Unsinkable

by Debbie Reynolds

  In 2001 I signed a lease with TrizecHahn for a large space on the fourth floor of what came to be known as the Hollywood & Highland Center. Todd hired architect Dianna Wong to design the space, and I continued to pay for the monthly maintenance at Todd’s ranch.

  In June 2001, there was a groundbreaking ceremony for the Hollywood Motion Picture Museum at Hollywood & Highland. Todd, Carrie, and my brother, Bill, came to the ceremony, where Johnny Grant, the honorary mayor of Hollywood, presented me with a check in the amount of $50,000.

  On top of the world at Hollywood & Highland. Todd, Carrie, and I celebrate the announcement of the new Hollywood museum plans. This turned out to be another disappointment. Getty Images

  The TrizecHahn developers set the opening of the complex for mid-September—a deadline we were expected to meet. Meanwhile, the construction from other Hollywood & Highland tenants began invading our space. Ventilation shafts from the restaurant underneath us on the third floor came up in the middle of our proposed theater, where we planned to run the film clips from the movies in which the costumes originally appeared. Pipes and columns appeared out of nowhere. It was devastating. When it became clear that this situation could not be changed, the president of TrizecHahn suggested that the museum could occupy the “nose” of the building—a glass-enclosed area with several floors that overlooked all of Hollywood, including the HOLLYWOOD sign.

  We signed a new lease in December. Our space was increased to ten thousand square feet. Our expenses went up too. Dianna Wong prepared plans for this expanded, multilevel space. Since everything we had done already had to be moved or redesigned, we were no longer expected to finish in time for the opening of the complex, so I took the opportunity to go to New York City to attend a special event.

  CHAPTER 22

  SEPTEMBER 10, 2001

  IT WAS SEPTEMBER 10, 2001. Michael Jackson was giving a concert at Madison Square Garden to celebrate his thirtieth anniversary in show business and, belatedly, his birthday in August. I was looking forward to seeing Michael perform live onstage. Although I’d known him for many years, I usually only saw Michael when he was rehearsing at my dance studio, where he’d worked on his Thriller and Beat It videos. I was glad that he felt at home there. The concert was being taped for a television special, and Elizabeth would be giving a speech to honor Michael. Before leaving LA, I’d called Elizabeth’s assistant, Tim Mendelson, to ask about getting a ticket.

  I went to Madison Square Garden by myself and was seated close to Elizabeth’s party. Michael escorted Elizabeth to her seat; after she sat down, I waved to Elizabeth from mine. Macaulay Culkin was in the audience, as well as many of Michael’s other friends.

  The concert was magnificent. I love live performing, so it was a real thrill for me. Michael and his family performed, as did other artists. There wasn’t an empty seat in the house—except when the crowd was on its feet, which was just about every moment. It was an exhilarating evening. I was so glad that I had taken the opportunity to be there.

  Michael, Elizabeth, Joe Jackson, and Macaulay Culkin on the red carpet at Madison Square Garden, September 10, 2001. Kevin Kane/Getty Images

  After the concert I went back to my midtown hotel. I was so wound up from Michael’s brilliant performance that I stayed awake watching TV and reading magazines like the Enquirer.

  I woke up to the horrible smell of something burning. My first thought was that the hotel was on fire. I called down to the front desk and was told that there had been a crash downtown and that I should stay in my room until further notice.

  I turned on the television and saw footage of the planes crashing into the World Trade Center and the Twin Towers collapsing. There was only one channel; the destruction had knocked out the transmitters for the other networks. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I watched in horror as the nightmare unfolded in an endless loop on the screen. When the third plane hit the Pentagon, I was sure we were all in danger. The reporting wasn’t clear on what happened, but the footage was upsetting. I looked out the hotel window, now covered in ashes. The devastation in the city was overwhelming. People jammed the streets trying to get safely home.

  The phone rang in my room. It was Elizabeth’s assistant. “Elizabeth heard that you were here alone and asked me to check on you,” Tim said.

  “This is so horrible,” I responded numbly. “How’s Elizabeth? I’m very frightened.”

  “Elizabeth would like you to come to the Pierre and stay with us,” Tim responded. “Her children left the hotel immediately after the concert and are back in Los Angeles by now. You can have their room. Michael and his family left last night by bus.” (The media later reported incorrectly that they’d flown out.)

  I packed my things and called the front desk for a bellman. The elevator operator was crying as the bellman helped me with my luggage. Everyone I saw had tears in their eyes. I couldn’t keep from crying myself.

  I finally let go once I got to Elizabeth’s suite, where I hugged her and we cried together. There was news footage of people with no hope of being saved jumping out of the towers. A fourth plane had crashed in a field in Pennsylvania after heroic passengers overwhelmed the terrorists who’d hijacked it and were heading to the White House. Every minute was consumed with stories of the people on the planes and in the towers; there were also stories of miraculous escapes before the buildings collapsed. So many people were suffering. Our world would never be the same.

  Elizabeth was a gracious hostess in spite of being in a great deal of pain with her back. Her doctor was with her, as well as José Eber, her hairstylist. Elizabeth’s masseur and his little girl were also staying in the large suite. Her French butler took very good care of us as we watched the TV in disbelief, all of us sitting and crying together. When it became too much, we’d go to our rooms and try to rest.

  September 11 was a Tuesday. I had a concert scheduled in California that Saturday. By Thursday I realized that I was going to miss it; by government order, no planes were allowed to fly. We didn’t know how long we’d be stranded in New York.

  I really hate not fulfilling my obligations and disappointing people. On Friday I told Elizabeth, “I have a show to do tomorrow in Escondido.”

  “Where’s that?” she asked.

  I wasn’t surprised. I knew that Elizabeth lived in her own world.

  “It’s near San Diego,” I said. “My engagement has been sold out for months. I hate to cancel, but I don’t think there’s any way we’ll get out in time.”

  “I’ll phone John,” she said. “Maybe he can help.” Sometime later Elizabeth called to me from another room, “Debbie, we have a plane. We’re leaving in the morning.”

  “Nobody is getting out, Elizabeth,” I responded.

  “I know,” she said. “But I was married to John. He was happy to help us.”

  Of course you were, I thought. And of course he was.

  John was Senator John Warner of Virginia. It must be nice to have an ex-husband who can actually be your friend and be useful too.

  Even so, I was skeptical that it would actually happen. In the best of circumstances, Elizabeth was famous for her tardiness. She wasn’t feeling well. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying all week. Her doctor was worried about her heart palpitations.

  But when morning arrived, Elizabeth was up and ready to go. We all went downstairs to cars that were waiting to take us to Teterboro Airport, where a private plane would fly us home. There was no traffic as we left Manhattan and no other planes in sight at the airport. The sky was empty, although in the distance we could see smoke in the direction of the city. As we flew over the crash site we saw the heartbreaking devastation below us.

  It was an eerie flight. Everyone was exhausted and relieved to be leaving New York. It was so strange to be the only ones in the air.

  When we landed in Van Nuys, a helicopter owned by my friend Bob Petersen was there to meet me. Bob owned Petersen Publishing and Hot Rod magazine—if you’re not rich yourself, it sur
e helps to have rich friends. I thanked Elizabeth and waved good-bye to everyone as I climbed out of the plane and into Bob’s helicopter. For security reasons, we had to fly in designated airspace.

  My curtain was at 2:00 P.M.; I got there at 1:35. My assistant, Donald Light, was waiting for me in the red vest that he always wears to my shows, his arms filled with programs. A trailer dressing room had been set up for me. I dashed into it, taking a few minutes to put on a little stage makeup and change my clothes. There was no time for vocalizing or going over my lines—just a touch of lipstick and I hit the stage.

  When the audience saw me, they all stood up and cheered. They’d been told that I might not make it. It was very emotional for all of us; we were all crying. The audience was particularly wonderful that day. I couldn’t tell jokes or do half the material in my show, so I told them about spending the past few days with Elizabeth and her friends in New York. They all laughed when I said that since Elizabeth had gotten me there on time, I guess that made up for the Eddie thing. I spoke about going to Korea during the war there. The whole audience was sad, yet they showed up to see my show. We all felt better being together.

  I ended the show an hour later with “God Bless America.” Everyone stood up and sang with me. The horror of New York seemed so far away. I was exhausted. The turmoil of the last week was nothing for me compared to what so many had suffered. I felt heartsick for all those who’d lost loved ones. We were united by this senseless attack on our country, drawn together by something terrible.

  God bless the USA.

  CHAPTER 23

  MUSEUM, INTERRUPTED

  HORRIBLE AS THE EVENTS OF September 11, 2001, were, we had to keep on living. Once I was safely back in California, things began to change at the Hollywood & Highland Center. Construction slowed down at the new site. Although the opening of the complex was postponed until November, even then our space wasn’t completed. The move there required a lot more work, which I was having trouble underwriting. We now projected that the museum would be completed in February 2002.

  Soon it became apparent that the bond issue was not going to move quickly enough for us to finish the plans and complete the museum. February came and went.

  In the summer, Todd contacted Greg Orman, who had lent us money for the hotel in Vegas and was our angel on the day of the auction by guaranteeing $1 million for David Siegel if he wanted to bid on the hotel. Greg flew from Las Vegas to Los Angeles to survey the site. Todd and I walked with him through our space in the nose of the complex, and Greg agreed to put up a million dollars as an unsecured bridge loan, at 10 percent interest, the going rate at that time. This made it possible for us to hire more ­people to work to meet the new deadlines. It was understood that this loan would be for the short term, just until the bond money came through.

  We received the loan on September 4, 2002.

  Then the CRA changed their minds. In a meeting with all the lawyers and players, a CRA representative announced that the bond issue would be done, but with a cover letter stating that the bonds were not backed by the city. Our banker from the Royal Bank of Canada couldn’t believe the news. He had presold the bonds with the city’s assurance that they were valid. In one minute, the bonds became worthless. The City of Los Angeles had money troubles after 9/11 that changed things for everyone at Hollywood & Highland, and they were taking me along with them.

  Todd and I were stunned. We’d spent more than $1 million over the years on plans, construction, and rent. It was obvious we had to abandon the hope of having a museum in Hollywood. With a heavy heart, I relinquished my lease at Hollywood & Highland.

  In February 2003, the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce honored me with a Lifetime Achievement Award. The ceremony was held at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. Carrie introduced me, rattling off all the events of the past few years, including how the CRA had defaulted on their promise to underwrite the financing of the Holly­wood & Highland museum. The honorary mayor of Hollywood, Johnny Grant, had been trying to work things out among the politicians, but it was beyond his control. Carrie wasn’t the only one living at the edge.

  To make things more insane, TrizecHahn sued Todd and me for breaking the lease. The suit was later dismissed, but once again I had to spend time and money to fight it.

  By March 2003, it was clear that there was no way I could quickly recoup all the money that I’d already lost on this project. And we needed money to keep fighting the ­people who had originally been our allies. I realized that I would have to auction part of my collection to keep going. I decided, with great reluctance, to sell about three hundred pieces of my memorabilia, in the hope that the money I got would pay to preserve the rest.

  The auction was scheduled for December 6, 2003. Todd and I chose the items to sell. These included costumes that had been worn by Jimmy Cagney in Yankee Doodle Dandy and by Judy Garland in Ziegfeld Follies. It broke my heart to part with any of them while I still thought I could create a museum somewhere. There was a pastel portrait of Jean Harlow I loved, that I’d bought at the Fox auction in 1971. I told Todd to pull it. He said it was already listed, but somehow he managed to save it for me.

  Everything was set up in a big conference room at the Le Meridien Hotel on La Cienega Boulevard in West Hollywood. Julien, the auctioneer, had invited his entire family to the auction to meet me. Someone came up to me and said how sorry she was that I had to sell my beautiful things. I burst into tears and looked away, overwhelmed, and avoided anyone else who tried to approach me.

  I made enough from the auction to keep my family and me afloat. Even though I sold only what I had to, it still cost me a piece of my heart. And I was still in debt.

  CHAPTER 24

  ON TO PIGEON FORGE

  AND THEN, IN A GALAXY far, far away called Tennessee, it seemed that someone was interested in my collection. A company called BIV Retail sent Todd and me a proposal to build the museum in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, the home of Dolly Parton’s Dollywood.

  We were skeptical at first, but we decided to see what they had to offer. Todd flew to Tennessee, where he found a wonderful community and a major tourist destination. Every year more tourists go to Pigeon Forge than to Branson, Missouri, a huge entertainment center. The area around Dollywood has dozens of other attractions, including theaters, theme park rides, and summer festivals. The developer showed Todd Belle Island, a beautiful spot where the museum would be built.

  While we considered BIV’s proposal, Todd and I also pursued other possibilities, still hoping to find a home for the collection in Hollywood, where everything in it had been created.

  I met with Roger Mayer, the treasurer of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Years before, my friend Jack Haley Jr. had taken me to see all the land that the Academy had bought for a museum. Over dinner at Trader Vic’s in Beverly Hills, Roger confirmed that they were putting together big money to build one. Roger explained that the decision was up to the Academy’s board of directors, and that they weren’t interested in my collection. How ironic that the people of Tennessee cared more about a Hollywood museum than the masters of Hollywood did.

  This was a great disappointment to me, but I continued to hope that they might change their minds.

  Todd did several presentations for Steven Spielberg and his associate Andy Spahn when we first ran into trouble at Hollywood & Highland. They passed on our project. We tried again a few years later, with the same result. Carrie called her friend David Geffen, who has always been supportive of Carrie in every way. When I followed up with David, he told me that he wasn’t interested. “Why don’t you just sell that stuff?” he asked me. How many times had I heard that before?

  I approached George Lucas. George has his own vast collection of everything you can imagine related to his films (except, as it happened, some of the items in my collection, including one of the cameras he’d used to shoot the first Star Wars movie). He appreciates the value of saving film artifacts. Surely he could see the value in what I was off
ering. But George wasn’t interested in my collection either.

  Even though he didn’t offer to help, I appreciated his kindness in seeing me.

  Tennessee was looking better and better. The people there couldn’t have been nicer or more open to our ideas. Their proposal showed us the value of building in Pigeon Forge. The town has a highway with six lanes of traffic to handle all the tourists. Belle Island Village was designed as a family-themed attraction that would include my museum, the Darrell Waltrip Racing Experience, and Otter Cove (produced in collaboration with the Knoxville Zoo). There were retail shops, restaurants, and rides for children.

  They proposed building a structure that would have ample room to display my memorabilia, including three theaters measuring almost two thousand square feet each.

  In March 2004, I announced the relocation of my collection to Pigeon Forge.

  Todd designed a miniature of Hollywood Boulevard in the 1940s. A tableau featuring Frederick’s of Hollywood would be displayed in front of the ladies’ rooms. Our plans included a Fashion Pavilion, a Western Pavilion, and an Egyptian palace to display the costumes and props from Cleopatra and Ben-Hur. Items from epic films like Lawrence of Arabia and Mutiny on the Bounty would be displayed in yet another room. The museum was similar to the one in Vegas, but much larger in scale. Todd incorporated the carousel screens to run film clips of the featured movies. I did a voice-over introduction. One of our movie theaters would be able to seat 125 people. As we had done with the museum in my hotel, the entrance was designed to evoke memories of old movie palaces like the Pantages and Egyptian movie palaces in Hollywood. The exterior of the building was designed to look like the riverboat from the classic MGM musical Show Boat.