Getting Real

by Gretchen Carlson

  I was told that I should aspire to create “diamonds of light” in the spaces between my legs. That’s another thing I’d never considered before—the spaces between my legs. I thought of my great grandmother with her solid legs—not a hint of light to be seen. I had that inheritance to overcome. As a chubby child, I’d had no space between my thighs, but now I had to work to get that “light” at five different places. It made my head spin.

  Our final mother-daughter road trip stop was Greenville, South Carolina, to meet with Stephen Yearick, the gown designer. On our way to his shop, we stopped at Burger King, where we had a difference of opinion about how much money we would spend on my custom evening gown. I thought we’d have to spend way more than my mom was budgeting. I’d heard the stories of contestants who spent big bucks and ordered several different gowns. I was looking at only one gown, but I assumed it would be pricey.

  Stephen was genuine and extremely charming. Bursting with fervor, he promised me, “It will be fabulous! We’ll put together the most fabulous evening gown for you!” My mother and I loved his enthusiasm. He was good, and better still, he made me feel good.

  Stephen had a roomful of dresses for me to try on. I told him I wanted to look taller. We settled on a design, a silk dress with elaborate beading that would be done overseas. Dresses are simpler these days and you rarely see beading, but this was the 1980s and everything was ostentatious. When Stephen designed my gown, we were pleasantly surprised when he said it would be under $3,000. He might have been taking pity on me, thinking I didn’t have a chance of winning, but we were thrilled with the result.

  Stephen was a genius, and his process was fascinating. To customize my gown to perfection he fitted a muslin fabric over my body and pinned it exactly to every inch and curve so the dress would fit me alone. After the gown arrived from overseas we had to get creative about the bra. Since the gown was low in the back it was impossible to wear a regular bra or even a corset bra because it would have left a visible line at the waist. It needed to be perfect, and this was in the days before Spanx! So we figured out a contraption and had a seamstress make it. It was an underwire bra that went around my armpits and down around each leg with a loop to give me support but hide any chance of lines.

  Let me add that I wore that gown to my twenty-fifth Miss America anniversary in September 2013—the first time I’d put it on since the pageant. A big breakfast was planned for five hundred people. I called Stephen a few days before the event. “I have a harebrained idea to try and get into my competition gown for the anniversary,” I said. There was silence on the other end of the phone. I could guess what he was thinking—that I’d be lucky to squeeze even my big toe into that dress!

  “Stephen?” I said into the silent phone. “Uh, I need your help.” He told me to meet him with the dress at a place in Times Square called Bra Tenders, which is a specialty undergarment shop for actresses and theater folks. I went into the dressing room with a woman who pulled a few Spanx garments out and a few bras. I tried on the dress, and, much to my shock, we could zip it up! It was a little tight, but it was on. When we opened the curtain to show Stephen, he gasped. “Oh my God!” he cried. “I can’t believe you can get that on. Your boobs look fabulous!” Truth is, after two kids and more “maturity,” my boobs were bigger than when I was a twenty-two-year-old skinnier version of myself.

  The gown was also much shorter than when I wore it in the pageant. I figured it was because I was wearing five-inch platform heels, and back in 1988 the highest heels I could find were three inches. Stephen helpfully observed that it might also be shorter because it was tighter and it cinched up.

  Four days later at the breakfast, Stephen was my partner in crime in the women’s bathroom off to the side of the huge ballroom where I was going to be announced before coming out to speak. We had snuck off to the bathroom in the middle of the program so he could help me get into the gown.

  Sam Haskell, the CEO of the pageant, did a wonderful introduction of me and played a video on the big screen of my talent performance and my crowning. I then walked out on the stage in my pageant dress and the whole room gasped and applauded. It was a sweet moment. My parents were seated at the front table and I honored them as my best friends and for always being my rock and foundation in life. It was a very moving event.

  • • •

  The Miss Minnesota pageant took place in June at the Riverside Arena in Austin, Minnesota, a rural area near Rochester, where the Mayo Clinic is. Austin is famous for Hormel ham. There were twenty-four contestants, and my number was twenty-two, which was great because that was my lucky number.

  Compared to Miss Cottage Grove, the state competition was the “big time,” since the winner would represent the whole state and go on to Atlantic City. Even so, there was a nice homespun quality about it. During the pageant I lived in a sponsor home with another contestant. We slept upstairs in a guest room with twin beds. Lowell and Faye Anderson were a wonderful couple, and I was touched by how warm and welcoming they were, making us feel right at home. I remember that Faith made delicious mini-muffins that we later dubbed “lucky muffins” after I won.

  The four competitive events were talent, swimsuit, evening gown, and interview. We started in small groups and then advanced through to the finals. I wore the white bathing suit in the swimsuit portion, and Ann Bogart was right. I actually looked pretty good in that swimsuit. In fact, I “won” in my initial group of four, which was quite a surprise—not to mention a vindication. In the talent competition when I played the Carmen Fantasy, I knew I’d nailed it. The applause was deafening. I won the preliminary talent award for the whole pageant.

  My question was what I saw as the greatest challenge facing the country. I said, “The breakdown of the family,” pointing out that other problems were a manifestation of that. I felt pretty satisfied with my answer. I believed it, and I’m sure it went over well in Minnesota, which is a family-values state.

  By the finale, I was feeling pretty confident, but you never know. At the end I was standing there with one other contestant, and when they called her name as first runner-up, I realized I had won. I beamed and cried. I’d actually done it!

  So it was on to Miss America. I immediately started doing intel on the other state winners, getting tapes of their talent segments so I could see what I was up against. I studied them intently. I also watched as many tapes as I could find from former Miss America pageants.

  The pageant was on September 10 and I had less than two months to prepare. Actually, I had no time to prepare, because I was busy traveling the state making appearances as Miss Minnesota. My mind was already in Atlantic City, and it was hard to manage everything I had to do. But I loved my state, and the people were incredibly enthusiastic. On several weekends I toured the state and stayed in the homes of wonderful families. These were mostly small towns, just like Anoka, and the people greeted me with open arms. I wished I had more opportunity to relax and enjoy the experience, but the big competition loomed ahead of me.

  There was a lot of pressure, but most of it came from inside. Many years later I was amused to come across a Q&A I did for a local newspaper after I won Miss Minnesota. The answers are quite revealing:

  Nobody would believe it if they saw me:

  “Relaxed.”

  I can die happy once I’ve:

  “Eaten over 1,200 calories every day of my life.”

  I’ve never been able to:

  “Go away on vacation when I didn’t have to worry about anything.”

  Some people might say that level of drive is unhealthy, but while there were times of stress, for the most part I found the process of pursuing a goal to be exhilarating and sometimes joyful. Sure, it was tempting to imagine kicking back and not having a care in the world, but that wasn’t me, and I understood that about myself.

  I was still preparing like crazy, especially for the interview, which was a big part of th
e pageant. The pageant people set up mock interviews, which my dad helped with, gathering panels of friends and businesspeople from the community. They’d throw every question they could think of at me. Sometimes it was pretty comical. I remember one panel was held in someone’s basement. One of the first questions was, “What do you think of euthanasia?” I didn’t know what euthanasia was—what I heard was youth in Asia—so I gamely replied, “I think it’s great young people can travel to Asia.” Answers like that can get you pegged forever as dumb, but everyone thought it was funny. To this day I get teased by some people about it.

  My “euthanasia” mistake proved why practicing the interview so many times was important. Dad set up some mock interviews at his car dealership, and we videotaped them and learned a lot. For example, I saw that I always gestured with my right hand when I spoke, so I had to work on that. I also practiced sitting. Some years the interviews were held standing up, but our year we’d be seated, so I tested out different hemline lengths. Not a single detail went unnoticed.

  Another important piece of the preparation was filling out the contestant fact sheet. My mom and I worked on this for weeks. The judges would use it as their reference point, and our strategy was to make it full of information that was interesting, would help me stand out, and we hoped would keep the interview focused on me personally and not so much on world events. I was well aware that the interview was the first impression the judges would have of me, and I figured the more they knew and liked me, the better my score would be. On my fact sheet I stressed my academics and my violin performances—especially performing with Isaac Stern and the Minnesota Orchestra. I also added personal details—my love of sushi, my perfect pitch, my international travels, and the fact that my grandfather was the minister of the second largest Lutheran church in America. My ambition? “To be the first Miss America with a classical violin talent; to complete my undergraduate degree at Stanford University; to enter into graduate law studies.”

  I felt as ready as I’d ever be, but some people still thought of me as an underdog because of my height. Even my beloved grandfather told me before the pageant that I would probably lose.

  “Sparkles, you’re a lovely girl, but you’re never going to be Miss America,” he said.

  “Why not?” I tried not to sound offended.

  “You’re too short,” he said.

  I refused to take that as fact. Had there never been a short Miss America? I went to the library and found a book on the Miss America pageant. I discovered that the very first Miss America in 1921, Margaret Gorman, was five foot one. I had two and a half inches on her! I ran back to set my grandfather straight.

  A week before the pageant, it turned out that I had a worse problem than my height. I started getting water blisters all over my face. I panicked. What was going on? My mom drove me to the dermatologist, who took one look at me and said, “Oh, this isn’t good.”

  I was alarmed. “What is it?” I demanded, almost ready to cry. “I’m leaving to compete in the Miss America pageant next week and I really need it to go away.”

  She stared at me in disbelief. “You’re going to compete in the Miss America pageant looking like that? You have facial warts.”

  Facial warts? I was too stunned to speak.

  “This condition is usually related to stress,” the doctor explained. “Do you have any unusual stress in your life right now?” Was she kidding? “Oh, I guess so.” But not to worry. She had a prescription cream she said would clear it right up. And it did.

  The experience gave me pause, though. I had spent my whole life knowing how to manage many things at one time and always succeeding, and this was no different. Except that my body was finally telling me how much stress I was really under by supplying a very unpretty physical manifestation.

  • • •

  I arrived in Atlantic City, with my fifty fellow contestants, ten days before the pageant. I was assigned to my room, which I would be sharing with a traveling companion from my state. The pageant is a very well-chaperoned event. You’re never alone. Each day your personal chaperone hands you off to a member of the National Hosting Committee, who is responsible for your safety and well-being, transportation, and all other necessities. All of these guides and chaperones are very well vetted, and most of them have lots of experience. They became an important emotional support system as well, since they’d been through it so many times before. They kept telling me, “Relax and enjoy the experience,” and if I was able to do that at all, it was thanks to them.

  The theme of the show, in keeping with the new focus on achievement, was “A Salute to Success!” Most of our time the first few days was spent practicing the lavish production numbers, which are a big part of the televised show but do absolutely nothing for you in terms of winning. The opening number was an intensely choreographed song and dance number called “Success.” Luckily, they had professional dancers, dubbed “the Miss America dancers,” doing a slick routine, while we paraded behind them, singing and smiling—wearing outfits that weren’t that attractive but were very 1980s. Mine had black and white polka dots with outlandishly puffy shoulders. The second number was a tropical-themed routine, an homage to Kaye Lani Rae Rafko, Miss America 1988’s talent number, which had been a Tahitian dance performance. Once again the Miss America dancers took the lead, along with Kaye Lani, while the rest of us, draped in leis, made Tahitian-style movements. I was way in the back, up on a platform. I had never been a sexy, flaunt-my-body dancer kind of person, or a dancer at all. I took ballet for one month when I was five, and I hated it. Of course, they picked the best dancers for the front row. Believe me, I wasn’t one of them.

  We also practiced every aspect of the televised pageant—how to walk out in a swimsuit and evening gown, where to twirl, where to stand, and even how to win. A mock Miss America winner was chosen to walk the runway, so we could see how it was done.

  For the first time that year, Miss America had two panels of judges. The first panel judged the preliminaries and selected the top ten contestants, who would be featured in the television broadcast. The second panel of celebrity judges made the final decisions on pageant night. The celebrity judges, who would be sitting in an orchestra pit below the stage, were Eileen Ford, Eva Gabor, Deborah Norville, Brian Boitano, Phyllis George, George Peppard, Richard Dysart, Walter Anderson, Blair Underwood, Dr. Joyce Brothers, William Farley, and Lili Fini Zanuck. I was nervous about being judged by Eileen Ford. I knew this wasn’t strictly a beauty pageant, but she judged models and rejected any who weren’t at least five foot eight—preferably taller. I was also worried I wouldn’t have a supporter in Eva Gabor (although she was five foot two), but I was dead wrong. Eva loved me. Later, when I was on the road in California, she took me shopping on Rodeo Drive in her fancy car. She said she wanted to do it because, she said, “People tell me you look like my daughter.” Very sweet.

  Once the judges were announced, I studied their backgrounds to try and get to know them. Where possible I found out their opinions on important issues so I wouldn’t inadvertently offend them. (It never occurred to me until William Goldman wrote about it that talking about my values and faith would be offensive to anyone.)

  I did wonder how the celebrity judges could really understand the contestants and the contest enough to make the right decisions. I found out in 2000 when I was a celebrity judge. You’re schooled thoroughly on the pageant, the process, and the top ten contestants. You spend a considerable amount of time getting to know who these women are—not just on the stage, but their backgrounds, achievements, and aspirations. It made me feel better about the celebrity judges many years earlier.

  The preliminary judges were responsible for four days of mini-pageants, Tuesday through Friday. Tuesday was swimsuit, Wednesday talent, and Thursday evening gown. On Friday we had the Miss America Boardwalk Parade. Interviews were held on Tuesday.

  The preliminary point system was:

&
nbsp; Talent: 50 percent

  Swimsuit: 15 percent

  Evening gown/personality/expression: 15 percent

  Interview: 20 percent

  On Saturday night the final point system for the top ten contestants would be:

  Talent: 40 percent

  Swimsuit: 20 percent

  Evening gown/personality/expression: 40 percent

  The interview on Tuesday was seven minutes long, and I remember entering the room feeling nervous but ready to take on the challenge. I had studied hard to prepare for any question that might get asked, but this wasn’t a current events quiz. I was well aware that the celebrity judges would also be reviewing the interview, and it would be a factor in their decision. I left the room hoping I had made a good impression. You only have one shot at a first impression. Years later when I read William Goldman’s book I saw what he thought of me: “Real bright, chunky, self-possessed.” He said I would have made the “most dedicated Sunday school teacher in the history of the world.” I know he meant it as a jab, because I stressed the importance of values. I don’t think of it as an insult one bit. He also wrote that I had more chance of winning than he did. But not much.

  A year after my pageant, Miss America formally introduced the concept of a platform, which required each contestant to choose an issue about which she cared deeply and that was of relevance to our country. During her year as Miss America, she would use the title to further her platform. It was a wonderful addition, but in my year we didn’t have the platform yet. If there had been one, mine would have been my life’s passion—the fine arts and education—which I ended up stressing during my entire year on the road. My interview questions stayed pretty close to the fact sheet that my mom and I had spent countless hours perfecting. That strategy proved to be a good one, as it kept the judges focused more on what I’d done in my life and less on controversial issues.