by Joan Kramer
We also interviewed them both again, this time in their barn. I had wanted to film additional footage of them walking in the yard together, but Paul nixed that idea because he felt that it might breach their security by showing too much of the property’s location. I don’t think he was too happy to have us shoot there at all, but once on camera, he relaxed, joking about the fake Oscar that director, Robert Wise, gave him after they completed Somebody Up There Likes Me. And Joanne told us how she prepared for her (real) Oscar-winning role as a multiple-personality in The Three Faces of Eve. “The voices were different, but it was as if each of the characters resided in a different place in my head.”
Then came the hardest part: the editing. And in the midst of it all, ABC decided to move the 20/20 offices to another building about a block away. Since we were knee-deep in the project, we and our editors were allowed to stay in the old space while everyone else packed up and left.
We’d been warned that Av Westin could be very tough during screenings of rough-cuts. But he approved our piece with only a few minor suggestions.
JK It was during this final stage that we had to deal with two bombshells. The Screen Actors Guild required us to get permissions from actors who appeared in the clips we planned to use. One of Paul’s important films was The Hustler, and in his interview, he analyzed his own performance in a pivotal scene with his co-star, Jackie Gleason. But Gleason refused to give his consent, and no amount of coaxing by us, or a direct appeal by Hugh Downs, could change his mind. Unfortunately, we had to remove that section entirely.
Worse, Dewey Martin, who had co-starred with Paul in The Battler (the kine that turned up in the Newmans’ barn) was also refusing to allow us to show a crucial scene of them together, one which both Paul and director, Arthur Penn, had talked about in their interviews. This time we won the stand-off by offering Martin a fee above the standard residual rate.
That should have been the end of our problems. But there was one more.
DH Barbara Walters, who had to have been miffed that she did not get to do the portrait of Paul and Joanne, had the other third of the program—an interview with Ursula Meese (the wife of Edwin Meese, the United States Attorney General, who was embroiled in a political scandal). The day before 20/20’s Friday night broadcast, Barbara told Av Westin that her piece was five minutes longer than had been allocated, and she couldn’t cut it. He pointed out that the profile of the Newmans was finished and in the can, so she had to find a way to bring in her segment to time. She refused. The argument went all the way to the President of ABC News, Roone Arledge, who had created 20/20 back in 1978.
At about 6 that Thursday evening, we were sent back to the editing room to cut out five minutes. These were painful choices, which included a wonderful sequence of Joanne in various wigs and costumes from the film, A New Kind of Love, and a portion of Paul’s interview in which he talked about how and why he was often compared to Marlon Brando. It was exhausting, frustrating, and infuriating, and it took almost all night. Of course, it also showed where much of the power was at 20/20.
The uncut version had been sent to a number of newspaper reviewers, and on the morning of the broadcast, more than one of them referred to the Paul Newman/Marlon Brando comparison. Surprisingly, there were no viewer complaints about the missing section.
JK and DH We watched the show air from the control room of the studio. By then, we were just happy that we’d finished the project and hoped that the deletions hadn’t ruined it. We needn’t have worried. Everyone was pleased. Joanne called the next morning to congratulate us and tell us how happy she and Paul were. And Hugh Downs said it was the best experience he’d had with any segment he’d ever done. But we knew what was missing and even now, thirty years later, wish we hadn’t had to cut those five minutes.
JK That program was something of a milestone for me. It marked the first time I shared a producer’s credit with David. And after we returned to our jobs at WNET, I received a note from our boss that said I’d been officially promoted from associate producer, and that my credit on future shows would be producer. When I thanked him, he said, “You’re welcome. But you should thank David. He’s the one that requested—actually, insisted on it.” Of course, I’d been completely unaware that he’d done that, but did know it was almost unheard of for anyone to voluntarily arrange for another person to share his or her title, not just in the entertainment business, but in every other business as well.
JK and DH The friendship with Paul continued until his death in 2008, and our relationship with Joanne continues to this day. We’ve had many wonderful times with both of them together and with her separately: dinners at David’s loft, at Joan’s apartment, at restaurants, invitations to join them at the ballet, premiere screenings of their films, memorable days at the house in Connecticut, delicious egg rolls made by their housekeeper, Cora.
The Newmans at a dinner party in David’s loft.
New York, 2005. Authors’ collection.
JK I thought I was used to being teased unmercifully by David, but he met his match with Paul Newman.
I don’t know what it is about me that leads people to making me the victim of their humor and practical jokes. And not only do I realize that I encourage it, but also that unwittingly I bring it on myself.
Through the years, I’ve often called the Newmans at their homes in Connecticut and New York. Unlike so many big stars, they usually answered their own phone. Frequently, the first voice I’d hear would be Paul’s. I’d say, “Hi. It’s Joan.” He’d say, “Hiya,” and then sometimes tell me that Joanne wasn’t there. Once, before I’d caught on to his deviousness, he said, “Joanne’s not here. She’s in Calcutta—playing in summer stock.”
“But I just spoke with her a week ago,” I said, surprised. “She didn’t mention that she was going to India. When did she leave?”
“A few days ago.”
“How did she get there? I know she doesn’t like to fly.”
“She will if I’m with her. So I took her on my plane and I’ll pick her up in about three weeks and bring her home.”
“Paul, this is July. Isn’t it very hot in Calcutta now?”
“Remember, she grew up in the South, in Georgia, so she’s used to hot weather.”
I remember thinking, “Joanne gets involved with causes she believes in, so this must be one of them.”
I said, “Well, if she won’t be back for a few weeks, I won’t leave a message. I’ll just call back later.”
“No, don’t hang up. She’s walking into the room right now.”
“What?” I screamed. “I don’t believe I fell for that craziness. Please stay on the line and ask her to pick up an extension.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see in a second.”
“Darling, pick up the other phone.”
Joanne came on the line. “Hi. Who’s this and what’s going on?”
“It’s Joan,” I said. “And I just heard from your husband that you weren’t home. Paul, why don’t you tell her where you told me she was?”
“Uh, oh, I think I’m in trouble.”
She said, “I’m not surprised. What did you do this time?”
“I told her you were in Calcutta for three weeks doing summer stock.”
“Paul, hang up the phone,” she said. “We’ll talk about this later.”
The joke was on me, but I was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down my cheeks.
Each time after that, Paul came up with a different tale. But by then I was on high alert. During the Iran-Contra scandal, he answered the phone with, “Ollie North here.”
I replied, “This is Queen Victoria. Where’s Mrs. North?”
When they were in Kansas filming Mr. and Mrs. Bridge, I called the house where they were living, and as soon as he heard my voice, he said through clenched teeth, “I told you never to call me at this number. She’s home. Meet me on Route 6, motel room number five. The key’ll be under the mat.”
I said
, “Paul, if anyone is listening in on this call, we’ll be arrested. And I wish I were recording this. One of the world’s sex symbols is making a pass at me, and I’d like to have a tape of it.”
In the background, I heard Joanne laughing, “Is that Joan you’re driving crazy again? Give me the phone.”
Many years later, after Paul had died, I told some of those stories to Joanne’s assistant, Darice Wirth (who had replaced Marcia). She pointed out something that hadn’t occurred to me.
“The fact that he joked around with you that way showed how much he trusted you. After all, if you wanted to cause trouble, you could have created a scandal by telling the press that he propositioned you, and it would have been your word against his. As a matter of fact, when I started working for him and Joanne, I made it a habit to sit in whenever either one of them was being interviewed. I thought it safer to have a third person in the room in case anyone had it in mind to accuse them of some wrongdoing. They both thought I was being over-protective. But better safe than sorry.”
JK and DH Over six years after Paul’s death, Joanne is still reeling from it. They had been married for over fifty years, yet whenever we saw them together, he would stroke her hair or tickle her neck and hold her hand, as though they were still newlyweds.
A few weeks after Paul died, Joanne’s aunt, Mary Jane, came for a visit. When she said she wasn’t feeling well, Joanne thought it would be best for her to return home to Florida where she could be tested by her own doctor. She flew back in Paul’s private jet, but the following day, she had a massive stroke and died soon after. The two of them had been very close, almost like sisters. Joanne was devastated by her death.
Then came news that one of Joanne’s cousins had died in Georgia. A few months earlier, the Newmans’ publicist, Warren Cowan, had died. Paul’s agent, Sam Cohn, passed away in 2009. And soon after that, so did their long-time lawyer, Leo Nevas.
We tried to call Joanne and left several messages, but, understandably, we didn’t hear from her for about six months. After she had recovered enough to come into the city, we all went to the opening night gala of American Ballet Theater. Now we frequently have dinner with her in New York, and often visit her beautiful home in Connecticut.
JK Her friendship means a great deal to me. We share so many common interests; in addition to ballet, both of us love theater, knitting, antiques, and so much more. With just one word, we can start laughing at something silly, or singing the title song from Anything Goes. If prompted and encouraged, she’ll even perform the bump-and-grind she did in the film, The Stripper. On a moment’s notice, she’ll revert to the thick southern accent of her childhood in Georgia. And she’s taught me a few of her favorite expressions, such as “hissy fit,” and “tough as a west Texas boot.” She still says, “y’all,” and “bacawse” instead of “because.” She loves to laugh, she loves the arts, relishes good food, and she has a sweet tooth that has to be satisfied, always insisting that we have dessert.
JK and DH As Paul used to say, “I’m married to one of the last of the great broads.” He adored her. So do we.
David, Joanne, and Joan.
Westport, CT, 2005. Authors’ collection
Spencer Tracy.
Collection of Susie Tracy.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Now That I Have Friends”
JK “Hello Joan. It’s Kate.”
It was August 18, 1982, and even though David and I had spoken with Katharine Hepburn many times by then, and had been invited by her for afternoon teas and lunches, it was still a jolt to pick up the phone and hear that voice when I didn’t expect it.
“Good morning. How are you today?”
It was a mundane question, just to give myself a few seconds to tune in. And then, without telling me how she was, her next comment made my mouth drop open.
“Now that I have friends in public television, why don’t we do a show about Spence together?”
That was the last thing I ever expected to hear from her. I think I uttered something appropriate, but I knew I needed time to gather my thoughts. Somehow I found the nerve to say, “Miss Hepburn, I have someone on my other line. Would you please hold on a second?”
I pushed the “hold” button and called across the hall for David.
Katharine Hepburn had never before spoken publicly about her twenty-seven-year relationship with Spencer Tracy, and no one had ever even dared to bring it up when she occasionally granted an interview.
David said, “Ask her if she’ll host it.”
I picked up the phone again. “Miss Hepburn, I have a loaded question.”
“Go ahead. What is it?”
“Would you be willing to host the program?”
“What the hell do you think I was talking about? Of course, I should host it. Come for tea tomorrow afternoon.”
We didn’t know then that we wouldn’t begin production for over three years.
JK and DH It was obvious that this could be an exceptional show. It also dawned on us that it could be our ticket to bigger things. So, instead of offering it immediately to WNET, we decided to test the commercial television waters.
We heard every excuse one can imagine, including, “No one will know who Spencer Tracy was.” We were amazed; we couldn’t believe that anyone would turn down the chance to support a program that Katharine Hepburn had not only suggested, but had agreed to host.
At some point during those frustrating three years, we offered it to HBO: no interest. We contacted Dick Clark, who had a long relationship with the commercial networks. He was excited by the project and we went to several meetings with him to pitch it. ABC, CBS, and NBC all passed on it.
By then, it was 1984 and we were worried about Hepburn getting older. She was in her late seventies, and had had several operations: one on her shoulder, another for a hip replacement, and she almost lost a foot when she ran her car into a telephone pole near her home in Connecticut.
There was another big obstacle: getting the excerpts from Tracy’s films. Our first thought was to contact MGM, which owned the bulk of his movies, and ask them to co-produce the program. To our surprise, they also turned us down.
It was time to use our trump card: Katharine Hepburn herself. We asked her if she would send a letter, and she came up with a “beaut.” It ended with: “You should be an important part of this venture, with David Heeley, Joan Kramer and myself.”
DH I had read in the trade press that Frank Yablans, the new Chief Operating Officer of MGM, was known for returning every phone call that he received. So I decided to find out whether he’d return mine.
What happened next was that we almost got caught red-handed. At this time, I was also the executive producer of Nature, and was on location in Puerto Rico for a shoot with the host of the series, George Page, who was also Joan’s and my boss at WNET, and who knew nothing about the Tracy project. We were in my room at the DuPont Plaza Hotel going over the script for the next day’s filming when my phone rang.
“Hello. This is Frank Yablans at MGM. Is this David Heeley?”
I panicked, but tried not to show it.
“Speaking,” I said.
“I received a letter from Katharine Hepburn, and I don’t know who told you that we are not interested in a program about Spencer Tracy, because we are.”
“Oh, thank you. I’m very pleased to hear that. I’m on location now. Can I call you when I get back to my office at the end of the week?”
“Of course, call any time.”
Somehow I’d pulled it off. George didn’t even ask what the call was about.
Eventually, our sad tale of futile deception ended, and I told George Page that Hepburn had suggested a show about Tracy. He immediately picked up the phone and called his PBS contact. A few minutes later we had a green light.
JK and DH We spent many hours with Kate, during which she painted a picture of a complex man: “Spencer had eyes like an old, wild animal; he had a soul that had no release; you were not looking i
nto an empty room. He found acting easy and life difficult. He was like a baked potato. I, on the other hand, am more like an ice cream sundae with whipped cream.”
She also told us why she decided now was the time to do this program. “Recently I was asked to do a picture about Rose Kennedy. But I know that family, and I feel I cannot do it while she is still alive. This situation is similar; I couldn’t speak publicly about Spence out of respect for Mrs. Tracy, but she died last year. And Spencer’s daughter, Susie, is a friend of mine; I’ll call her and ask if she’ll help us.”
At one point she said, “I have to go upstairs. I’ll be right back.” She came down holding a painting and a small bronze sculpture. “I did this bust of his head a long time ago,” she said. “Regal, isn’t it? But never could paint his face,” as she showed us a portrait of Tracy reading a newspaper which partially obscured his features. “You can use these in the show, if you want. But that’s up to you.” Needless to say, we did.
When we pointed out that our legal department would be sending her a contract, she said, “You already have a contract with me.”
We discussed who should be interviewed, and she was full of suggestions. As we were to discover, everyone we invited to participate accepted, and in the end, we had an illustrious roster of actors, directors, and Tracy admirers: Joan Bennett, Joanne Woodward, Burt Reynolds, Lee Marvin, John Sturges, Joseph L. Mankiewicz, Richard Widmark, Robert Wagner, Garson Kanin, Sidney Poitier, Frank Sinatra, Mickey Rooney, and Elizabeth Taylor1. It was a surplus of riches, more than we had had for any other program. They were all surprised to hear that Hepburn was doing the show and many of them called her to confirm that it was true.
JK A few were even more surprised when I told them that she had suggested we contact them. Among them were Joseph L. Mankiewicz and Garson Kanin, each of whom had had a falling out with her years earlier.