity group dedicated to environmental initiatives. I attended one of the receptions given for him in Beverly Hills.

  Again, we were never formally introduced.

  Again, at some point, through the crowd, our eyes briefly met.

  And undeniably, unmistakably in that brief moment, HSH Prince Albert II of Monaco winked at me.

  I smiled back, so touched that he remembered.

  I’m still smiling about it today.

  All things considered, am I a lucky woman, or what?

  Chapter Seven

  Battling the Bad News

  It was a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon in October 2005 when Hillary B. Smith of One Life to Live, TV Guide daytime columnist Michael Logan, and I threw a party for our beautiful friend and colleague Linda Dano, star of Another World and One Life to Live. Linda had been through a couple of heartbreaking personal tragedies and was moving part-time to Los Angeles, and we wanted to welcome her with open arms and make sure she knew how loved she was and is on the West Coast.

  There was plenty of food, love, and laughter among the sixty-five guests—among them, Peter Bergman, Michelle Stafford, Jess Walton, Stuart Damon, Susan Flannery, Ian Buchanan, Finola Hughes, Ty Treadway, John McCook, Constance Towers, Lee Bell, and Corbin Bernsen and his wife, my gorgeous daughter-in-law Amanda Pays. In other words, it was an afternoon of someone wonderful to talk to and enjoy everywhere you turned, one of those special gatherings during which you realize you wouldn’t change a thing; it was everything you’d hoped for and the guest of honor was being properly embraced.

  To the best of my knowledge, no one noticed that I felt as if I were watching the party through the wrong end of a telescope.

  After a couple of hours I stole a few minutes in private with my close friend Lindsay Harrison, our hostess and, incidentally, my collaborator on this book. The instant we were alone behind her closed guest room door, my smile disappeared and I completely deflated.

  “I need to tell you something,” I told her, “and you have to swear to me that it will stay strictly between us. I mean that, not a word to anyone.” She promised with a nod, visibly concerned, and I took the deep breath I knew it would take to get the words out of my mouth.

  “I had my annual physical a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been through double pneumonia four times, so we always do a chest X-ray as well. And the radiologist found a tiny spot on my lung, about the size of a pinhead. It’s stage one non-small cell lung cancer, and they want to operate as soon as possible.”

  Lindsay is nothing if not calm in a crisis, so there were no histrionics, just a long hug and a few tears, after which she asked who else knew.

  “No one but you, me, and my doctors,” I said.

  She agreed to keep the secret on one condition: under no circumstances was I going into surgery without my children and grandchildren knowing what was happening. As she pointed out, and she was right, if the same thing were going on with one of them and they kept it from me, I would hunt them down and kill them. So I assured her that I would wait as long as I could, to give them the least possible amount of time to worry, but yes, I agreed, they needed to know, and they needed to hear it from me.

  A few minutes later we rejoined the party, and I found myself able to feel a little more part of it and to absorb some of that group’s warm, positive energy right along with our very special guest of honor.

  First thing Monday morning, I scheduled my surgery for two weeks later with the brilliant, innovative surgeon Dr. Clark Fuller, a researcher in video-assisted surgical techniques and thoracic oncology and a highly respected educator at the University of Southern California. I then called the Y&R office and arranged for a two-week vacation. It was a routine enough request that they didn’t ask for an explanation and I didn’t offer one. In fact, the vast majority of my Young and the Restless colleagues will be hearing about this for the first time when they read this book.

  I want you to know that my intense insistence on secrecy had nothing to do with denial or superstition. It has to do with one of my most basic beliefs when it comes to any kind of insidious, potentially cataclysmic illness: providing it with “air” and energy of any kind gives it life, credibility, and a chance to thrive and grow. I believe in forming a small, impenetrable psychic circle around it by limiting the number of people who know and refusing to allow its name to become a part of your mind and your vocabulary, so that, without nourishment, it inevitably withers and dies. Obviously it’s imperative to seek out the best medical specialists available and follow their advice to the letter. But success also requires that we not “overcome” it but actually deprive it of the opportunity to exist in the first place.

  An added incentive to delay sharing this news with my family until the last possible moment was an exciting event on the calendar for my son Corbin that I wasn’t about to ruin for him. He’d directed his first film, Carpool Guy, and the cast and press screening and party were being held a week before my surgery. Carpool Guy was a labor of love for him, a comedy cast with a spectacular array of soap actors—Anthony Geary, Lauralee Bell, Rick Hearst, Kristoff St. John, Sean Kanan, Sharon Case, and yours truly, to name a few—as Corbin’s way of showcasing the unmined versatility to be found among daytime stars. He was justifiably proud of it, I was justifiably proud of him, and I was determined to make sure the Carpool Guy screening was about him, not his mother’s upcoming surgery. And it was exactly as successful an evening as he deserved.

  Inevitably, though, the time came when my family had to know. So five nights before I checked into the hospital, my daughter, Caren; Corbin’s wife, Amanda; and I met for an early dinner, with Lindsay along for moral support. Caren and Amanda were as wonderful as I knew they’d be, deeply concerned but calm, falling right into their usual take-care-of-business mode, well aware of what I already knew—Corbin and Collin were going to be much more hysterical about this than all of us women put together. Caren was given the assignment of telling Collin, and Amanda took on the challenge of telling Corbin. How, what, and when to tell the grandchildren was left to each of them.

  Thanks to perfect, sensitive handling on Caren’s and Amanda’s parts, Collin and Corbin were able to have their meltdowns and recover before talking to me, so that at no time did I feel as if I needed to get them through my upcoming procedure. Corbin had to be out of town for work the day before I left for
the hospital. He was coming to say good-bye on his way to the airport when Caren announced, “Mom, you look like hell. Do something or, you know Corbin, he’ll never get on that plane.” If anyone knows about hair, makeup, and artificially applied health it’s a soap actress, so believe me, by the time my older son arrived, I was fabulous and he was reassured enough, just barely, to leave for his business trip.

  Collin and Caren were with me when I checked into the hospital. They were with me right up to the moment I was wheeled into the operating room and handed one of the nurses a plastic bag in which I’d placed a medallion engraved with the Lord’s Prayer, the one thing I wanted with me during surgery. They were at my bedside when I opened my eyes after the procedure was over—a simple, noninvasive forty-five minutes, thanks to Dr. Fuller, that involved a small incision, a tiny camera, and a couple of small holes in my side and my arm. They stayed with me, taking turns rubbing my feet, Collin even spending the night in my room while Caren went home to her husband and daughters for a few much-needed hours of sleep before rushing right back to the hospital first thing the next morning. Corbin came straight from the airport to my bedside at home when he got back to Los Angeles. I fully recovered with no chemo, no radiation, and a clean bill of health, and I was back to work right on time with no one at Y&R or the soap media knowing a thing about how I’d spent my two-week “vacation.”

  Thanks to an unspoken agreement to keep that “circle” intact, my family and I have never spoken of it again.