Twitch Upon a Star

by Herbie J. Pilato

  In the meantime, Fred Cammann became friends with Lizzie and the Montgomery brood before his service to the United States. After graduating from Harvard, he enlisted in the army and was stationed in Korea. Once discharged from the service, Cammann was reintroduced to Lizzie in 1953, when he was hired as a stage manager-turned-casting director for Robert Montgomery Presents.

  It has been suggested that Cammann was drawn to Lizzie primarily because of her entertainment affiliations, as his career interests leaned toward the industry, specifically in the casting department. But why they got together didn’t matter to Robert Montgomery. According to Dominick Dunne, Elizabeth’s father was just plain “thrilled” that his daughter was interested in as well-bred a man as Cammann. At least that’s what Dunne told MSNBC’s Headliners & Legends in 2001.

  Like Cammann, Dunne started out in show business as a stage manager on Presents and the two were friends. Robert Montgomery had also befriended Dunne and placed a great deal of trust in him, and held him as a confidant. As Dunne explained it, Robert told him that Cammann was “the kind of guy I want my daughter to marry.”

  This time, Lizzie was all too eager to bend to her father’s will. She and Cammann started dating and then, according to Newsweek Magazine, March 29, 1954:

  Engaged: Elizabeth Montgomery, 20, actress, daughter of movie actor and TV producer Robert Montgomery, and casting director Frederic Gallatin Cammann, 24, obtained a marriage license in New York, March 18.

  The wedding was held on March 27, 1954, at St. James Protestant Episcopal Church in New York. When asked in 2011 about his life with Lizzie, Cammann was cordial, but brief: “I’m in my eighties now, and that was a long time ago. It’s in the past, and that’s where I’d like to keep it.”

  Sally Kemp, however, remembers Lizzie’s wedding to Cammann as if it happened yesterday. It was a not-so-great marriage that was at least preceded by a happy and reverent ceremony, and an elegant and festive reception. Lizzie had been a bridesmaid at Sally’s first wedding, and when Lizzie decided to marry Cammann, Sally returned the favor. She recalls:

  It was a beautiful wedding. We all arrived at her mother’s apartment. Our dresses had been purchased for us, along with the petticoats that went under them, pearl necklaces, all exactly alike. White kid gloves all exactly alike … the little headdresses that we wore, and white satin shoes … because it was a white wedding. I had never seen a totally white wedding before, but we were each adorned with these beautiful ivory dresses. We all dressed together, and usually bridesmaids have to pay for their own way, but not this time. Everything including the underwear was paid for—including the stockings! And we all had the same shade of nylon stocking. I was very nearsighted, but too vain to wear my glasses. So I really didn’t see a whole lot. (But) She was an incredibly beautiful bride. She was always both enchanting and adorable, but not like Jarmila (their fellow student from the New York Academy). Elizabeth did not have that kind of beauty. She was like a pixie … a little gamine when she was young, even as she got older. She had beautiful eyes, a beautiful mouth, and that cleft chin. But she didn’t have that grand kind of beauty. But she was the most beguiling and amazing looking bride. I thought Freddie was going to faint when he saw her. He really loved her. But they all did (men in general). I couldn’t imagine how they couldn’t.

  Academy Award–winning actor Cliff Robertson loved Lizzie, too, but as a platonic friend. The two performers remained close through the years and, like Sally, Cliff was there when Lizzie married Cammann:

  It was very festive. St. James Church was on the upper Eastside in New York, and I specifically remember her walking down the aisle, because I had an aisle seat. And right after when she and Freddie were pronounced man and wife, she walked passed me, and with that ring on her finger, gave me a big ol’ wink, as if to say, I got the man I wanted! It was fun to watch. Everyone was there, including her brother (Skip), who was dancing the Charleston. Freddie was a nice guy. He was brought up in the East. He was veryambitious to learn the TV production work and he utilized his assets rather wisely on Madison Avenue. But they weren’t married too long.

  Robertson had “no idea” why Lizzie’s first marriage failed, but he detected it might have had something to do with her theatrical ambitions.

  Cammann’s career choices were periodically described as a stage manager, TV producer, casting director and/or executive; he wanted an old-world wife and Lizzie wanted to be a newfangled actress. That was something she worked hard to achieve, and not by exploiting her father’s famous name. According to Robertson, she was determined not to be labeled a society actress. “And I think that came from her mother’s side,” he said. “Her mother was a Southerner, and her aunt (Martha-Bryan), who was a dear friend of mine as well, was from I think Tennessee, and she had all the graces of a Southern lady.”

  In other words, Lizzie had a strong sense of pride and wanted to succeed as an actress on her own merit. “Freddie was very upper crust and old-fashioned,” Sally Kemp says. “The marriage probably would have lasted had Elizabeth decided not to become an actress.”

  If anything, Elizabeth’s marriage to Cammann proved to be benchmark in her friendship with Kemp. They were moving in different directions. By the time Lizzie married Freddie, she and Sally did not see one another that often anymore. In the pre-Cammann days, the two women would have dinner, lunch, or get together somehow several times a week. “When we each married,” Sally laments, “things changed.”

  To anyone who knew Lizzie, the idea of her being identified as a stay-at-home wife, minus any form of career, was slightly absurd, at least at this time in her life. Only later would she more readily embrace the sequestered home life, and sometimes crave it. But that transpired after she became a star on Bewitched, when she was able to better balance and appreciate the finer and simpler things in life.

  In the beginning, Cammann made an effort to support her theatrical endeavors. According to Cosmopolitan Magazine in July of 1954, he was in the Service when she made her TV debut on that “Top Secret” episode of Robert Montgomery Presents (December 1951). She explained:

  To be specific, he was in the Army and he had been on KP for eighteen hours. He was so anxious to see me on television that he sneaked out of the kitchen to see our show in the recreation room. The mess sergeant caught him. And thanks to me, he had to stay on KP for the next two days.

  When he was relieved of the KP duty, and upon eventually leaving the Army, he and Elizabeth were busy with decorating their new apartment on New York’s Upper East Side. When asked if he objected to Elizabeth continuing her acting career now that they were married, he replied, “Not at all. How else can we pay for all the furniture she’s ordered?”

  Certainly, no one on either side of their family had to worry about meeting such payments. The main concern, at least for Lizzie and Cammann, was meeting eye to eye on the marriage in general, which just simply never came to be. As one of their mutual friends concluded in an article for The Saturday Evening Post in 1965, “Freddie just couldn’t measure up to her father.” But it wasn’t all Robert Montgomery’s fault.

  Lizzie’s marriage to Cammann was unstable from the onset. Although wired for show business, Cammann cut such ties away from the set. In Lizzie, he envisioned a stay-at-home wife, much like Darrin hankered for Samantha to remain earthbound on Bewitched. But the actress, unlike her most famous TV counterpart, wanted a full-time job, outside of the home, specifically, an acting career. And she wanted to take it to the next level … in California, but he didn’t want to leave New York, so the marriage went south.

  Had the two met later in life, the bond may have stuck. Instead, their wedded bliss unraveled, commencing with his ousting from the elite social circles to which he had become accustomed. Close colleagues and friends were aghast at his alliance with Elizabeth, whom they incorrectly labeled as a common actress. It was not a personal attack on her, but rather a general displeasure with her profession. His peers were simply unimpressed with the thea
trical world, even when such a world revolved around so endearing a performer as Lizzie.

  On the home front, the two bickered constantly, with their first major disagreement proving to be nothing less than outright jarring. He apparently became so upset he packed his bags and went home to mother. Samantha had at times threatened to do the same on Bewitched. In such a case Darrin would exclaim, “What for? Your mother’s always here!” Samantha was usually supportive of her mortal husband, but would be appalled at his attacks on her mother.

  In contrast, Lizzie was stunned at Cammann’s inaugural retreat to his mother’s.

  Following each minor or major altercation, he would storm out only to return to his newlywed wife, time and again. After what ultimately became the final intense bout with his packing ritual, Lizzie allegedly—and we can only assume, gently—placed her derriere upon his suitcase in order for it to lock properly, which paved the way for his final exit. Immediately following, she purportedly filed for divorce.

  At least this is what Gig Young, her second husband, apparently told his sister, according to Young’s biography, Final Gig: The Man Behind the Murder by George Eells.

  That said, a brief item in the press, “Star’s Kin Asks for Divorce,” appeared in a Las Vegas newspaper on August 10, 1955, stating that Lizzie, now 22, and referred to as “Robert Montgomery’s daughter,” had obtained a divorce from Cammann, now 26, whose profession was listed as “a television executive.” Although terms of a property settlement were not disclosed, she charged cruelty and was granted restoration of her maiden name.

  Lizzie’s break-up with Fred Cammann was coined a quickie Nevada divorce, the criteria for which was met by her fulfilling a residency requirement in that state for thirty days. After that, she left for Hollywood to work with Gary Cooper on The Court-Martial of Billy Mitchell, her big screen debut.

  In an interesting twist, this film shared several aesthetic similarities with The Rack, a motion picture from 1956 starring Paul Newman, Walter Pidgeon, Cloris Leachman (The Mary Tyler Moore Show), Robert F. Simon (who played Darrin’s father on Bewitched), and a fair-haired Anne Francis.

  Mitchell was based on a true story of the American general (Cooper), and his court martial for public complaints about High Command’s dismissal and neglect of the aerial fighting forces during World War I. The Rack was a fictional account of Captain Edward Hall (Newman) who returns to America after two years in a prison camp during the Korean War. But both films dealt with the military and alleged insubordinate behavior of its lead screen soldiers.

  About a decade after working on Mitchell, Lizzie would star in Bewitched, which debuted on ABC in 1964. Some years following her work in The Rack, Francis would find TV fame with another ABC show called Honey West, which debuted in 1965 (if only running one season to Bewitched’s eight). In The Rack, Francis played a troubled woman struggling with the death of her solider husband, a successful brother to Newman’s ultimate poor soul. In Billy Mitchell, Lizzie portrayed an emotionally torn woman struggling with the loss of her husband at the apparent misguided hands of the Navy Brass.

  The Rack was a superior film, with Newman delivering an A-list performance at the on-set of his career. In Billy Mitchell, Cooper gave a tired performance near the end of his career. (Four years later, he would appear with Lizzie’s Bewitched co-star Dick York in the 1959 film, “They Came to Cordura,” during which York suffered a permanently damaging back injury that ultimately forced him to be replaced by Dick Sargent as Darrin in 1969).

  In either case, Elizabeth was gripping as the grieving wife in The Court-Martial of Billy Mitchell, potentially pulling emotions (via her preferred training in “method acting”) from the turmoil she was experiencing off-screen with her failed union to Fred Cammann.

  For the time being, too, there was a rumor circulating that Cooper, well known in Hollywood as a Lothario of sorts, went chasing after her on the Mitchell set. According to Montgomery archivist Tom McCartney, Cooper was “driving pretty hard to the hoop.” The actor frequently flirted with Lizzie and was “on the make.” At one point, “Coop,” as he was sometimes known, was nowhere to be found, even after a stage manager completed an extensive search on the set. The stage manager finally knocked on Cooper’s dressing room door, which was locked. Finally responding to the interruption, the actor popped opened the door—with Lizzie reportedly in view inside his room. Although it appeared that she was ultimately seduced by Cooper’s various charms, the hearsay of their alleged affair was just that and never was substantiated.

  There was additional supposition of a potent off-screen romance between Lizzie and the historically womanizing crooner Dean Martin when they co-starred in 1963’s Who’s Been Sleeping in My Bed?, a salaciously titled film with a slightly daring plot for its time:

  Actor Jason Steele (Martin) is not a doctor, but plays one on TV. He’s so convincing in the role, women of all shapes and sizes, including the alluring Toby Tobler (Jill St. John), find him irresistible. His poker buddies (some played by Louis Nye and Jack Barney Miller Soo) may envy him, but his fiancée, art teacher Melissa Morris (Lizzie), isn’t the least bit impressed. In fact, she’s quite upset; although she eventually learns to hold his attention by implementing an inventively affable bedside manner of her own, which she partially introduces with a seductive dance sequence.

  In 1989, Lizzie remembered that sequence with a smile, and posed, “Wasn’t that funny? And that was strangely enough one of the more difficult things I had to do.” The actual dance moves were not an issue. She was always athletic and had studied dance for years. But it was the precise choreography that forced her to face the music. She clarified:

  It wasn’t like dancing today, which is freewheeling. And Jill St. John (who also danced in the film) did it better than I did. But my character was supposed to be a wonderful dancer, so that was cool. If they had me out there riding a horse or playing eight sets of tennis I would have been much better. Or if we filmed it today, I’d have been out at some disco dancing. That would have been no problem either. But it was difficult for me because you get so kind of confined when you have to do it and the clicks (dance measurements) are going and the music starts and stops, and the dialogue starts and the music stops. But it was fun. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed being pushed into the pool at the Beverly Hills hotel. That was really funny because there were a couple of people who couldn’t swim, and I found myself in this bridal gown which must have weighed 900 pounds, saying, “It’s okay. I can swim. And I’ll be right here.” It was a very nice experience. It was a feature, which was fine—and it was one of those things that you did.

  Elizabeth had worked with Martin one previous time, in another feature film, but to a much lesser and somewhat odder extent, in 1960’s Bells Are Ringing, directed by Vincente Minnelli (once married to Judy Garland and father to Liza):

  A Brooklyn phone service operator (Judy Holliday) seeks to improve the lives of her clients by relaying between them various bits of information. In the process, she falls in love with playwright Jeffrey Moss (Martin), whom she is determined to meet. Problem is: he only knows her on the phone as “Mom!”

  Lizzie’s credited role? Girl Reading Book, one of the strangest cameos in big screen and small screen history; one of the oddest appearances of any performer on record, anywhere; she’s seen with her head down, collapsed over a table in a tavern. It may have had something to do with her love for reading, a practice her father had instilled in her ever since she was a child. Either way, entertainment historian Ken Gehrig tries to make sense of it all:

  Having already made The Court-Martial of Billy Mitchell, and many guest-starring roles on television, it’s a mystery that Liz would appear in this wordless role where she virtually seems a mannequin. In a very long take at an actor’s hang-out in New York, Judy Holliday’s character is trying to convince the Brando wannabe actor played by Frank Gorshin to drop the method. Liz is in the foreground screen left; no dialogue, no movement, no expression; very much concentrating on h
er reading matter. What? Was it the opportunity to work with Oscar-winners: actress Judy Holliday, director Vincente Minnelli and/or producer Arthur Freed? Sadly, this was Judy’s last film appearance and the last MGM musical of Minnelli and Freed. So unwittingly this was Liz’s only opportunity to do such a film. Also, it’s unlikely anyone knew that in hindsight this film is early exposure for future TV people: Jean Stapleton (All in the Family), Frank Gorshin (Batman), Hal Linden (Barney Miller) and Donna Douglas (The Beverly Hillbillies). Ironically, Liz has less to do onscreen than all of these others—and yet, her concentration on her actor’s goal seems relentless. None of the posturing of Holliday or Gorshin distracts Liz from her book!

  As to any alleged affair with Martin, during production of this film or Who’s Been Sleeping in My Bed? Lizzie mentioned not a word. However, Montgomery archivist Tom McCartney points out that various revealing documents from the files of famous Hollywood gossip columnist Hedda Hopper are now accessible online. Among the papers is a transcript of an alleged telephone conversation between Lizzie and Hopper during which Hedda threatened to expose the alleged affair that Lizzie had with Dean.

  Into this mix, actor J. Anthony Russo, who had a small role in Bed, chronicled his own observation about a Montgomery/Martin connection in his book, Creativity and Madness: The Passion of a Hollywood Bit Player (BookSurge Publishing, 2005). According to Russo, one day at lunch between filming scenes for Bed, Lizzie apparently jumped onto Martin’s lap and began to smother him with kisses. When she left, Martin turned to all of those who would listen and supposedly intoned, “Don’t mind her. She’s a little stunod,” which is Italian for “a little drunk.”

  That said, if the rumor of Lizzie’s purported affair with Martin had been addressed elsewhere, which it has not, she may have been on the rebound from Gig Young just before falling in love with and later marrying Bill Asher, whom she met on the set of Johnny Cool (which was filmed the same year as Bed). By then, her relationship with Asher was her only real documented affair, a dalliance that transpired after she and Young separated.