Of course all Judy’s friends wanted to go. I was working with Frank on The Tender Trap then, and engaged to Eddie Fisher. So when Frank told me he was chartering a bus and invited Eddie and me to join him on it, you couldn’t have kept us away. I asked Frank if I could also bring along my friend Margie Duncan and Bernie Rich, who was Eddie’s best friend from Philly. Frank was happy to have them. That bus contained a Who’s Who of Hollywood: David Niven, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis, Lana Turner, Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, Betty Grable and Harry James, Edgar Bergen, Donald O’Connor, Art Linkletter, Sammy Davis Jr., Dick Powell and June Allyson, Jimmy Stewart, Ronald Reagan, Gary Cooper. Peter Lawford and his wife, Pat, were there. So was makeup man Keester Sweeney. (I just love his name.) The papers reported that nearly a hundred seats had been sold to celebrities, including Jack Warner and Jack Benny, who would be driving the twenty-five miles down to Long Beach.
Our bus ride was a show before the show. Everyone was in a festive mood. Dinner and drinks were served. Frank told Bogie to sit next to the bus driver and give him directions, I guess because Bogie had played Captain Queeg in The Caine Mutiny. Betty Bacall sat a few rows behind Bogie. At one point she yelled out.
“Hey, somebody’s feeling me up back here.”
“Let me know if they find anything,” Bogie responded, without missing a beat. “I’ve been looking for years.”
The bus was like summer stock on wheels. Everyone was laughing, singing, joking around, and having a wonderful time.
The Municipal Auditorium was built on twenty acres of landfill that extend five hundred feet into the Pacific Ocean. It has since been replaced by the Long Beach Convention and Entertainment Center. An alley between Ocean Boulevard and Seaside Way had been roped off for the stars’ vehicles. This led to a platform outside the auditorium for visiting stars to be interviewed as they arrived. Klieg lights flooded the sky with wandering rays of light, and movie and television cameras were everywhere. Our bus was scheduled to pull up alongside the platform at around 8:00 p.m., and to wait for us just outside the entrance to the auditorium for the return trip.
The advance publicity had done its job, and hordes of people assembled behind the roped-off areas and the mall. As our bus pulled up, about a thousand people mobbed us. It was crazier than a Hollywood opening.
Finally we were in our seats, eager for the show to begin.
Judy entered from behind her dancers. It was so brilliant. The house went crazy. She sang eleven songs, starting with “The Man That Got Away” from A Star Is Born and including all her standards— “Rock-a-bye Your Baby,” “After You’ve Gone,” “Zing! Went the Strings of My Heart,” and others. She did two dance routines, one with Paul Sanchez, “We’re a Couple of Swells” (the “tramps” bit she first did with Fred Astaire in Easter Parade), and a comic dance routine with the Wiere Brothers. I had worked with the Wiere Brothers when Carleton Carpenter and I were on the vaudeville circuit several years before promoting our hit song “Abba Dabba Honeymoon” from the movie Two Weeks with Love. It was wonderful to see them again. In between, Frank Fontaine did his stand- up and the Hi-Lo’s male quartet performed a few of their hits, including their cover of “Whatever Lola Wants” from Damn Yankees.
Judy was magnificent throughout. She ended with “Over the Rainbow,” and the audience gave her a standing ovation that lasted several minutes, calling loudly for “More!” She obliged them with four encores, including “Swanee” and “Liza.” Then, while the crowd continued to cheer, she asked, “Would you like to meet some of my friends?”
More cheers as she invited Frank to the stage. Frank got Bogie and Betty up there. Dean and Jerry, Eddie and I, Betty Hutton, Dick Powell, June Allyson, and Sammy Davis Jr. joined them. Dean and Sammy performed a Martin and Lewis song, with Sammy imitating Jerry. Finally Bogie told everybody to get off the stage, and the unofficial show after the show ended.
Frank Sinatra and Chuck Waters working with me on the set of The Tender Trap in 1955. Frank invited us all to take a bus to Long Beach to see Judy Garland in concert.
Frank had the concert recorded and later gave copies to his friends who’d attended.
As it turned out, that show was the end of Judy’s comeback tour. Sid and Judy canceled it when CBS signed Judy to do her first TV special that September, which was so successful that CBS signed Judy to do one special a year for three more years.
Hopefully Judy had as much fun as we did that night.
Frank always threw a great party. I don’t remember who his date was that evening, just that she was a beautiful blonde. While he was married to his first wife, Nancy, Frank was always with other women, in Hollywood and in every other city he visited. Yet Nancy is the loveliest lady there is. When Frank fell for Ava Gardner, he wanted to marry her; but he always took good care of Nancy and the children. There was no one like Frank.
Or Judy!
“DEBBIE MAKES A SPLASH”
That was how they reported it.
In 1960 I was asked to perform at a benefit for the Hollywood Boys Clubs and the Big Brothers of Greater Los Angeles, sponsored by the local radio station KLAC. It was their eleventh annual All Star Charity Show, to be held at the Hollywood Bowl. That year the other stars included Bob Hope, Rosemary Clooney, Steve Allen, Jo Stafford, Mickey Rooney, Janet Leigh, Jimmy Durante, Zsa Zsa Gabor, the Mills Brothers, and Gisele MacKenzie, among others. There were two popular musical ensembles: Paul Weston and His Orchestra and Teddy Buckner’s Dixieland Band. The emcees were celebrities in their own right, disc jockeys from the station known as the “Big Five”: Dick Haynes, George Church III, Ross McCoy, Bill Stewart, and Ray Belem.
The event took place on June 25, a Saturday. Everyone was in formal wear. Even the deejays wore white dinner jackets with their black slacks. My gown was an exquisite handmade Helen Rose creation that had a full skirt of white organdy with a white chiffon net overlay embroidered with flowers that took many seamstresses a week to sew.
I had worn this dress at the 1958 Academy Awards to sing “Tammy” when the song was nominated. The song and the dress were favorites of mine. They still are.
I was the last person to perform that night. My first album, Debbie, had been released recently, and I did a few songs from it, including my hit single “A Very Special Love” from 1958. I ended with my big hit, “Tammy,” which I’ve always sung as the final number in my act. I was thrilled by the crowd’s enthusiastic response, and thanked them.
At that time, between the amphitheater seats and the stage in the Hollywood Bowl’s iconic big white shell, there was a reflecting pool. As I was thanking the audience I got an idea.
“Now we’ll really get into the swim of things,” I announced, and said to the deejays, “It’s time to go into the pool!”
Then I ran across the platform that separated the stage from the edge of the reflecting pool . . . and jumped in!
And the deejays jumped in after me— white dinner jackets and all— as though it had all been planned.
The place went into an uproar as eighteen thousand people sprang to their feet, cheering and laughing.
The show was a smash. We raised a lot of money for the kids. Everyone had a great time.
Sometimes my comic escapades cost me some very beautiful dresses. This Helen Rose gown was exquisite—until I jumped into the pool.
Looking back on it now, I don’t know why I decided to jump in the pool, but I went right into the water without thinking about those big lights under the surface. I felt a sense of euphoria, and that seemed to be the best way to top off the evening. I didn’t even think about it; I just jumped. It was probably the dumbest thing I ever did. It’s a miracle we weren’t all electrocuted. It was the biggest splash of the time and got a lot of press, but it was taking a huge chance. In those days, I was game for anything. I took everything as a challenge. I loved being that carefree. I’d do anything for a laugh, even if it meant getting all wet.
I’m glad that I did it— except for the dress
. I was deflowered as soon as I hit the water. My gorgeous gown was ruined in an instant. I loved that dress. It made me feel beautiful while I wore it. I’ve always felt bad about ruining it.
A couple of years later I received an invitation I couldn’t refuse.
MAKING A GOOD IMPRESSION
The Chinese Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard near Highland Avenue in Los Angeles is a very popular tourist destination. In the late 1920s the owner, Sid Grauman, had the idea to have movie stars put their handprints, footprints, and signatures in the sidewalk outside his theater. He started with Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks, and ever since then almost two hundred stars have left their mark in the Grauman’s walkway. So I was very excited to be invited to have my hands and feet immortalized this way, especially since it was in the desirable area in front of the theater doors. Outside of New Jersey, there aren’t a lot of occasions when people ask you to put your feet in cement. And at the Chinese Theatre it’s a good thing.
I planned my outfit very carefully. You have to bend over to put in your hands and feet in the cement, and I didn’t want anything falling out of my dress. I wanted to be elegant and appropriate for this special day. I was about to plunk my little size fours down next to the prints of great stars like Lillian Gish and Joan Crawford.
Bill Travilla, who designed Marilyn Monroe’s famous pleated dress for The Seven Year Itch, made me a sapphire-blue dress with a square neckline and short sleeves. I wore a fabulous blue pillbox hat. Most importantly, I chose a pair of shoes with high heels so my feet would look small in the pavement— just the pointed soles of the shoes, an empty space, and two round dots for the spike heels.
The ceremony took place on January 14, 1965, a beautiful, sunny day. When I was getting ready to go to Grauman’s, I felt sick. But nothing was going to keep me from this event. I would have gotten up off my deathbed to be there. Put together from hat to heels, I got in the car for the drive to Hollywood.
Once I arrived, the fans made me feel better. A lot of people showed up. They cheered as I leaned over to place the palms of my hands in the wet cement. After I wiped off my hands, I leaned on the gentleman to my right, who kept me steady while I put first one foot, then the other on the slab. One of my fans shouted out that I should give him a shoe for a souvenir, but I needed them and had to say no. Finally I signed my name and the date, and everyone went across the street to the Roosevelt Hotel, where there was a party.
Making a good impression at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. I was thrilled to be invited to join the many stars who put their handprints and footprints in the courtyard.
In a lifetime that has had a great share of special moments, this one still makes me very proud— and people who visit now wearing sneakers aren’t able to fit their feet in my footprints.
It turned out that leaving my mark in cement for posterity was just a beginning. Three months later, on the morning of March 23, 1965, I had my own close encounter with the Final Frontier.
MOLLY BROWN IN SPACE
In 1957 the Russian satellite Sputnik became the first space-craft to orbit the earth, launching the race to the moon between the US and the Soviet Union. John Glenn was the first American to successfully orbit the earth. Alan Shepard and Gus Grissom were among our first astronauts to fly outside our planet’s atmosphere.
I met Mr. Grissom on a visit to NASA headquarters in Houston. He kindly let me sit inside the space capsule. It was an amazing experience to actually see how the astronauts travel. Such small quarters.
Gus Grissom was in a Mercury space capsule called the Liberty Bell 7 that sank when it landed in the ocean on his return trip. For his next trip, in 1965, he nicknamed the Gemini 3 spacecraf Molly Brown, after my movie, in hopes that it would be unsinkable.
When I heard about this, I was like a kid at Christmas. It was such an honor. I sent him a gift with a note that read:
All the world will be watching, especially your gal Molly Brown. Wanted to send you my red lace long drawers (worn in the film) but the worry warts say no. So here is my prettiest lace scarf for luck. Happy landing, Molly Brown.
My scarf arrived a few hours before Gemini 3 was scheduled to lift off from Cape Canaveral. Even though it wasn’t allowed, Gus Grissom took the scarf on board, and he and fellow astronaut John Young also wore patches with their names and “Molly Brown” on their uniforms. Much of America watched the launch on TV.
The Molly Brown orbited the earth three times. It was a relief when they landed safely. What a thrill for me to be a small part of our country’s space program!
THE SONG-AND-DANCE TROOP
In 1965 Carrie was attending El Rodeo Elementary School. The Boy Scouts Clubhouse was right next to the school. The mothers were invited to come to a meeting about creating a Girl Scout troop. I had always loved being a Girl Scout. I used to sell Girl Scout cookies on the Warner Brothers lot when I was a teenager, long before I was employed there. Even Hedda Hopper bought cookies from me. I was thrilled to have the chance to pass on the Girl Scout experience to my daughter. I was making The Singing Nun at that time. I left the set during my lunch break to attend the meeting.
I arrived just as it was starting, and sat down next to one of the other mothers. A woman teacher who looked about forty gave a pitch for ten minutes then asked if there were any questions. The woman beside me raised her hand. She asked where the troop meetings would take place. Could we have them at our homes? She mentioned that she’d led both Girl Scout and Boy Scout troops back in New Jersey, where she’d come from. She said she also threw in a little arts and crafts and music.
“You could do it anyplace and any way you want to,” the teacher answered. Then she said, “Who of you would like to take a troop?”
I shoved my elbow into the ribs of the woman beside me.
“You seem like a nice broad,” I said. “Let’s take a troop together.”
The woman agreed.
I raised my hand.
“We’re not taking nuns,” the teacher said, seeing what I was wearing. I didn’t have a lot of time for lunch, so I’d driven to the meeting in my habit from the film.
“I’m not a nun in real life,” I said. “My daughter goes to school here.”
I told my new partner that I was on my lunch hour and had to leave, and asked if I could stop by her house for a drink after I finished work at five.
“Absolutely. Come by.”
Her name turned out to be Sandy Avchen. A professional musician and vocal coach, before moving to Los Angeles she’d worked with Florence Henderson, who was doing a Broadway show. Sandy had been raised near Hoboken, where Frank Sinatra grew up. Her family were lawyers for Frank’s family; they bought their Cadillacs from the same people. She was already doing shows with stars like Charlton Heston to raise money for the schools.
When I got there, Sandy was waiting for me with her four kids. We talked until around 9:00 p.m., we were so excited about creating our own Girl Scout troop.
We wound up with twenty- four kids, including my daughter, Carrie. There was another troop of twenty- four, and they all wanted to be in our troop. But we couldn’t handle any more girls. My producer on The Singing Nun kindly gave me Wednesday afternoons off to be with them. Sometimes my shooting schedule didn’t leave me time to change out of costume and I’d show up in my nun’s habit as I’d done at the meeting at Carrie’s school. The kids loved it, but some of the mothers thought I was a nut.
We were the talk of the town, known as the song-and-dance troop. We had a lot of celebrity kids. Sid Caesar’s daughter was with us, and Sid’s wife was always hanging around. There were a few mothers who were extremely helpful.
Once Sandy and I wanted to take the troop camping and hiking in the desert to earn merit badges. At that time I knew the president of Western Airlines. So I called him and said, “Listen, I want to fly my Girl Scouts to Vegas,” and he kindly arranged a flight for me and Sandy and our troop. Another time everyone came to my house in Palm Springs. I knew the owner of a big bus
company, and he provided us with one of his buses and a driver. The kids all slept on my floor, and earned badges for horseback riding.
Sandy and I used to do shows. We’d rehearse down at El Rodeo.
For our first or second Halloween together, we decided to take the girls trick- or- treating on North Roxbury Drive in Beverly Hills. A lot of stars called this neighborhood home, and many of my friends lived there. After putting Carrie and Todd to sleep I would often leave them with the nanny, drive around making visits, and wind up on Roxbury. Lucille Ball’s house was on the corner of Roxbury and Lexington, above Sunset Boulevard. Jack Benny lived next door to her. Jimmy Stewart, Rosemary Clooney, and Agnes Moorehead (one of my costars in The Singing Nun) all lived on Roxbury, as did Eddie Cantor. They all knew one another. When they had parties, we all were invited. Agnes gave a big Christmas party every year, and everyone came. It was a very fun place.
That Halloween Sandy and I both dressed as clowns. The girls dressed in whatever costumes they wanted. We piled into a station wagon and a van and were on our way.
We went to Lucille Ball’s house first. Sandy and I led the girls up the long front lawn and rang Lucy’s bell. Lucy herself opened the door. Her husband, Gary Morton, was standing behind her.
“Oh, who could this be?” Lucy asked sweetly.
I leaned in and said, “It’s me, it’s Debbie.”
“And who are these adorable kids?”
“My Girl Scouts.”
“Show me your costumes.”
She was very cute about it all. Gary was a bit grumpy, but Lucy was really sweet when faced with a crowd of excited little goblins.
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