Barbara was drawn to Elisabeth’s strong screen presence and her counterintuitive views. For example, Elisabeth rejected abortion, but revealed her more complicated emotions about same-sex marriage, which was far from legal yet. “I totally struggle with it because I’m a Christian woman,” she said on TV. “Biblically, that’s not how things are supposed to be. But for me, it really boils down to love.”
“Here’s what I liked about her,” Geddie said. “She was the entire package. She was smart. She was brash. She was fearless. She really wasn’t afraid of anybody—Barbara Walters, or me, or anybody at the table. And she looked like a million bucks. I used to go to focus groups, and they’d say: ‘Please don’t fire her. I hate everything she has to say, but I can’t wait to see what she’s wearing every day.’ They loved her fashion sense.”
Elisabeth’s addition to The View was a defining moment of change for the show. “That’s when we were hitting on all cylinders,” Geddie said. The conventional wisdom was that entertainers should steer clear of partisan issues—even Oprah didn’t wade into that sphere until the 2008 election cycle, when she vociferously backed Barack Obama before he was even a candidate. “I did not want us to become a political show,” Barbara said.
By taking sides with erudite discussions about the war in Iraq, The View struck gold, as it predicted the future of America. The show re-created a society where one of its members was constantly at odds with the rest of the group, and there was no hope of ever bridging the political divide that separated her. Of course, squabbling talking heads were a fixture on shows targeted to men, such as CNN’s Crossfire. But they hadn’t dominated all corners of TV yet, and there had never been an all-female panel arguing—with their fists up in the air—about politics. Yet Elisabeth’s arrival on the show also had an oddly familiar quality to it, a nod to Jerry Springer and its intense family feuds.
In the latest iteration of The View, no topic from the political world was off-limits. Elisabeth had a megaphone to present an assortment of Republican ideas, from health care to taxes, as when she viciously fought with former professional wrestler and Minnesota governor Jesse Ventura in 2009 about waterboarding (she supported it; he didn’t). That stay-at-home moms were exposed to a heady altercation about torture, as opposed to a fluffy cooking segment, proved that The View had changed the mold. Elisabeth morphed into a polarizing figure, constantly generating press for The View. In the seasons ahead, other entertainment shows would cover her battles with liberals such as Melissa Etheridge and Michael Moore. Fox News, which later employed her, frequently showcased Elisabeth’s arguments about a hot-button topic, asking their viewers to weigh in about what she’d said or done.
Elisabeth ascended as a star for a portion of the country that felt that they didn’t have a voice at the table. There wasn’t another Republican heroine like her (Ann Coulter or Michelle Malkin didn’t hold a prominent spot on a network TV show). Elisabeth’s reach extended far in her access to political heavyweights, thanks to the Barbara Walters brand. She had face-to-face interactions with Democrats in a way that most Republicans on TV didn’t, as The View started using its new political relevance to land major players from Washington, DC.
During Hillary Clinton’s first visit—“You guys have such great chemistry,” she told the group—Elisabeth, who was still auditioning, proved that she was ahead of the curve. She asked the US senator if she was concerned about a new trend of celebrities jumping into politics after Arnold Schwarzenegger’s recent election as California governor.
“I think a lot of people worry about it,” Clinton said, not realizing she should be one of those people. “But it just depends upon what they do if they get elected. Some are successful, and some aren’t.”
As Elisabeth became more popular, she felt more emboldened to push her views. She started out as an amiable colleague who would rather talk about crafts than public policy. But her costars say that she changed. “Elisabeth came into the show as the sweet girl who had been on Survivor,” recalled Joy. “Within several months, she became this rabid Republican. It was quite shocking.”
Elisabeth and Bill would often huddle in his office with the door closed after the Hot Topics meeting, which annoyed the other cohosts. They thought he was using her as a puppet. “She was literally Bill’s mouthpiece,” Star said. “He’s so Republican. So he would go and feed her information. She would regurgitate it.” Star leaned in closer as she shared this detail. “You know I’m not lying.”
Geddie pushed back against the notion that he was coaching Elisabeth: “I think a lot of people thought I was giving Elisabeth talking points. We just happen to be two Republicans in the room. I felt it was important that she speak up, speak her mind. I gave everybody ideas about a lot of things.”
As Elisabeth’s profile grew, she gave Star a run for her money in the drama department. She had a penchant for tears in the makeup room if something didn’t go her way. She threatened to quit often, sometimes even telling Barbara to her face (or behind her back) that she was over The View. During a contentious 2011 interview with Bill Maher, Elisabeth monopolized most of the airtime to shame him for a mean-spirited, sexist joke he’d once made (Maher had suggested that we send Elisabeth to Egypt in exchange for CBS News reporter Lara Logan, who had been assaulted overseas). There was reason to be angry, but maybe not on TV. Most viewers didn’t remember the Maher joke.
Barbara was so displeased that Elisabeth had hijacked an interview to shame a guest, she took her aside the next day to tell Elisabeth that she’d crossed a line. Elisabeth refused to back down. She instead yelled back, questioning why she was being reprimanded and threatening to leave The View. In the end, she always returned—as soon as she’d cool down enough to remember the value of her seat.
To those who were close to her at work, it was as if her Republican role took over her identity. “I grew to believe that like Debbie, but in a different way, she was being force-fed her positions,” Meredith said. “I’m not sure that I always felt that it rang true. It almost felt like a caricature. It was heat for heat’s sake.”
Elisabeth’s arrival marked another evolution in the chemistry of the show. The backstage interactions among the cohosts—while pleasant—never again felt the same. There was no longer the illusion that the cohosts were friends. They were now actual adversaries. “It wasn’t as political as people think because Elisabeth wasn’t hard,” Star said. “She had opinions, but she didn’t have facts. It wasn’t as if she was the most well-read human being on the planet when it came to those opinions. And that’s typical of right-wing conservatives. They just spout stuff. So bless her heart.”
8
Bridezilla!
It was a chilly morning by Las Vegas standards. The View had come to the desert to shoot a week of episodes in an outdoor studio at Caesars Palace outfitted like the Roman Colosseum. On February 16, 2004, four of the ladies, all bundled up in sweaters and parkas, hiked to the stage. But one cohost received a more spectacular introduction—riding on top of a caravan, carried by four black men dressed as gladiators.
“Move over Cleopatra, Barbara Walters has arrived in Vegas,” Meredith Vieira said, laughing.
Talk shows will sometimes travel to new locations during sweeps month for a spike in the ratings. (ABC will frequently use this as an excuse to milk free screen time for Disney World or other theme parks owned by its parent company.) Yet on this day, a change in venue wasn’t really necessary, since viewers had another reason to tune in. The night before, Star Jones had finally seen her number one dream come true, as her boyfriend, Al Reynolds, popped the question. This wasn’t a private exchange. He got down on one knee at the NBA All-Star Game in Los Angeles and said into a handheld microphone, “Star Jones, will you marry me?” The unabashedly romantic gesture was met with cheers from twenty thousand fans. Even Denzel Washington, seated next to the happy couple, broke out into a grin.
As the image of Star covering her face in pretend shock filled the JumboTron, the fla
shiest View cohost found herself back in the tabloids—this time for good reasons. Her fandom, though lessened by her weirdness over her gastric bypass, knew how much she had always yearned for a husband. She’d talked about it on The View relentlessly. However, back at work, the other cohosts sounded like ambivalent bridesmaids.
“Star Jones got engaged last night,” Meredith said.
“She’s got the ring!” Elisabeth Hasselbeck chirped. “Show off the bling, Star.”
“Al popped the question in the middle of the NBA All-Star Game,” Star said.
“How understated can you get?” Joy Behar said.
“Did you cry?” Elisabeth wanted to know.
“I know you never expected it,” Barbara added, sarcastically, about the spectacle. “Very private.”
“I knew it was going to happen this weekend, because on Thursday, Al asked my parents for my hand in marriage.”
“How about the rest of you?” Joy poked.
The camera zoomed in on Star’s glistening diamond ring, as she gushed about how hard it was to patiently wait for it.
“So at the top of the fourth, you got five carats,” Meredith said, before changing the subject.
Joy had a story to tell about how she took the same plane to Vegas as Barbara, which calmed Joy’s fear of flying. (True to form, Barbara was the star of this adventure, after she accidentally knocked over a glass of water before takeoff, wetting herself “on the crotch.”) Elisabeth talked about how her husband, Tim, was late to a dinner because he’d gone gambling, a habit she didn’t appreciate. These tales were hardly comparable to Star’s life-changing moment of bliss, but they received equal airtime.
It wouldn’t stay that way for long, as Star Jones’s wedding of the century soon hijacked The View. Star had grand expectations for her big day. She didn’t just envision a lavish ceremony. She wanted to host a star-studded event that would feel like the US version of a royal wedding, where she’d play the part of Lady Di. “That’s how she perceived it to be,” said David Tutera, who orchestrated her wedding. And she wanted The View to help foot the bill.
After the trip to Vegas, Star sat down one afternoon with Barbara and Bill. She told them that she wanted the planning for her wedding to be a recurring theme on the show, via segments in which the viewers could follow along. This would allow Star to ask for things for free. Such personal product placement was good for Star, but it violated a golden rule of TV. As one high-level ABC executive put it, “You don’t give advertising away; that’s not how it works. And there were so many conflicts. What happens if you upset a sponsor by promoting a competing brand?”
Star wasn’t concerned about any of that. “I said, ‘It might be something fun for us to do on the show.’” She came up with the idea to extend giveaways to the audience, so that everybody could benefit from the freebies. Star pointed out how Oprah and Ellen DeGeneres did the same thing in the years that followed. “It’s now the coolest thing in the world,” Star said.
As the boss, Barbara could have vetoed this scheme. Yet the journalist inside her was terrified of losing an exclusive. When Star made her pitch, she presented it with a crafty ultimatum, saying that she’d take the story of her wedding to another entertainment show—such as Extra or Access Hollywood—if The View didn’t want it. So Barbara went along with the plan, afraid that she’d lose out on buzz for a program that, in Season 7, was approaching the television equivalent of middle age.
“In retrospect,” Geddie recalled, “I should have said, ‘Take your wedding somewhere else! Just don’t talk about it here.’ But it seemed stupid. It was a big event and we wanted to make the most of it. We were caught in the middle.”
To avoid fines from the Federal Communications Commission, the show had to list in the closing credits every brand that Star hawked. “We were completely aboveboard about it,” Geddie said. The View’s place in daytime, as opposed to news, allowed some wiggle room. But it also caused confusion, because Barbara was still a member of the news division, where an anchor wouldn’t be caught dead shilling for free food or flowers. “These things were done on a lot of different shows,” Geddie said. “They were not done on shows with Barbara Walters on them.”
Although ABC executives later feigned ignorance about what was going on, the network had been kept in the loop. The show even assigned a producer, Dana Goodman, to ring up the companies on behalf of the bride, pursuing her outrageous demands. Staffers recall hearing Star brusquely place orders for one product after the next as Goodman scrambled to keep up. “It wasn’t as if everybody didn’t know what was going on,” Star said. “I love how there was all this talk about how Star got freebies. The show made those calls. I was never allowed to legally plug anything on ABC without it being disclosed. And they went back to every piece of tape; there was not one time that we did not give written disclosure that there had been some consideration.”
Whatever the legal implications, ABC had a rule that forbade employees from accepting gifts worth more than $75—even Disney/ABC Television Group president Anne Sweeney made a point of returning jewelry presented to her on overseas trips. At The View, the staff felt as if they were watching a car wreck in slow motion. “You’re allowing this lady to get married and use us to get everything for free,” said one prominent producer. “It was so sketch. We all hated it and knew eventually the viewers would catch on and say, ‘This is tacky and disgusting.’”
It wasn’t hard to connect the dots because Star’s every move had purposefully been choreographed for millions to see. When it came to her decorations, Star had high-end tastes. “Star loves crystals,” said Tutera. “She loves opulence. She loves everything big and glamorous. I refer to it as more is more. That was really the vibe of her wedding.” However, on daytime TV, where a host is supposed to present herself as relatable, all that bling created a chasm between her and the stay-at-home moms.
“I’m so giggly, I can’t stop!” Star gushed in a segment about her engagement party, alongside the other ladies (who looked miserable) and Tutera. She’d poached her enthusiastic companion—a younger version of Martin Short in Father of the Bride—from The View, where he had appeared as an expert on entertaining. As Star went on about herself, Barbara rolled her eyes. Next came a shameless plug for TheStationeryStudio.com, an online vendor that Star had used for cards. After that, she fawned over a series of over-the-top candelabra settings.
On another day, Star could enlist only Elisabeth to stand by her side for the hyped debut of her official wedding invitations (“She had so many invitations,” griped one producer). Tutera rolled through a few of the cheaper options before he revealed Star’s choice. Rather than a paper stuffed inside an envelope, Star would be sending out a box packed with a magnolia leaf and a satin pillow, tucked with pearls that carried her save-the-date card.
“You better get another job to pay for this invite,” Elisabeth wailed when she learned that each one cost $85. (For a wedding the size of Jones’s, with 450 guests, that meant $38,250 on invitations alone!)
But Star didn’t need a second job. “Thanks to Alpine for all those invitations,” she said, beaming, as she cut to a commercial.
* * *
Months before all this, Stephanie Guillen, a thirty-eight-year-old construction worker from Longmont, Colorado, had been watching The View one morning with her mom, who had diabetes. The show had done a segment about the disease, with additional information available on its website. When Guillen logged on to learn more, she stumbled upon a contest, a chance to win a Star Treatment. Guillen had submitted a photo and details about her long days of physical labor in overalls and a hard hat. A few weeks later, Star personally called her to tell her she’d been selected for a makeover on national TV.
Guillen flew to New York in November 2003, where she was given a shopping spree at Saks Fifth Avenue, a massage, a facial, and her first-ever manicure and pedicure (with Star, in a fur coat, accompanying her, as a fairy godmother who shared in all the perks). Star, who could
be generous when the mood struck, invited Guillen to her apartment, showering her with free boxes of Payless shoes. After that, Star took her new friend out to dinner, where they commiserated about being single. “You could tell something was missing,” Guillen recalled. They attended a party for Alicia Keys’s new album (The Diary of Alicia Keys), where both women ambushed the unsuspecting pop star as a camera crew from The View chronicled their adventures.
“She introduced me to all these people,” Guillen said, including music mogul Clive Davis and Pink. “The whole thing was a grand experience.”
After Keys belted out a few songs, Star felt some eyes on her. “We were standing in the center watching Alicia, and there was a gentleman in the back of the room to the right,” Guillen said. “We’re trying to be pretty cool. She said, ‘Do you see him?’ I said, ‘Yeah, he’s cute.’”
Star went over to get a better look. “She left me with Pink,” Guillen said. “And they chitchatted.” Star came back with a spring in her step; the man’s name was Al Reynolds and they had an immediate connection. In Shine, Star remembered that moment with Al: “This handsome man with skin the color of cooked butter, this man with the most beautiful lips I’d ever seen, a Clark Gable jawline, and the deepest brown eyes on the planet … I was charmed out of my wits.” She heard a bell ring. “It was a bell of exultation, not warning,” she wrote.
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