by Susan Lucci
None of my rejections seemed to sway his interest. He continued to be funny and charming, and the more he tried, the harder I was falling. Helmut knew I liked to play tennis, so he made arrangements for us to go to the U.S. Open. He knew I adored going to the theater, so he’d set up tickets for the hottest shows. He took me to see Marlene Dietrich at Radio City Music Hall, and what a treat that was. She had the chutzpah and showmanship to come onstage in a flesh-colored beaded gown with a twenty-foot white fox stole dragging on the ground behind her. That woman sure did understand the stage. She worked everything she had and sure knew how to use it. She was fabulous. After the show, Helmut bought me the album of her show. I played it constantly. Even though she wasn’t the greatest singer of our time, she was a tremendous performer.
I was being wined and dined in the most fabulous way. Helmut and I would meet at a restaurant for what I always thought would be a quick lunch and then he’d say, “Let’s take a walk.” I’d agree to go for a stroll, thinking we’d part ways after a few blocks, and then Helmut would suggest going for a cocktail.
“Call your mother. See if you can stay in the city for dinner,” he’d say, fully aware that he had parlayed a quick lunch into spending most of the day and evening together. Although my parents liked Helmut from the very start, they certainly were aware of how persistent he was being. Deep down, I believe they were worried he’d end up whisking me away to Austria and that I would be too far away from them. They knew how much I enjoyed my experience as an exchange student, so I think their concern that I could be persuaded to live abroad again was valid. I knew my parents thought I was too young to be married when I was engaged the first time around and I don’t think they planned on me marrying someone ten years my senior. Still, I believe they thought Helmut would make a very good husband. My father often joked with my mother that if I continued to date Helmut, he was going to make me marry him.
It’s true that Helmut was ready to settle down and get serious in a relationship. But I wasn’t. I was uncomfortable about the ten-year difference in our age, especially in the beginning. At the time it felt like an awfully big gap. I admired Helmut and adored being in his presence. I thought we could, at the very least, remain friends. Although he proposed very early on, I didn’t accept; nor did I think it was right to lead him on. In all honesty, I had just gotten out of a relationship that I knew wasn’t right. I didn’t want to start another one. And more than that, I truly wanted to pursue my career. Helmut, ever the gentleman, took the news with great dignity. “You never know what will happen in the future,” he said. I agreed with him, thinking I’d never see this man again. After that night, he left me alone for several months.
Since I was getting serious about becoming a professional actress, I thought the time had come to find myself an agent. I was told by some friends that if I wanted an agent, I should look in the Ross Reports. I thought the agencies listed in all capital letters were the best and most important. The two girls I met during the Miss Universe pageant had told me that if you showed up to certain agencies unannounced with your picture and résumé in hand and spoke with the receptionist, you could hand them your package, and with a little luck and charm, you might get an appointment to see one of the agents on the spot. If the receptionist thought the agency could make some money with you, she would open the gate, so to speak. Sure enough, that is exactly what happened to me.
I am generally a very shy girl, but if I want something, I will always find a way to get through my discomfort and make things happen. (Like writing this book.) I was driven to succeed, so I cast that shyness aside and stormed through the doors of every agency in town holding my head shot and résumé in my hand while introducing myself to the receptionist like I was seeing an old friend. I had made up my mind early on that I wouldn’t sign with an agent until he actually got me work. If you were new to the industry, that was the usual arrangement. Don’t get me wrong—some agencies wanted to sign me on the spot, but if they didn’t put you under contract, they were fine with you going freelance until one of them got you work.
The first agents I met were a team named Bob LaMonde and Bill Tesch. They were considered good agents and they seemed to think I had something going on. We spoke for a while, then one of them turned to me and said, “You’re a gorgeous girl, Susan, but take a look around. Do you see how people are dressed? Kids your age are wearing jeans and love beads, not black dresses, white gloves, and pearls!” And they were right. That’s when I tuned in to what was really happening all around me in New York City. I created a look that was my own, but was still comfortable and easy for me to slip into every day.
I did a lot of freelance work for the Michael Hartig Agency, too. They kept me busy with auditions, but not a lot of work. Like Mr. Martin had predicted, I had been offered a couple of jobs out of town, but I remembered his advice, so despite the opportunity to earn some money and gain valuable experience, I turned them down.
A couple of months had passed since I had last spoken to Helmut and I will admit that I had come to regret my letting him go. I actually missed him. I’d heard through the grapevine that he had gone on an extended trip to Europe to visit his family. I had no idea how long he’d be away or when he was coming back.
Much to my surprise, Helmut phoned one day out of the blue.
“I know you like to eat,” he said.
That was such a funny way to start a conversation because most people don’t think that about me—but Helmut sure did. He’d been out to dinner with me enough times to know that I truly have a love for food and fine dining.
“There’s a black-tie hotel industry dinner and dance at the Waldorf Hotel coming up. I think you will enjoy it. I would love for you to be my date,” he said.
“I’d be delighted,” I said. And I was. I was very happy Helmut called that day. When he came to pick me up, Helmut stood in the doorway of my parents’ home looking so handsome in his tuxedo. I had borrowed my mother’s long white fox stole, which I wore over my shoulders. The event took place in the grand ballroom of the hotel. There was a large orchestra playing as Helmut escorted me into the room. I loved to dance, but I didn’t know how to do a proper waltz. When the orchestra struck up a Viennese waltz, Helmut took me by the hand and taught me to waltz—Austrian style. It was very romantic. Sometime during that dance I looked up at him and thought, Maybe I need to reconsider. It was a spectacular evening that left me smitten as a kitten from that point on.
The next morning, Helmut called my home to say he had white fox hair all over his black tuxedo. He wanted to know if I could tell him how to remove the hair. He laughed as he told me he actually tried to vacuum it off. My mother got on the phone to tell him to go out and buy a lint brush. Before he hung up, Helmut asked if he could take me to the Jones Beach Theater to see South Pacific. He thought I’d enjoy seeing that show. Although we had spent a lot of time together, I considered South Pacific to be our official second date and the evening at the Waldorf to be our first. Much to my surprise, Helmut told me he loved me that night. He is very much his own man, someone who is clearly very decisive and self-possessed. The man knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to let you know, too. He has always told me how he feels. He had already made up his mind that if he ever got married again, it was going to be to me. I wasn’t quite as sure. He’d hand me baby-name books in English and in German so I could pick out our children’s names with him. He’d bring them out and talk about the day we’d be married at a stone chapel on a cliff he once saw while vacationing in Kennebunkport, Maine. He always thought that church would be where he’d get married, if he ever got married again. Helmut was relentless as he continued proposing while wining and dining me for the next several months. The more time we spent together, the deeper in love I fell. As time went on, I knew that he truly got me in a very real way.
Helmut took an interest in everything I was doing. He’d take me to one acting class and pick me up from another. He took me to places all over the city where he would shine and where
people knew him by name. And he also took me skiing, at which he could showcase his extreme finesse and expertise while helping me learn and grow on the slopes, too.
There was one memorable evening that Helmut and I will never forget. He picked me up for dinner at a restaurant in New York City. I was wearing a red knit pantsuit that was composed of red pants and a matching tunic and thin belt. When we got to the restaurant, the maître d’ looked at me in horror and said to Helmut, “No pants allowed!” Such strict dress codes weren’t uncommon in the 1960s—even the late sixties—but overturning them had become a challenge for some. With more and more women entering the work-place, women began to feel like they should have more flexibility in the way they dressed. They no longer wanted to wear only skirts and dresses in order to be accepted in public. Still, it wasn’t until Yves Saint Laurent began designing more gender-neutral clothing in the late sixties and early seventies that many restaurants eased up on these restrictions. One of the main reasons this was happening with more frequency was that on more than one occasion, women wearing pantsuits would simply take off their pants and walk into a restaurant dressed in only the upper half of their suit. They were protesting the fact that other people were allowed to dictate what they could and couldn’t wear out to dinner.
I didn’t know about any of this at the time, but I looked at Helmut and instinctively said, “It’s not a problem.” I excused myself and headed to the ladies’ room to remove my pants. I looked in the mirror, pulled the tunic down, and voilà, I was wearing a mini-dress. I walked back to the front desk wearing my “dress” and a big Cheshire-cat grin, and said, “I believe we can now be seated.”
Years later, I remember reading a story about a well-known New York socialite who had done the same thing. I don’t recall what she was wearing at the time, but she had also removed her slacks. When I saw the article, I thought to myself, I’ll be darned. I was just a kid out of school, but at least I was in good company!
It took me three months to tell Helmut I would marry him. He’d been asking me to think about it for so long. I knew he was the right man for me the night we were at my parents’ house sitting on their sunporch in the middle of January. My mother and father had gone to bed, while Helmut and I decided to stay outside and talk. I was barefoot and very cold. When I mentioned that my bare feet were a bit chilly, Helmut took off his socks and put them on my feet to keep me warm. He was such a good man and I was so incredibly touched by his gesture. I know it probably sounds a little foolish to a worldly person, but to me, it was romantic, caring, warm, and real. These were the qualities I wanted in a husband, and Helmut had them all. That’s when I turned to him and said I would marry him.
“You are the slowest woman I have ever met!” That was his response when I finally said yes.
When Helmut gave me my engagement ring, it was a very spontaneous moment. He had picked me up from an acting class in Manhattan to drive me back to Garden City. We were on Ninety-sixth Street, headed for the Triborough Bridge. I knew he had something else in mind, but he just couldn’t wait, so he told me to press the button to open the glove compartment. When I did, there was my ring—a two-carat pear-shaped diamond set in platinum. We picked September 13, 1969, as our wedding date, leaving me a little more than eight months to plan the event.
As my mother and I attended to all the details, I continued to go on general go-sees and auditions. In July of 1969, I received a call from Larry Masser, one of the agents from the Hartig Agency, who phoned to tell me about a new soap opera one of the networks was thinking of doing. He wanted me to go on a general interview but made it clear that they wouldn’t be making any decisions for at least six months. It was a very hot and muggy summer day in New York City. My hair is naturally wavy, and on this particular day, it was supercurly from all of the heat and humidity. Since I had been told many times that I was too ethnic-looking to work in television, I thought this meeting was going to be a total waste of time. After all, I had dark skin, dark eyes, and unmanageably curly dark hair. I was pretty sure that I was not the girl they were looking for. I told Larry I didn’t want to go, but he insisted. I did what any enterprising girl would do when having a bad hair day—I found a scarf and tied it around my head Gypsy style to hide my frizzy hair. It was 1969, so this look wasn’t too out there. It may have even been chic by some standards. For me? It was a quick solution to tresses in distress.
I was supposed to meet with the executive producer, line producer, and casting director for the unnamed start-up show at a studio on the west side of Manhattan. When I got to the meeting, I only met Joan D’Incecco, the casting director, who told me this new show was called All My Children. It turned out that Joan was extremely influential in making the final decision to cast Erica Kane, the character I was there to talk to them about. Our meeting was only a few minutes long. It was a quick look at me and a short conversation about the character. Joan described the young girl they were looking to cast as fifteen years old, full of herself, and unafraid to speak her mind, especially when it came to her mother. That was all I heard, but it was enough to leave me curious and wanting to play this part. Joan confirmed that it would be at least six months before they got the show up and running and that she would call me back when the time was right. I was hoping she would remember me because I really liked what I had heard. Before leaving, I made sure Joan knew that I had studied with the finest teachers, trying, as I always did, to set myself apart. I knew she would have good things to say about me to the others in charge of hiring, but I still wasn’t convinced I was what they wanted.
Helmut and I were married shortly after that meeting. Even though he dreamed of a small ceremony at that chapel in Maine, our ceremony took place at St. Joseph’s Church in Garden City. Although September is a lovely time of year in New York, looking back, I would never recommend getting married in early September if you don’t have to. Anyone who has children knows how hectic that time of year can be for families because kids are just starting school and life around the house and in careers are just beginning to get back into the regular swing of things. We took our vows in front of 125 of our closest friends and family. I carried a bouquet of gardenias, Nana’s favorite flower, as a way of having her close to my heart that day. My best girlfriends from college were my bridesmaids, and Helmut’s friends from work were the groomsmen and best man. During the ceremony, the theme from Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet played and a soloist also sang “Let There Be Peace on Earth.” When it was my turn to slip Helmut’s ring on his finger, I was so nervous that I accidentally picked the wrong hand. I tried to gently slide the ring over his knuckle, but I couldn’t get it all the way on. I kept trying and trying to get the ring on before Helmut took it from me and forced it on his finger. But following my lead, he, too, put the ring on my wrong hand. We didn’t realize our mistake until after the ceremony. The bishop assured me that despite the mix-up, we were definitely married. When we tried to switch Helmut’s ring to the correct hand, we couldn’t get it off his finger. The first thing Helmut did when we got to the reception was go to the men’s room to run his hands under water with a lot of soap so he could make the switch.
My parents planned a lovely reception at the Garden City Country Club, where they were members. Since Helmut is Austrian, as we exited the church we chose a recessional from The Sound of Music. We chose “Live for Life” for our first dance. It was from a movie we saw together when we were dating. It meant so much to us. It’s funny because neither of us can remember what movie it came from, but we sure do remember the song.
We spent our wedding night at the St. Moritz hotel in New York City. One of Helmut’s friends was an executive there who graciously surprised us with a beautiful suite. The next day, we flew to St. Thomas, where we enjoyed our honeymoon for six glorious days and nights.
As any young respectable actress would do upon returning to New York, the moment we arrived, I called my answering service to see if I had any messages. The operator told me that a Ms. J
oan D’Incecco from ABC had called. It had only been a few months since she and I met. “Clearly,” Helmut said, “I am your good-luck charm.”
My heart was racing with excitement and joy. When I phoned her back, she asked me to come in to meet with Doris Quinlan, the executive producer; Bud Kloss, the producer; and Felicia Minei, the associate producer of the show. I was very excited to be called back in because acting is a very competitive business, especially when you are just starting out. I was told that hundreds and hundreds of girls of all shapes, sizes, and coloring had walked through their door. Sometimes agents will send in actors they know aren’t right for the role just to give them the experience of auditioning. To be called back was a very good thing. I thought I would have an opportunity to read for them this time around, but they only wanted to take another look at me. I wrapped my head in a scarf like I did when I first met Joan, figuring there was something she liked about that style or look. I only spoke with the producers for a few minutes. As I turned to leave, they asked me if I had any questions. I paused for a moment and then asked if they wanted to see my hair. Much to my surprise, they said no.
I was called back for the third time a few weeks later. This time, however, I blew my hair out so it was very long and straight. I wanted them to see me as I usually am. I was not only asked to read for the executives in charge, I was told they were going to film a screen test with me the following week. From the first audition, Frances “Fra” Heflin and I were paired up as mother and daughter. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to be at the screen test, so I played the scene with someone else.
I was handed my sides and given only a few minutes to prepare. As I was reading and memorizing my lines, I noticed a woman breeze by me. I will never forget that moment. She was a petite blonde wearing a cappuccino-colored Yves Saint Laurent pantsuit that I recognized from a recent issue of Vogue and she was holding a brown alligator bag.
