by Diane Keaton
After a couple of months, I noticed that Dad was even more dependent than before on Mom’s approval, as well as on her limitless interest in encouraging his pursuits. With more adult eyes, I could see that, in a way, he was just another one of us kids. He’d ask her advice on how to deal with clients who wouldn’t pay the bills, or how to handle lazy employees. She alone helped propel him into a more profitable career. When September approached, and I was heading back to begin my second year at the Neighborhood Playhouse, I wondered if any one of us would ever encourage Mom’s dreams.
Later that year, one of Robin’s letters began by describing a loss of innocence in America, a sort of national feeling of anger. She wrote about the Vietnam War, and all the young men who were dying for our country. Nobody talked about it at home. She was worried Randy might be drafted.
Randy does hang out with an occasional friend now and then. With them he laughs and appears incredibly easy to be around. The Randy I see on these occasions strikes me as more like a façade. But then putting on a façade is something everyone in our family is good at. This may sound strange, but sometimes I wonder if he might be someone I wouldn’t want to know. Mom’s the one who’s most touched by him. To me he doesn’t fit the description of a brother. It’s hard to understand him. I really don’t think anybody does, not even mom. His room is sort of barren looking. On the plus side, I wish you could have seen mom’s surprise when he got a A in his creative writing class at Santa Ana Junior College. Apparently, his teacher told him his poetry was interesting, so much so she’s going to submit one to the school paper. Mom was beaming when she told me, “He will make it, just you wait and see, he will make it.”
Miss you,
Love Rob
And then, later that same year, this letter from Mom:
Dear Diane,
Randy got a notice to report to the Draft. He needs a doctor’s letter stating that he’s unable to fight in a war. It’s a disturbing element in all our lives. Last week he went for the physical and got sick, so I had to pick him up. Tomorrow he goes back. Grandma Hall called to see what happened. She thinks he was scared! Well, why not? Wouldn’t you be? What does everyone have against peace? A letter arrived the other day asking for verification from a psychologist that Randy’s unable to serve. It felt like a threat. He’s so anxious!
Love, mom
Mom made Randy see a psychiatrist, who sent a letter to the draft board assuring the powers that be that a certain John Randolph Hall from Santa Ana, California, was not fit to serve. I wonder now what Mom did with that letter, and, moreover, what it said about Randy’s psychological problems. According to Dorrie, Dad did not discuss Randy’s Conscientious Objection to the war, or the so-called medical issue that got him out of induction. Vietnam was no longer a topic of conversation over dinner. Instead, Dad began pushing Randy to come work at Hall and Foreman. Randy responded with that goofy “okey-dokey” manner, as if everything was all right, even though it wasn’t. Most of the time he’d stay in his room and wouldn’t come out. To Dorrie, the whole draft event was strange, because Randy previously appeared to have every intention of enlisting. She wondered if there was a disconnect between how Randy presented himself and who he was.
At the Neighborhood Playhouse, I was consumed with envy. Cricket Cohen got all of chain-smoking guru Sandy Meisner’s praise. I was having a hard time “living truthfully under given imaginary circumstances.”
One day, in the middle of a repetition exercise that began with an observation, I said, “Cricket, why are you smiling at me?”
Cricket responded with “I’m not smiling at you. You look jealous of my power,” or something like that, anyway.
I replied, “You’re not smiling at me?”
Cricket said, “Why would I waste my time responding to such a dumb remark?”
“A dumb remark?” I said.
Suddenly Mr. Meisner stopped the exercise, pointed his finger in my face, and said, “There’s a slight chance you’re going to be a good actress someday. But you desperately need to experience more life and stop being so damn general,” which was another way of saying I hadn’t taken notice of Cricket’s attitude, nor did I seem bold enough to follow my instincts instead of repeating such half-assed responses.
Twice a month, I’d walk down the stairs of the Rehearsal Club, a theatrical girls’ boarding house and my home away from home, and dutifully put quarters into the pay phone attached to the basement wall. I’d listen to family news. Robin had a new boyfriend, named Bob Gulley. Mom was almost finished with her college degree. Dad’s business was doing well. Dorrie got straight A’s on her report card. I did not ask about Randy’s state of mind.
One day, a large manila envelope was waiting for me at the front desk. Inside, Mom had sent a recent photograph taken with her new Nikon F camera. The back of the eight-by-ten-inch black-and-white picture was stamped “Dorothy Hall 845 North Towner Street, Santa Ana, California 91706 Photographer.” On the front, Randy’s nineteen-year-old hand leans against a thin wooden railing. A hawk’s talons are wrapped around its circumference. With its back to the camera, the hawk outstretches its wings, as if ready to fly into the background of a hazy, endless sky.
Looking back at this picture, taken fifty years ago, I now see a hawk about to airlift his next meal, my brother’s extended hand. On Randy’s middle finger, I recognize one of the six silver rings Mother made for each family member the summer she took a silversmith workshop at Santa Ana Junior College. Each ring was an emblem of her endless pursuit of love. Who but our mother would make six identical rings, one for each of us, in honor of securing our eternal bond?
I imagine Randy admiring the hawk, especially its visual acuity. I can picture him trying to understand the hawk’s perfectly timed sudden dashes from hidden perches, to sink its talons into some unlucky lizard or frog. Randy must have loved speculating on the hunt and its consequences. I doubt that Randy took into consideration that a hawk might be free from pondering the full cycle of its actions.
Even though Mom’s photograph reveals nothing more than a wooden railing, a faceless hawk flapping its wings, a silver band on an unusually long-fingered hand in the middle of a white background, it tells a story. In one of his journals, Randy writes: “In an old photograph, I’m looking in the wrong direction. Even now I watch out the wrong window for a falling star. But, once again it is somebody else’s miracle.”
Miracles were scarce back at home. Robin and Dorrie both reported that drinking had become a nightly ritual with our parents. Even before Mom’s glass was half empty, Dad would insist on refilling it. According to Robin, Mom was struggling with change. I was long gone. Randy retreated to his room as often as possible. One night, she told me, our parents had a huge fight over the fact that I didn’t want to go on family vacation that summer. Mom, as expected, stuck up for me. After a lot of yelling, Dad suddenly got out of control and threw a wine bottle at her. It smashed against the kitchen wall. This was the beginning of a separation that lasted almost six months.
Mom did not include this episode in her journal. No longer part of the daily family dynamic, I felt sad but also confused about my parents’ relationship, and the effect it must be having on Robin and Dorrie, and of course Randy. Mom moved to the little cabin in Silverado Canyon, north of Santa Ana, they’d bought a few years before. She took Robin and Dorrie with her. To this day, I’ll never understand why she tried to talk Randy into staying with Dad. But he wasn’t having it…not at all. Jack Hall was destined to live alone in the sprawling home two blocks north of 17th Street in Santa Ana.
Even though my decision had triggered the fight, Randy remained the focus of our family’s conflicts. Dad, never welcomed in Mom’s exclusive inner circle, was now defective material. Yet in all her journals she continued to insist that life, for the most part, was a breeze. “An interesting comment today from a shopkeeper. He ment
ioned he was buying for Christmas now!! Can you believe in late May? Talk about commercial trickery.” “Off to Elfin forest in Escondido mountains; lots of hiking trails.” “Robin loves the nursing classes she’s taking. It’s so good to see her feel so confident and proud.” “Had a long talk with Dorrie about college.” “Randy’s taken to playing one of his three guitars all over the house. He has to become great. He loves Music like a deep all consuming gift.” That was Mom.
After emotions had cooled, she moved back to her apologetic Jack. At this point, Randy, in an effort to clear things up with Dad, and no doubt encouraged by Mom, told Dad he was having a hard time deciding what to do with his life. He said he felt he needed more of an education and talked about enrolling at Santa Ana Junior College full time. Dad liked the initiative and offered him a part-time job at Hall and Foreman. Randy took it.
* * *
—
Back home, in a journal entry from 1968, Mom wrote:
I’m so excited Randy’s taking a few classes at Santa Ana. He’s also working part time at Hall and Foreman learning how to be a surveyor. We decided to let him stay in the Silverado Canyon Cabin. He loves his independence. He met a young woman named Sally Tharpe at work. Her father is a judge in San Diego. It’s all very vague. I don’t exactly know what Sally’s job is in the office, but she seems nice. They’ve dated a few times. I’m very excited for him. Randy’s never had a girlfriend before. Sally has a son from a previous marriage, a boy named Johnny. This is all new territory.
Randy never mentioned Sally to me. On the other hand, how could he have? We didn’t talk then, nor did we correspond. One time, he reached out by sending me a few of his poems: “Diane. Take a look and see what you think. Thanks a bunch. Love Randy.” There, among several pieces with titles like “China Paint” and “Passing Over,” I read a passage that stuck.
The yellow tongue of the calla lily draws a hummingbird to its bell-shaped mouth. The hummer hangs in the morning air before plunging its head into the velvet hollow. Her well is dry. In the twitch of a particle what “is” becomes what “was.”
Randy liked the quiet atmosphere of Silverado Canyon. He continued working for Dad, which was made bearable with Sally in the office. Their relationship grew. She kept Randy grounded. Soon enough, she moved in with him. Mom surmised he was genuinely in love, although, as was typical of Randy, he chose not to share his feelings.
I remember meeting Sally for the first time on a surprise trip I made home that Easter. In their free time, Randy and Robin had been working on a singing act. He wrote the music and played the guitar, while Robin performed the vocals. On Wednesday nights, one of the local clubs let prospective performers try out their songs on an audience. Mom and I drove up to sit at the bar with Sally and watch them sing. At ten-thirty, after a long set by one of the regulars, the owner introduced Randy and Robin. Randy was pretty drunk. As Robin began to sing, I was surprised by her sweet, lilting voice, and by how beautiful she looked onstage. Watching Randy was almost unbearable. He seemed so vulnerable, his feelings were so transparent, I thought he might cry. At the end of their brief set, he asked the manager if there was time to sing another song. Greeted with “Not now,” Randy walked out of the bar. Sally followed. I’d never seen Randy ask for anything.
Later, we found them outside the cabin, sharing a pint of beer. After the experience at the club, he never did ask for anything, with the exception of asking Sally for her hand in marriage.
CHAPTER 5
TILL DEATH DO US PART
Not long after I graduated from the Neighborhood Playhouse, I was cast in the Broadway musical Hair. Since I was not a hippie, or much of a singer, I was stunned. For eight months of 1968, I was a tribe member who sang in a trio, “Black Boys.” I remember lying under a huge scrim, night after night, watching a variety of tribe members stand up naked as Claude, played by James Rado, sang “Where Do I Go?” The music was great, and the play had a dizzy energy audiences loved. Still, I wondered where I was going, and what would come next.
What came next was more than I ever could have imagined. When I landed an audition for Woody Allen’s Play It Again, Sam, on Broadway, miracle of miracles, I got the female lead. Woody was brilliant, hilarious, and cute, too. In Lovers and Other Strangers, my first movie, I was cast in a small part, a young woman in the middle of a divorce. The year was 1970. At my audition for The Godfather, I thought it was a waste of time. I was not the kind of actress to play a fine upper-class young woman happy to marry and take a back seat to the likes of Michael Corleone. What were they thinking? I didn’t even want the part.
Life started flying by. I rarely went home to California, nor did I focus on what was going on there. I knew Randy had continued to share Mom and Dad’s little getaway cabin in Silverado Canyon with Sally. I didn’t bother to ask Randy how things were going. In May 1973, having finished my fourth movie, Woody Allen’s Sleeper, I had enough money to rent a nice brownstone apartment on the Upper West Side. I was firmly planted in New York City, and my acting life had taken a definite turn for the better. One day, I got a call from Mom. She had an announcement to make: Randy was getting married.
Two months later, on the morning of July 21, 1973, I was home with the family, getting ready for the wedding that would take place later that day behind the cabin in Silverado Canyon. Grammie Hall called, wanting to know if I thought it would be all right for her to wear the new pantsuit she’d bought at the Ivers department store. She was bringing George Olsen, our stand-in grandfather and Grammie’s longtime tenant/companion of thirty years, who did magic tricks with cards, and fed pigeons little pieces of old bread out of his hand. Before Grammie hung up, she wanted to tell me something important: “A good marriage can be a turning point, Diane, and a turning point is just what Randy needs. Before Sally, he was turning into a do-nothing bum!”
At four o’clock in the afternoon, thirty-five people were drinking sangria under the eucalyptus trees, waiting for Sally’s father, Judge Ross Tharpe, to begin the ceremony. Mrs. Tharpe, Sally’s mother, was a formidable figure in her bright-yellow dress. As Randy walked down the aisle with a new haircut in an embroidered white wedding shirt, wearing a big grin, Robin, Dorrie, Mom, Dad, and I were nothing short of amazed. I’d never seen Randy look like that; he’d literally been transformed by the occasion. When the “Wedding March” began to play, Sally, in a Mexican-themed white brocaded dress, with her strawberry-blond hair tied back, seemed to float toward her destiny, looking attractive, and strong. She had a bold presence.
Judge Tharpe wore the traditional black robe, with prayer book in hand. As Sally and Randy vowed to stick it out “through sickness and health…till death do us part,” Randy placed the ring on Sally’s finger. Mother’s eyes, even Dad’s, welled up in tears. It was hard to grapple with the fact that my brother, of all people, had pledged eternal love while also taking on the responsibility of raising Sally’s hyperkinetic seven-year-old son, Johnny.
The Tharpe family was educated; Grammie Hall nailed them as “upper-crust types.” While waiters passed out drinks, she quietly sat next to George. After a few glasses of wine, Grammie Keaton, quite giddy, roamed around congratulating everyone. The food, prepared by Phillip, a caterer from San Diego, was delicious. The whole Tharpe family, including Sally’s sisters, Robin and DeDe, and even her brother, Robert, changed into more casual clothes after the ceremony. It seemed sort of weird to us common folk, but we didn’t care. We were having a great time.
Randy couldn’t have been in better spirits. I mingled, checking out the cabin, looking for Sally’s touches. The weather was perfect.
The guests were continuing to share laughs while taking in the lovely atmosphere when Grammie Hall suddenly fell on the cobblestone steps leading to the patio.
George bent down and tried to help her up as Dad rushed over. “Mom, don’t worry, you’re all right. You’re all right. Let her go, Georg
e. It’s okay.”
Grammie, flat on her back, kept repeating, “I’ve broken my hip. Is my arm broken too? I think I’ve broken my hip. I didn’t see the steps. Why did you let me go, George?”
George, breathless and shaking, whispered, “I couldn’t hold you, Mary. You’re gonna be all right. I’m sorry.”
It was heartbreaking to see Grammie crying on the ground in her Ivers royal-blue pantsuit. After making sure she didn’t have a broken bone, Dad helped her get into my car. Once the three of us were inside, she turned toward me with that infamous hawklike gaze. “Have your fun while you’re young, Diane,” she said.
Once we arrived at Grammie’s duplex, I went downstairs to get some ice cubes. On the way back, I saw Gram sitting on a chair while George gently tried to unbutton her blouse. She seemed to look at him with affection. I realized it was the only time I had witnessed any kind of intimacy, perhaps even love, between the two.
Before I left, George handed me a couple of bucks to buy some gas. I kissed him, kissed Gram, and walked out of the kitchen, wondering if Randy would be a “till death do us part” kind of guy like George.
Glued into one of Mom’s scrapbooks, a creamy-looking photograph documenting Randy’s marriage to Sally fills the last page. In the center of the frame, two families are united. Dorrie, Robin, and I stand next to Judge Tharpe and his wife. The seated guests in front include little Johnny, Grandmother Tharpe, Grammie Keaton, and Grammie Hall. Everyone appears lost within a soft-focus blur—everyone with the exception of middle-aged Jack Hall, standing in the shadow of a low-hanging tree with his left arm wrapped around Dorothy’s waist. Mom looks at Randy, whose arm, like Dad’s, is wrapped around the waist of his new wife. Sally’s hand reassuringly clasps his as they smile into the future. In that moment, at least to me, both men unabashedly shared the same feeling of love.
