B007Z4RWGY EBOK

by Harper, Valerie

  My dear pal Iva and her husband, Ron Rifkin, flew in from Los Angeles for opening night, as did Wendy, my darling stepdaughter, who had time off from her long-running TV series American Dad, in which she plays the wife, Francine. Tony’s friend of nearly forty years, agent Larry Becsey, and his wife, Devra, traveled from the coast to attend. Although she had the flu, Cristina came down from Boston. Even my old friend C. Robert, who’d cast me in The American Nightmare, where I’d been seen by Ethel Winant from CBS, flew in from New Orleans. Gorgeous flowers overran my dressing room, dozens of peach roses from Bob Boyett (from the Valerie show), glorious white peonies and hydrangeas from Rosie O’Donnell, orchids and bouquets from so many dear pals and loved ones. This’ll make you feel like a star! After the show, there was an opening night party at Sardi’s, where Jackie Gleason had thrown away the offending velvet rope during the cast party for Take Me Along fifty years earlier. Nicole had been with me at that opening, too!

  The reviews were mixed, some very good—as they were everywhere we played. Critics seemed to prefer the performances to the play itself. Audiences shrieked with laughter and friends and family (over twelve years old only!) came in droves. Ginger had to leave James, ten, and Angela, six, home but my little sister led an entire New Jersey contingent of family and PTA ladies across the river to the show. Penny, who had recently lost her husband, Zvi, came with three of her kids: Danit, the beautiful assistant district attorney, Sharon, the gorgeous teacher, and dashing Michael, the PhD, who dubbed me “Vallulah”! Unfortunately, early in the run, a key investor backed out, leaving us with a shortfall that made it impossible to continue. So we closed. Looped was such a fun ride, and I was disappointed when it was over. But at least I didn’t have to fake-smoke anymore.

  I was happy to come home. Though I’d wished Looped had gone on longer, some things are not in the cards. About two weeks after we closed, I received a phone call from Jackie Green, a crackerjack publicist and a terrific friend whom I’d worked with on many New York shows.

  “You know, Val,” she said, “they’re announcing the Tony Awards this week. You guys should fly in. There’s an immediate press junket that happens the second the nominations are announced.”

  Tony and I hadn’t been seriously considering going to New York for the nominations. But I would be shooting an independent film called Certainty, directed by Peter Askin, in early June, and I’d received some terrific reviews as Tallulah. But a Tony nod? That was asking too much. Still, at Jackie’s urging, we packed our bags and went to New York early. I told myself not to expect anything, to go along for the ride. Plus, I’d have the opportunity to spend time with Nicole.

  Tony and I checked into an apartment we often rent near Times Square. The morning the nominations were announced, we discovered that our television was broken. Frantically, we called Cristina, our resident technology expert. A patient daughter, she explained to her technologically backward parents how to use a computer to watch the nominations.

  Tony and I huddled in front of the computer. Jeff Daniels read the names. “In the category of Best Actress in a Play: Viola Davis.” He was going alphabetically. “Valerie Harper.” Tony and I leaped out of our chairs. We couldn’t stop jumping and running around. We kissed and hugged and even shrieked. I couldn’t believe it. My portrayal of Tallulah had come all the way from Pasadena, by way of West Palm Beach and Washington, D.C., to the Big Apple. And now I’d been nominated for a Tony. This was a thrill beyond all imagining. Later that same day was the Times Square bombing attempt near our hotel that was thwarted by an alert Muslim vendor reporting the car to the police. Thank heaven for the outcome and it didn’t dampen our Tony spirits one bit.

  I was immediately hurled into a swirl of events—luncheons, cocktail parties, and press meet and greets. It was dynamite. One afternoon all the Tony nominees gathered for a group photo on the steps of the Plaza Hotel and then went upstairs and had a sumptuous lunch. I sat next to Christopher Walken, and boy, was that fun. I remembered him as a little kid, a few years behind me at a different professional children’s school in New York. I told him that I’d seen him in The Visit on Broadway. “No, that was my brother, Kenny,” Chris said.

  “Oh yes, I remember Kenny, too. I danced with him at a party at Sal Mineo’s brother’s house,” I said. “He asked me if anything was going to happen between us. I told him no. He said, ‘Okay,’ and walked away. But you know, I loved his honesty.”

  “Oh yeah,” Chris replied, “my brother was quite a player.”

  The Tony Awards were held at Radio City Music Hall. I wore a gorgeous cobalt-blue chiffon gown by Pamella Roland. It was raining slightly—misting, really. What I wouldn’t give for Heather Lloyd and her flat iron! Luckily, I chose a slightly wavy style for my hair, so the humidity didn’t ruin it. I held my husband’s hand as we walked down the carpet and into the theater. “This is incredible,” I whispered. “I was working here in 1956 as a dancer. And now in 2010, as an actress, I’m nominated for a Tony and, more important, I’m with my Tony.” Corny but true!

  We were seated near Liev Schreiber and Alfred Molina, two actors I respect tremendously. All around me were wonderful artists who were seriously committed to theater. I felt that I belonged among them. I was proud of myself for my accomplishments in Looped, but also for the path my career had taken. I wanted to ask my fellow actors, “Did any of you dance on your toes on that stage? I did! I’m probably the only one here who was on pointe up there.”

  Although I didn’t expect to win, I had a speech prepared about how I started right on this very stage, how a starry-eyed sixteen-year-old girl was so proud to be a dancing gold nugget in the Corps de Ballet.

  I didn’t get to make my speech because Viola Davis won in the category for her exquisite performance in Langston Hughes’s Fences. I blew her a kiss as she ascended to the stage in her gorgeous chartreuse gown. I couldn’t help but reflect on the change that had occurred from the time I started on Broadway, when it was a struggle for an African-American or other minority to get cast in a show. And now here was lovely Viola, a black American woman, being duly recognized for her excellence. About time!

  At Radio City—especially at the Tonys—there’s a ghost that hangs in the air, making you aware of all the people who have passed through before you, all the luminaries of stage and screen and all the chorus dancers and singers hoping for their big break, all the hours of practice and repetition that have gone into all the performances that have taken place on that magnificent stage, all the performers who’ve been honored there.

  As I sat in the audience, watching so many of my friends and acquaintances accept awards or present them, I couldn’t help remembering my first years working in the business, classes at Ballet Arts and Luigi’s, high school at Quintano’s. When I look back, those years seem like a movie, something Michael Bennett might have written a musical about—a young girl living alone in the big city, hoping to make it as a dancer and, later, as an actress.

  When I was starting out in the theater, so much of my life did seem like the movies—the first time I entered through a stage door, the first time I stood in the wings of a Broadway theater, my cross-country train trip with the cast of Abner, my first Hollywood studio, the first time I drove onto the lot and saw my name on a parking space. I’ve never taken these simple offstage moments for granted. They’re the experiences that give resonance and meaning to any of my accomplishments. It’s the journey, not the destination.

  Despite all the incredible times I’ve had onstage and in front of the camera—all the wonderful people I’ve worked with, all the fantastic characters I’ve played—I have always rejected that old saying “Show business is my life.” It isn’t. Only my life is my life. My life is Tony and Cristina, my family, friends, and sister-friends Leah and Ginger (shades of Rhoda and Brenda!). The engrossing activities that are most important to me are also my life. And every day I find something to say “thank you” for.

  Show business can be a perfect workpla
ce to engender powerful relationships. The theater has provided me with a tight-knit circle of friends, girls I met not long after my debut at Radio City: Iva, of course; Arlene and Nicole, the vanilla and strawberry to my chocolate; Penny Ann, Norma, and my male “girlfriend,” dear Gene. Television brought Mary, Cloris, Charlotte, Sue, Mimi, and Carol into my life as bosom buddies. I was lucky enough to work in a business where I met wonderful people—many men as well as women—and cultivated remarkable friendships that have lasted over half a century. Can that be true? How lucky can a person be?

  These friendships, which have withstood a roller coaster of life experiences, are perhaps one of the most vital influences on my portrayal of Rhoda Morgenstern—for Rhoda, above and beyond all else, is a paragon of friendship, whether to Mary or to Brenda or to the millions who rooted for her week after week.

  Rhoda and all the other women I’ve played have brought such joy and happiness into my life. They’ve allowed me, in different guises, to share the qualities I value most in people—the abilities to laugh, to care, to be committed, to have fun, to contribute, to love. Pearl, Golda, and Tallulah (to name a few), but particularly Rhoda, have kept me busy, kept me working, and they have given that little girl who never stopped moving an outlet for her overflowing energy and enthusiasm. They have given her an excuse to overdo.

  EPILOGUE

  After twenty-five years of enjoying, appreciating, and laughing at Julie Kavner and her supremely talented compatriots on The Simpsons, co-developed by Jim Brooks, I finally did an episode in April 2012. I hadn’t spent time with Julie in ages—maybe twenty years—but we were in touch through our mutual loving pal, Mimi. Then suddenly, there was Ms. Kavner, looking wonderful. She bounced into the studio to take her place at the microphone. Her hair was short and very, very curly.

  “A perm?” I asked.

  “No, menopause. I don’t know why or what happened, it just curled up,” she said in that voice like no other.

  We hugged, we kissed, and we quickly exchanged news. This was in the middle of a recording session, with the other actors and the whole Simpsons team patiently, kindly letting this reunion occur. Julie’s body was tiny and in fabulous condition in her pencil jeans. When she said how great I looked, I told her that besides having a terrific dermatologist, Dr. Douglas Hamilton, I’d had veneers put on my six front teeth when I’d turned seventy. As my British hairdresser, Heather, says, “When one hits a certain age, darling, what’s really important is hair and teeth.” Don’t tell the plastic surgeons!

  “Speaking of teeth . . .” Julie said as she flipped out onto her tongue a small plastic apparatus with three fake teeth attached to it, revealing a dark space where her front teeth should have been. I laughed so hard—this was my fantastic Julie, grinning at me like an adorable jack-o’-lantern. “I’m going to the dentist soon for the permanents, but these have been so much fun!”

  I resumed my place at the mic to continue the recording session when it hit me. What a path we’d taken together so many years ago, and now here we were, right back on it, in an instant! I found my eyes welling up with tears and my heart seemed to rise up out of my chest. I turned to Dan Castellaneta, the brilliantly talented man who voices Homer Simpson and a myriad of other characters, at the microphone right next to me, trying to get my emotions under control. He smiled sweetly, understanding—and then, on we went. It was really great to be a part of this wonderful group of actors bringing Simpsonland to life, especially with my former “little sister.”

  You can go home again.

  GREAT THINGS PEOPLE HAVE SAID

  Nicole Barth, on the original three female Mary Tyler Moore characters:

  “Mary is who you wish you were. Rhoda is who you probably are. And Phyllis is who you’re afraid you’ll become.”

  Iva March Rifkin, on the unavoidable fact of aging:

  “I don’t mind getting old, I just don’t want to look it.”

  Penny Almog, on dealing with the death of Zvi, her husband:

  “I concentrate on his presence, not on his absence.”

  Arlene Golonka, on a banking problem:

  “My check bounced because of insignificant funds.”

  Loren Lester, on stars’ behavior toward others:

  “Either you remember where you came from or you do not.”

  Gene Varrone, on what to do with my four Emmy Awards:

  “Put a thick piece of glass on them and you’ve got a coffee table.”

  Cristina Cacciotti, on punctuality:

  “If you are exactly on time, you’re already late.”

  Howard Donald Harper, on avoiding being late for appointments:

  “Make yourself leave your home and don’t do that ‘one more thing.’”

  Angela Harper, on an action movie star she didn’t appreciate:

  “He doesn’t act—what does he do?!? He jumps off a bridge and blows himself up!”

  Virginia “Ginger” Harper, on intelligence:

  “Physical fitness is great but how about a little mental fitness. Read a book!”

  Dr. Arman Hekmati, on health:

  “Today, you can live a full life with cancer in check.”

  Regarding a person who never seems to have all the facts:

  Hazel Catmull: “’Tis a pity she’s a shingle short.”

  John Amos:

  “The thing is . . . she ain’t wrapped tight.”

  Charlotte Brown:

  “Yes, well . . . she owns property in Oz.”

  Victor Matosich, my nephew, at eleven, on cursing:

  “Profanity is the attempt of a lazy and feeble mind to express itself forcefully.”

  Leah Matosich, my big sister, on covering for me:

  “I won’t tell Mom and Dad you broke my front tooth. I’ll say I fell.”

  Eva Schaal, Dick’s German grandma, on dealing with a yelling husband:

  “When Herman gets angry and starts shouting, I just say ‘woof woof’ and walk away!”

  Federico García Lorca, on ending world hunger:

  “The day that hunger is eradicated from the earth, there will be the greatest spiritual explosion the world has ever known. Humanity cannot imagine the joy that will burst into the world on the day of that great revolution.”

  Iva McConnell Harper, on how to keep your balance:

  “It’s not what happens to you in life but how you handle it.”

  Tony Cacciotti, on relationships:

  “I love you, Val.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  At an awards ceremony, one of my favorite actors, Maureen Stapleton, said in her acceptance speech, “I’d like to thank everyone I have ever met in my life.” Love Maureen! I think she expressed a certain existential truth—but there are certain people that I want to specifically single out and acknowledge, so here goes:

  Tricia Boczkowski, my editor and spectacular support system, for her warm encouragement, excellent advice, skillful guidance, and avid appreciation of Rhoda Morgenstern.

  Dan Strone, my literary agent, CEO of Trident Media Group, who assembled the necessary elements, including a title, for this book. Kseniya Zaslavskaya, Dan’s industrious assistant, and Rick Hersh of Celebrity Consultants, who introduced me to Dan.

  Ivy Pochoda, for her talent, time, and effort in providing a road map through seven decades of memories, and her diligent transcriber, Andrea Gallo.

  Louise Burke, my publisher at Simon & Schuster’s Gallery Books, and her expert associates:

  Jen Bergstrom, editor-in-chief

  Alexandra Lewis, editorial assistant

  Jen Robinson, publicity director

  Carly Sommerstein, production editor

  E. Beth Thomas, copy editor

  For helping to resurrect Rhoda Morgenstern for the great cover, thank you:

  Christopher Sergio, art director

  Blake Little, cover photographer

  Simon Tuke, stylist

  Heather Currie, makeup artist

  Heather Lloyd, my hairstylis
t, and Francesca Windsor, my hair colorist—dear friends both—of Lloyd-Windsor for Hair (LloydWindsor.com).

  Dr. Andrew Frank, DDS, and Joseph Whaley, master ceramist, for brightening my smile.

  Tony Cacciotti, for encouraging fitness, health, and proper eating all these years.

  Thank you also to:

  Michael Anthony Cacciotti, Tony’s eldest and one of the finest, kindest, and most generous people I have ever known.

  Feliza Vanderbilt Plowe, for your friendship, and for being a wonderful neighbor.

  Mimi Kirk, my superlative assistant, “Rhoda Look” source, seeker of truth-fun-love, and inspired vegan cookbook author of Live Raw; www.youngonrawfood.com.

  Audrey Harris, for keeping me sane, laughing, and supported all through the Rhoda years.

  Vera Hinic Deacon, for your expert, loving care of our family, especially Cristina and Mom.

  Ana Miriam Jimenez, for all the remarkable, unending assistance you’ve given me and your sunny, ebullient spirit.

  Bob Thomas, for all of your help, especially through the daunting terrain of cyberspace.

  My siblings—Leah, Don, and Ginger—for living life with me.

  My nieces and nephews—Victor, Anton, Tanya, Valerie, Russell, James Howard Harper, Angela Marie—darlings, all!

  Tony’s sons—Ronald, John, and “Little” Michael—three terrific guys!

  Cristina Harper Cacciotti, my beautiful daughter, who I love and of whom I am endlessly proud.

  Tony Cacciotti, again, for being the best partner imaginable in life, business, love, in everything in every way.

  With gratitude for your inspiring work:

  Joan Holmes, John Coonrod, Joanna Ryder, John Denver, Raul Julia, and Lynne Twist of the Hunger Project, committed to ending world hunger.

  Sam Daley Harris, founder of RESULTS, and Joanne Carter, executive director of RESULTS Educational Fund and for citizen efforts for the eradication of global poverty.

  Dennis Weaver, Gerry Weaver, and Tony Cacciotti, founders, and Sandy Mullins, executive director, of LIFE (Love Is Feeding Everyone), a volunteer food distribution program for hungry Los Angelenos.