Twitch Upon a Star

by Herbie J. Pilato

  More than anything, as Hano detected, they were two people in love. They also liked each other, and were subsequently perceived as a combined breath of fresh air in Hollywood—living proof that opposites attract.

  Again, they were “the fun couple”—not the series idea, but the actual people. She was the rich Beverly Hills girl and he was the not-quite-poor boy from Manhattan. She was tall, slender, blonde, and beautiful, the cool-eyed girl who danced until dawn at all those New York balls in 1951. He was short, squat, thick-necked, and balding, like your friendly neighborhood wrestler. She went to swank finishing schools, danced with Andover boys and Harvard men, summered in England with her father, and began her career at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. Asher never finished high school. But decades later on Bewitched, as far as Lizzie was concerned, Asher graduated at the top of his class, and they became an unstoppable team.

  Once they got rolling on Bewitched, Lizzie and Bill had their life and art down to a science. Although she once said that her “art belonged to Daddy,” that is, Robert Montgomery, Bill Asher was the new “daddy” in town.

  According to TV Guide in 1967, their work day began at 5:30 AM and lasted until 7:15 PM, when they’d arrive home to see the kids: first-born William Jr., followed by Robert and then Rebecca. After play time Elizabeth would study lines while Bill planned the shooting schedule. From there it was dinner and bed.

  On weekends they played golf, tennis, or both, they’d drive down to Palm Springs to party, and were usually the last to leave any festivity. Lizzie decided at one gathering to play the piano, just before dawn. “She does not really play the piano,” a friend said. “She attacks it.”

  Early the next morning they romped through a game of that Kennedy-esque touch football on the lawn to loosen their muscles for countless sets of tennis.

  “We work hard during shooting days, to have more free time in the evenings and on weekends,” Asher said. “Our private life comes first.”

  Lizzie agreed. And although TV Guide’s Arnold Hano described her as a “reasonably headstrong girl,” she deferred to Bill in nearly all matters. Just as her old friend Bud Baker had concluded, her alliance with Asher created a new Lizzie. The one-time social butterfly now seemed to be locked in a cocoon.

  Although they still enjoyed a night on the town, Lizzie and Bill were old-fashioned, maybe like Fred Cammann had once envisioned he and Lizzie might be during her first marriage. But now, with Asher, she was ready to settle down.

  “If I am asked to make a publicity trip and Bill can’t go along, I don’t go,” Lizzie told TV Guide. “It’s all right for the man to go off by himself. The man is head of the family.”

  In short, Mr. Asher would never be known as “Mr. Montgomery.” When explaining Bewitched’s appeal to TV Guide, it sounded like he was tooting his own horn. But the fact was, he knew his stuff. “The show,” he said, “portrays a mixed marriage that overcomes by love the enormous obstacles in its path. Samantha, in her new role as housewife, represents the true values in life. Material gains mean nothing to her. She can have anything she wants through witchcraft, yet she’d rather scrub the kitchen floor on her hands and knees for the man she loves. It is emotional satisfaction she craves.”

  When asked whether he was defining his own philosophy of life and marriage, Asher replied, “Completely.”

  While their material gains may have meant nothing to Lizzie or Bill, as was explained in TV Guide, neither was discarding the luxuries. By the spring of 1967, the close of Bewitched’s third hit year, they had four vehicles: a Mercedes 220 SE coupe (his), a Jaguar XK-E (hers), a Chevrolet Corvette (his), and a Chevy station wagon (theirs). The latter two were company courtesy cars (Chevrolet was a Bewitched sponsor).

  The Ashers’ Benedict Canyon home (which Lizzie would later share with Robert Foxworth and retain for the rest of her life) was massive, and located directly across from Harold Lloyd’s fabled estate.

  They also owned land in northern California. But most importantly, they retained 20 percent of the profits of Bewitched. At the time, 20 percent of any television show going beyond the third season (as Bewitched certainly did) was worth approximately $2 million.

  Lizzie was raised in wealth, but her newfound money was something else again. It would be a lot to expect for her to refrain from using it to ease even the slightest burden.

  In today’s world, statistics show that many marriages dissolve due to lack of money. Conversely, many stay together because of lots of money. It wasn’t all that different during the reign of Samantha and Darrin, and Lizzie and Bill.

  Bewitched was a success. They were in love. They had a happy marriage and a happy show. In the midst of it all, the new Lizzie had arrived. She had kowtowed to Asher’s rule and found emotional satisfaction, at least in 1967.

  In the later years of the series, she played a more active role in the business aspect of their relationship. The show became a co-production of Screen Gems/Columbia Studios and Ashmont Productions, which was initiated in 1965. Then in full swing, Ashmont rivaled the much larger Desilu Productions in name only. The title Desilu was formed by the first names of Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball; the shingle “Ashmont” was shaped from the last names of Bill and Lizzie. Still, Ashmont—the company and the happily married couple—were a force to be reckoned with … at least until the “twitch hit the fan.”

  Twelve

  Double Double …

  “Every little breeze seems to whisper Louise.”

  —Dr. Bombay to Samantha, in the Bewitched episode, “Mixed Doubles” (3-4-71)

  Beyond the fact that there were two Darrins on Bewitched, there were several twin aspects of the series that were concocted or just plain happened … on camera and behind the scenes.

  After Alice Pearce died in 1966, Sandra Gould stepped into the role of nosy mortal neighbor Gladys Kravitz. Alice Ghostley’s bumbling witch maid Esmeralda replaced Marion Lorne’s blundering sorceress Aunt Clara following Lorne’s death in 1968. Kasey Rogers was hired to play Louise Tate, after Irene Vernon exited the role in 1966. Multiple sets of twins played little Tabitha over the years, notably sisters Erin and Diane Murphy, while twin brothers David and Greg Lawrence played the part of Tabitha’s younger sibling Adam. And, of course, Elizabeth herself played both Samantha and her look-alike cousin Serena.

  Into this mix, a few episodes of Bewitched imbued a “doubles” premise, such as “Mixed Doubles,” which aired on March 4, 1971, and was directed by William Asher and written by Richard Baer:

  Samantha can’t sleep. She’s concerned about Larry and Louise (Rogers), who are having marital troubles. But the next day, she has troubles of her own. She finds herself in bed with Larry, while Louise is at the Stephens home with Darrin. Somehow, Samantha and Louise’s souls have switched bodies. Consequently, Sam calls Dr. Bombay (Bernard Fox), who remedies the situation which, he says, was caused by something called “dream inversion.”

  “I always thought those [type of episodes] were kind of fun,” Lizzie said in 1989. “I just hope that we didn’t do too many of them. And I don’t think we actually did, but they were fun because I think audiences enjoyed all that kind of nonsense. I always enjoyed watching stuff like that, too. It’s fun to watch other people behaving like they shouldn’t behave.”

  In 1980, music legend John Lennon released what would become his final recording: Double Fantasy, an album that in many music circles was labeled a love letter to his wife Yoko Ono, who by then was also a member of his band.

  Years before, Lennon and his original “mates,” The Beatles—Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr—made their American television debut on CBS’ The Ed Sullivan Show, February 9, 1964, approximately seven months before Bewitched debuted on ABC.

  Bewitched and The Beatles offered entertaining escape from the turbulence that infested the 1960s. The Beatles wanted everyone to hold their hands to forget their troubles; Samantha made everyone wish they could twitch away their heartache. Off-screen, Le
nnon married an Asian princess in the form of Ono; on-screen, Darrin married the queen of the witches in the guise of Samantha.

  Both were mixed marriages that fell victim to third parties who sought to create a great divide. McCartney, Harrison, and Starr blamed Ono for the breakup of The Beatles. Endora desperately desired Samantha to leave Darrin. The Lennons represented racial equality and sang to give peace a chance. Samantha advocated for conciliation among TV’s top two races— witches and mortals.

  Lizzie and Bewitched, and Lennon and The Beatles each strived for some sense of familial and universal tranquility. It was a double fantasy, and a dark reality. But somehow, we all came out of it a little better and none the worse for wear. We were delivered by a music superstar (who commented that The Beatles were more popular than Jesus Christ) and a supernatural TV series that delivered a fantastical solution for a subpar world.

  Magic was welcomed wherever it could be found, and with Elizabeth and Samantha, Bewitched provided the perfect forum—a forum that still stands today, if born amidst the controversy of yesteryear.

  When Bewitched debuted, September 17, 1964, certain network, studio, and advertising executives expressed concern as to whether or not the show would be perceived in the Bible Belt as a platform for Satanism. The notion may today seem absurd, particularly because at its core the series was a romantic comedy, certainly more human and humane than much of contemporary television.

  But if Bewitched had any serious evil overtones, Lizzie’s co-star, Agnes Moorehead, would have been the first to voice any objections. Passionately opinionated, the fiery redhead was the daughter of Dr. John H. Moorehead, a Presbyterian minister who, by present standards, would be considered a Pentecostal Christian Fundamentalist. Charles Tranberg, author of I Love the Illusion: The Life and Career of Agnes Moorehead (BearManor Media, 2005) explains:

  It seems a contradiction because Agnes was such a fundamentalist Christian in her upbringing and throughout her life. But she loved playing Endora. [She] even came up with the name of the character and liked to come up with all kinds of ideas. She also had played witches before, in an episode of The Shirley Temple Playhouse for example, and later on an episode of Night Gallery. She really never thought of Endora as “evil” but as mischievous, and somebody who was simply pointing out the foibles of mortal life.

  Moreover, if anyone had the “right” to object to Lizzie’s portrayal of Sammy’s supernatural ways, it most probably would have been Britain’s Sybil Leek, then the world’s top-ranking self-professed, real-life witch.

  Fortunately, as Lizzie explained in 1989, Leek had visited Bewitched set and granted her sorcery seal of approval. “Sybil gave us her blessing and was very sweet.”

  “Oh, Darling,” Leek told her, “I’ve seen so many of these things (other media witches) and I really can’t stand them. But I just love your show. You’re so nice and have such a sweet way about you. You’re doing everything just perfectly.”

  Had Leek not sanctioned her performance, Lizzie mused, “I would not have shown up for work the next day.”

  On September 13, 1970, reporter Lorraine St. Pierre profiled Bewitched for The Boston Sunday Advertiser to commemorate the show’s first on-location filming in Salem, Massachusetts, a city that TV Guide once named “the witch capital of the world.” The article was published in tandem with the airing of eight Bewitched episodes from the seventh season involving Samantha’s trip to a witches’ convention, and St. Pierre described Lizzie’s Samantha as “a cute prankster.”

  In her Book of Shadows (Broadway Books, 1998), author and real-life Wiccan priestess Phyllis Curott wrote, “A witch is anyone who cultivates divine and sacred gifts.” She also deduced that television programs like Bewitched are important because “they’re showing witches are good.”

  Fortunately, while working on Bewitched, Lizzie agreed.

  Exhibit A: She vetoed the name Cassandra which, inspired by the sorceress from Greek mythology, was Samantha’s original name in the Bewitched pilot. Lizzie “hated that name. It’s terrible; a real doom and gloomer. Boo … boo. Hiss … Hiss,” she said in 1989.

  The other suggestion was calling her Elizabeth, but she was just as adamant about that not happening. “No, thank you,” she intoned. “I mean, isn’t that the stupidest thing you ever heard? Having the character’s name be the same as the actor’s name? I find it distracting. It doesn’t separate the character from the actor. And I think it smacks of a rather appalling ego.”

  Despite Lizzie’s strong opinion on the matter, there was a kinship of sorts between Samantha and Cassandra. Cassandra and other gods of Greek mythology abided by a strict and specific mystical doctrine; Samantha and her supernatural peers followed a particular code of ethics found in the Witches’ Book of Rights (as relayed in the Bewitched episode, “Long Live the Queen”). Both Samantha and Cassandra possessed the power to foretell the future (although the Bewitched creative team decided there would be no conflict if Sam chose not to engage this particular foresight).

  That leaves one last Samantha-Cassandra affinity. In the Greek myth, the god Apollo places a curse on Cassandra. Eons later, it would seem Samantha got caught in the fall-out. Like Cassandra, she always knew of some forthcoming disaster but was helpless to avert it, namely, Agnes Moorehead’s Endora.

  Moorehead was part of the equally legendary Orson Welles and his esteemed Mercury Theatre group, a band that eventually transferred their unbridled talents into several classic films, not the least of which was 1941’s Citizen Kane (considered in many a cinematic circle as one of the best movies ever made).

  In August of 1965, Bewitched entered its second hit season. Moorehead talked with reporter Earle Hesse of Screen Stars magazine about working with Lizzie, saying: “She keeps us all on our toes. I play a witch also on that show, and it takes some doing to out-witch and out-charm her. She’s a born scene-stealer.” And she was, literally, in two “double aspect” episodes of Bewitched, initially, in a first-season Dick York episode called “Which Witch Is Which,” and then in “The Mother-in-Law-of-the-Year,” during the middle of Dick Sargent’s second year (but the show’s seventh season). Summaries for each episode are as follows:

  “Which Witch is Which?” (3-3-65) Written by Earl Barrett. Directed by William D. Russell: Samantha is unable to make a dress-fitting appointment, so Endora transforms herself into her daughter’s double and shows up in her place. While being fitted, Endora-as-Sam catches the eye of Bob Fraser (Ron Randell), a friend of Darrin’s. Mrs. Kravitz (Alice Pearce) sees the two together, and thinks Samantha is cheating on Darrin. In the end, Endora pops in at the Stephenses in her Sam-guise and leads Fraser to believe that she and Samantha are “identical twins.”

  “Mother-in-Law-of-the-Year” (1-14-71) Written by Philip and Henry Sharp. Directed by William Asher: Samantha is forced to impersonate Endora who in a unique display of emotion feels neglected by her son-in-law. To get on his good side, she creates and stars in an ad campaign called the “Mother-in-Law-of-the-Year” for Bobbins Bon Bons, his new client at McMann & Tate Advertising. At first, Mr. Bobbins (John McGiver) is smitten by Endora’s creative charms, but the tables turn when she grows bored with the mortal festivities. At which time, Samantha replicates her mother’s image, and literally inserts herself into the “Mother-in-Law-of-the-Year” TV commercial. Endora then rematerializes in the commercial, and everyone sees double.

  Off-screen, however, Lizzie sometimes saw red, as she and Moorehead, aka Aggie, were not always on the same page. Both were independent thinkers and rarely backed away from confrontation, although in 1989 Lizzie was quick to make clarifications:

  People were always trying to create fights between us and said that Aggie and I hated each other or that Aggie and Maurice (Evans) hated each other, or that Maurice and I hated each other. And none of that was ever true. Even Mabel (Albertson, who played Darrin’s mother) and Aggie got along fine, mostly because Mabel wouldn’t put up with any bullshit. And it was great because Aggie would
always try to push it (the limits) with the women that would come on the show. And I would just sit back and say, “Well, let’s see how this turns out.”

  Elizabeth believed Moorehead enjoyed the challenge of their relationship “because she knew I loved her dearly,” and that “Aggie’s bark was worse than her bite.”

  But Moorehead chomped at the bit when Dick Sargent was hired to replace Dick York as the new Darrin in the fall of 1969. Sargent’s new term on the show began on a foot of edgy hostility. Set in her ways, Moorehead was not at all pleased with his presence. She was fond of York and his talent, and respected his New Age-like spirituality. Even though such beliefs countered her conservative Christian viewpoint, Moorehead felt his presence was key to the show’s success.

  As was explained in TV Guide, May 29, 1965, with the article, “He’s Almost Invisible in the Glare of Success,” York many times invoked religious items into sculpting, an art he practiced in his spare time. He described one of his pieces as “four-dimensional”:

  I try to incorporate all religious teaching, the Old Testament, the New Testament, Confucius, Buddha, The Agnostic, one figure representing all. In the front you see Adam, a cloud-like Adam. Eve is beside him on the ground looking into an empty cradle. As you revolved around it, the back of Eve’s head becomes Woman. And Adam, from the back, is the crucified Christ. Then Eve becomes the Virgin Mary from another angle. There are six different perspectives.

  It seemed a convoluted concept, but Moorehead respected York’s vision, which in her view, contributed to her understanding of the man behind the vision:

  I probably understand him better than others. He’s rather profound, you know. He has a spiritual quality. I am a religious girl. I have a great faith. This creates a rapport between us. Actors who have this spiritual quality often understand each other without much communication.