In July 1974, I was booked to play the Palladium in London, where Mama Cass Elliot had just finished a sold-out two-week engagement. I packed up my kids, Mother, and Daddy, and we all left for England.
It was a great time for us. The promoters gave us an entire floor at the Savoy Hotel. Daddy wound up with his picture on the front page of the paper after photographers found him in a park near the hotel, dressed in a cardigan sweater and a baseball cap, feeding the pigeons. Bianca Jagger attended my opening night. Instead of my picture with Bianca, the papers featured Daddy standing next to her, his glance fixed downward. Let’s just say he wasn’t looking in her eyes.
Carrie and Todd were then in their midteens. When they heard that Mick Jagger had invited me to a party, they were keen for me to go so they could tag along.
The party was in full swing when we arrived at Mick’s town house in central London, crammed with people from the British social scene as well as friends of the Rolling Stones. As we began to mingle, Mick pulled me aside and cautioned, “Keep the kiddies down here. There’s lots of adult activities up the stairs you don’t want them to see.”
Happily, there was a great band playing downstairs, so I didn’t have to worry about the huge bowls filled with cocaine spread out like a buffet on the second floor and any other adult behavior “not for teenies,” as Mick had described it. We found lots of folks to talk to.
As the evening wore on we began to see the effects as the upstairs crowd stumbled through the first floor to exit the party. Keith Richards was carried out on a stretcher. Cass Elliot left in the wee hours and, tragically, died that night at Harry Nilsson’s London apartment, where she was staying. I’ve always thought it a shame that she went home alone. She might have been saved.
Sometime during the party Todd met a woman in her late twenties or early thirties named Elizabeth (a popular name among the men in the Fisher family). Elizabeth owned restaurants in London, and Todd was about to become her main course. Todd was only sixteen, but he was eager to learn the facts of life. I was thrilled that he would have such a lovely teacher. I wished I’d had someone other than his dad to show me the ropes.
Todd’s Elizabeth moved back to the Savoy with us for the duration of our stay in London. He was quite pale for the next few days, but very happy. Not so my mother, who was outraged when Elizabeth moved in with us. Daddy went back to feeding the pigeons while daydreaming about Bianca’s bosom.
Somewhere between Todd’s joy and Mother’s disapproval, we all managed to have a jolly good time.
Working is how I handle crisis. When my marriage to Harry Karl was in trouble, I took on Irene. Now I would have to tap-dance as fast as I could to dig myself out of the huge hole caused by the loss of the hotel. It was time to go on the road again. Of course, my 1999 show would have to be very different from the ones I’d done in earlier years. I couldn’t afford to hire dancers or tour with a lot of musicians. I’d have to cut down on travel expenses as best I could. My agents booked me gigs in Atlantic City, on cruises, and in the usual nightclubs. I was grateful for every engagement. And then I got a very nice surprise.
My son, Todd, and me at Heathrow airport for my engagement at the London Palladium in 1974. Todd’s holding my cane. I had fractured my ankle during a show. Photofest
At the beginning of the year, I received an offer to play Debra Messing’s mother on Will & Grace, then in the second season of what turned out to be an eight-year run. My character’s name is Bobbi Adler; Debra plays Grace Adler on the show. The first episode I taped was called “The Unsinkable Mommy Adler”—a tremendous ego booster for me because it indicated that the producers believed the reference to my movie, and therefore my name, might attract my audience if they weren’t already watching the show. My first entrance was mugging as Ethel Merman singing a riff on “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” from Gypsy. In another scene, I got to sing a chorus of “Good Morning” from Singin’ in the Rain with Megan Mullally. The writers had tailored my part just for me.
Doing Will & Grace was so much fun. The cast was a spectacular group of actors. Sean Hayes is a wonderful musician who is now a successful producer. Eric McCormack was also a stitch. He went to New York and took on the very difficult job of playing the lead in The Music Man. Megan was lovely to me. She and Carrie are good friends now. Everyone in the cast was lovely to me. We spent a lot of very good times together. I adored them all. They worked very hard, as did Jim Burrows, the director. I had to move quickly to keep up with everyone, but I’ve been a tap dancer for decades. My only regret is that I was working so hard on the road every week that I always seemed to be rushing into a rehearsal or taping, and when I finally got to the set I was exhausted. Truthfully, I’ve been exhausted ever since I was sixteen!
Grace’s relationship with her mother on the show is confrontational, just to the point of real conflict, which is the basis of the show’s comedy. When Debra and I were in character, our interactions were supposed to be a bit edgy. That’s what they wanted, and that’s what we gave them. On one of the taping days, we had a scene where Bobbi wins the moment by saying to Grace, “Gotcha again”—meaning “You told me a lie, you told me a lie.” I swooped in just in time for the taping. Debra gave me the hand gestures I use, which tag the scene and get big laughs. She was very generous to share that “business” she had created. It really helped me with the scene. And Jim Burrows let me have a cue card to refer to if I needed it. We had to do two shows that day, so I was very appreciative of their kindness.
I went on to do nine more episodes before the show ended its long run in 2006. The experience was terrific. Will & Grace was a combination of skilled actors and writers led by one of the best directors in television. They worked together like a well-oiled machine. Even though I was devastated emotionally by my latest divorce, the loss of the hotel, and financial ruin, I threw myself into the work, just as I had done on Mother.
Everywhere I go, people tell me how much they enjoyed the show. It appealed to a large audience, straight and gay, because it was funny and well done. I’ll always be grateful for being given the opportunity to be a part of Will & Grace.
With Debra Messing in Will & Grace. I played Debra’s mother, Bobbi Adler. The show was hard work, but I enjoyed being part of the great ensemble cast. Photofest
CHAPTER 18
FAMILY AND FAITH
EARLY IN 1999, CARRIE CALLED to tell me that the “gardener’s house” next door to the gate to her property was for sale. Now that I was finished with Las Vegas for the moment, she thought it would be good for me to be closer to her and my granddaughter, Billie. This small cottage had been the residence of the original estate’s caretaker and at some point the lot was broken off from the acreage. Before Carrie bought it, several Hollywood celebrities had owned the estate, including Cary Grant. Between husbands, Elizabeth Taylor stayed in one of the guest rooms when costume designer Edith Head had it. Carrie’s news was great and I welcomed it. I wanted to be a bigger part of her life and Billie’s.
So I bought it. I had been working as much as I could after the hotel auction and had started to repay my friends who’d lent me money. Fortunately, the owners of the property were willing to take a small down payment and carry the mortgage for me. The house needed work, of course, and my brother, Bill, began refurbishing it so I could move in. He worked on it every day for a year while I was off doing my act.
But first, Carrie, Billie, and I decided to take a vacation to Hawaii together. One day while I was sitting by the water, Billie came running out to tell me that Uncle Bill was on the phone.
“Uncle Bill” is my brother, but everybody calls him by this nickname. At that time he was living with and caring for our ill mother. I wasn’t really worried, but I knew that he is not the type to call just to chat.
“Hi, Uncle Bill,” I said. “What’s wrong?”
He came right to the point.
“Mother’s not doing well. You should come home. I’m going to take her to the hospital.�
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My brother isn’t one for drama, so I immediately made arrangements to leave for Los Angeles.
My mother had been ill with heart disease and colon cancer for some time. Her doctors had given her a choice: either she could have major surgery that she might not survive and that would only extend her life for a short time, or she could do nothing. She chose to do nothing. She believed she would be blessed with Heaven because she had lived by the Golden Rule of “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Daddy had had the same attitude about dying when his time came.
When I arrived at the hospital, Mother was in a coma. Her eyes were glazed, and her face shone—there wasn’t a line on it. I sat by her side, singing and talking to her softly. Sometime later a nurse came in to take her vital signs, but I knew that Mother had gone.
It had been the same with Daddy, fifteen years before: I got to the hospital just in time; I put my mother’s hands and mine in his; he sighed deeply and went on his way to a glorious baseball game in Heaven. Both my parents chose not to take extraordinary measures to prolong their lives, preferring to let nature take its course and to move on to their new world. I’ll never forget the total peace on their faces. It makes me believe they were secure in their faith.
We kept the funeral for my mother very simple. Carrie and Todd read passages from the Bible. Two of the boys from my nightclub act, Steve Lane and Shelby Grimm, sang “Nearer My God to Thee.”
When Daddy died, Carrie wrote a tribute to him that captured so many of his wonderful qualities.
RECIPE FOR RAY
take one small stubborn Texan
preferably lean
add a big busted gal from
thereabouts
that answers to Maxene
fold in some railroad work,
a depression
two kids and a move to LA
beat in a bunch of baseball
(and) you’ve begun your recipe
for Ray
take your small stubborn
Texan
and gently remove all his
hair
build him a shop
outside any house he’s got
and stick a radio there
sift in some well chosen
words
a kind heart beneath
leathery skin
stir in some peanuts and
coke
a tendency to smoke
sprinkle in some “Dear Lord
Help us jump in.” [Daddy’s version of Grace]
add a dash of the sweetest
smile
some Palm Springs and a
little Ouray
fold in a favorite chair
the funny walk that gets him there
add “and the farmer hauled
another load of hay” [Daddy’s phrase for B.S.]:
This recipe for Ray
can be cooked up anytime
it simmers in our hearts
it fills us up real fine.
My family was always close. I was born in El Paso, Texas, during the Great Depression of the 1930s. We lived with my grandparents in a small house that had no shower—we used the bathroom at the gas station next door. I shared a bed with my brother and three uncles, who were close to us in age. My brother and I slept with our heads at the top of the bed, my uncles with theirs at the foot. I woke up every morning with toes in my nose. I never slept alone until I got married.
Daddy worked for the railroad. Believing that we would have a better life in the West, he took the train to Los Angeles and for a year slept on the ground in MacArthur Park in all kinds of weather. He worked and saved his money, making a lot of sacrifices. When he’d saved enough to buy a small lot in Burbank where he could build us a house, he sent for us. I was seven years old.
Although life in California was better and held more promise, we still lived very modestly. Mother made all my clothes or bought them from the Salvation Army. As soon as I was old enough to mow lawns or babysit, I worked around the neighborhood to earn a few extra dollars.
Daddy and Mother gave Bill and me security and a firm sense of the value of family in our lives that has sustained me through the years. Even though my children were raised without a father, they still had my parents and brother, who were always there for them.
My parents also taught me about hard work, sticking to a job until it’s done, and downright stubbornness. My mother was a tough lady when it came to discipline. To be fair, I know I was a willful child. When I was about six years old, she locked me in her closet as punishment. After about an hour in solitary, I called to my mother, asking for a glass of water.
“Why do you need water?” Mother said through the closed door.
“Because I spit in all of your shoes and I’m out of spit,” I answered.
In spite of her harsh punishments, Mother was wonderful at taking care of us. She was always making dinner for our friends, even though we lived on very little. She let me join the Girl Scouts at an early age. I loved the Scouts. I learned leadership and many skills and earned forty-seven of one hundred merit badges. Those qualities stay with me today. At heart, I think I’ll always be a Girl Scout.
Mixed in with his gentle soul, Daddy had definite ideas about everyone’s role in the family. When I started making money as a movie actress, one of my great joys was doing things for my family. I bought Mother a fur stole with some of my early earnings. I bought Daddy a new car and a set of golf clubs. Soon I had enough money saved to pay off their mortgage, which thrilled me.
Every summer Daddy would hitchhike to Texas to visit his family. Now that he had his red MG, he put his new golf clubs in the back and left for Texas. One summer I had a new closet built in my bedroom while he was away. During another summer visit, I thought I would surprise Daddy with something he would never buy for himself. My “Aba Daba Honeymoon” duet with Carleton Carpenter was then a hit single that paid a lot in residuals. With that money, I installed a swimming pool in the backyard, which was so small that the pool completely filled the space. On the top step of the pool stairs, I had the words ABA DABA HONEYMOON spelled out in beautiful colored tiles.
When Daddy returned from Texas, he wasn’t happy about the pool that took up his whole yard. Due to ear problems, Daddy wasn’t a swimmer. He didn’t like the idea of his little girl making improvements to the house without his knowledge or permission. The minute I left home to marry Eddie Fisher in 1955, Daddy had the pool filled in with dirt. It wasn’t seen again until about five years later, when the people who bought the house from my parents looked under the topsoil in the yard and found it. At least someone finally got to enjoy it.
Conflicts with my mother continued for most of my life. We clashed over our differences in spite of loving each other dearly. Mother traveled on the road with me all the time. When the children were small, she came along to help care for them. When they were grown, she came along for the fun of being part of my entourage. At one of my Vegas engagements, we were enjoying a Sunday night off with my dancers and musicians and other road crew, who in addition to working for me were my friends. We were in my hotel suite, watching a movie. Around midnight, my mother pulled me aside and told me it was time to go to bed. Shocked, I told her that we were going to stay up and watch TV and have some fun on our day off. Mother became insistent and tried to bully me into going to bed. My temper flared, and we actually got into a fight. It started out small but somehow escalated, to the point where we were punching each other, actually brawling, only a few feet from our friends.
Suddenly the whole thing just seemed so ridiculous that we started to laugh. It was a turning point in our relationship. Although I would always be my mother’s little girl, she never tried to discipline me again.
Now I was moving into a house that would let me be near my own little girl and her daughter, Billie Catherine. We were all thrilled when Carrie got pregnant. Not wanting to have drugs in her blood that could affect her baby, Carrie went off
her antidepressants. It was a very brave and difficult thing for her to do. Having a baby is hard enough without all the mental changes that Carrie went through.
When it was time for Billie to be born, I went with Carrie to Cedars-Sinai hospital for the delivery. Billie’s father, Bryan Lourd, was there too. When Billie arrived, he took her and bathed her with such love and tenderness that I never forgot it. No matter what Carrie went through with Billie’s father after that, I’ll always cherish the memory of him taking care of our little Billie so beautifully. The first time I saw Billie I was reminded of the Stevie Wonder song “You Are the Sunshine of My Life.” Billie is our sunshine girl, and even though she’s grown up now, I still call her “baby.”
Whenever I’ve faced difficult times and wondered how I was going to get through them, my family and my faith have sustained me. Faith is a powerful thing to have in your repertory. When Eddie Fisher left us, I sat quietly with a tablet of paper and waited for some words to come to tell me what to do. I did the same thing in Carrie’s backyard when I lost my third marriage, my hotel, and all my money yet again. Words come to me from God—or Jesus or whatever you choose to call the most powerful force in the universe. Certainly I’ve felt despair, sometimes so much that I thought it would be easier to die. But my family and my faith have sustained me until, when I least expected it, life picked me up again.
My favorite picture of me with Daddy, at my first wedding in 1955.
With Mother and Grandma Harman when Carrie was a newly born baby.
Carrie; my mother, Maxene; Carrie’s daughter, Billie Catherine; and me.
CHAPTER 19
THESE OLD BROADS
CARRIE WAS BUSY WRITING. In addition to working on the Academy Awards and other specials, she’d been hired to doctor scripts and was trying her hand at original screenplays. One of her TV scripts was a sitcom pilot for CBS called Esme’s Little Nap about a girl in a coma. Andrea Martin played Esme. She spent the whole half hour in a hospital bed; all her lines were voice-over narration. I played the mother who moved in to take care of the family. I think Carrie was a little ahead of her time with that one. The pilot was not picked up.
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