All My Life

by Susan Lucci

  While I believe that some people develop into perfectionists over time, I was definitely born one. My perfectionist behavior has never been about pleasing anyone else—it has always been about living up to the very high standards I set for myself. This extends as far back in my life as I can remember. My teachers always told me that they could correct my homework with a blindfold on because they knew I was going to turn in perfect work. I learned to read and memorize things at a very early age. At first, I learned by looking over my brother Jimmy’s shoulder while he was reading his comic books; later, in first grade, I learned while reading in school, then by reading license plates on passing cars, telephone numbers, and ultimately through scripts.

  Not long after being cast as Erica, I went on an audition to play Miranda in an off-Broadway production of The Tempest with an up-and-coming director. I thought I was totally prepared for the audition. When I got to the theater, the director was committed to working with me to help me nail the part. He was trying to get me to change my tack so I could bring something different to the role, something particular that he was looking for. He thought I had it in me, so he kept pushing and pushing, hoping that I would get it right. We worked on one monologue until he thought I was ready. But when it came time to do the audition, I didn’t deliver. I didn’t get the part.

  I left the theater, hopped into a cab, and headed back to our home in Forest Hills. I spent the forty-five-minute ride (and subsequently much of my life) going over all of the mistakes I made, asking myself why I couldn’t get to that place where the director wanted me to go. If I had been able to find it, I know the part would have been mine. I appreciated all of the time and work he put into my audition and felt I had let him down. I was so frustrated with myself because I had always been a very quick study, but this time, that just wasn’t the case.

  About two blocks away from the theater, something suddenly clicked and I knew what I needed to do. I wanted to tell the cabdriver to turn around and go back to the theater so I could try again, but I didn’t have the courage or the nerve. I was too shy to go back and ask for a second chance. My shyness has always been the elephant in the room and has, at times, held me back from performing in my freest, most authentic way and from getting whatever it is I want. It’s something I have always struggled with and is an area where I wish I could be more like Erica. To this very day, I regret my decision not to return because I know I could have landed that part and I would have loved to play Miranda.

  Since I am a trained Method actress, I draw from my personal experiences and recollections, whether it’s sense memory or the memory of an actual event. I always wanted to do well and enjoy the work I chose to do. There are many times when I wish I wasn’t such a perfectionist because that drive often hampers me. I get so disappointed when I don’t meet my self-imposed expectations. Not only do I feel like I’ve let other people down, I feel as if I’ve let myself down, too. Even now, I sometimes think that maybe I’m kidding myself—that I’m not a very good actress and that what I’ve really been is lucky all these years. I’ve been told I’m talented since I was a little girl, but I still question myself all of the time.

  Can I do this?

  Am I kidding myself?

  Maybe I can’t…These are just some of the thoughts that still sometimes go through my head. But then I remember to breathe, reassess, and let those thoughts go. I remind myself that I’ve been well trained and have learned my craft from the very best in the business, so I try to hold on to this whenever those negative thoughts creep into my head. I have a tremendous amount of pride in my work because I love acting, and I especially love playing Erica Kane.

  Thankfully, Erica was perfectly written from the very beginning, so understanding her and matching her drive to have and be the very best, and not to settle for anything less, were traits that were already a part of who I am to my core. Soap opera scripts are brand-new, full-length, ninety-plus-page plays you get to act out five days a week. It’s the blessing and the curse of the medium. We get fresh material every day, but that is a lot of material to memorize, especially if you’re in many scenes a day. Still, memorization is only half the battle. Once you’ve got the words down, you must bring them to life.

  For a while I didn’t realize that Erica had special mannerisms until my daughter, Liza, was around the age of two or three and she sashayed into my bedroom one day, flipped her hair from side to side, and said, “Like you, Mommy!” I had to laugh because, like Mr. Weyand did back in class at Marymount, my toddler child had perfectly captured Erica’s (or was it my?) head toss. This was definitely a sign that acting was in Liza’s future, too.

  A good actress will bring slight but relevant gestures to her characters, which define who she is without ever saying a word. Although my character has evolved over the years, she has always been excitable and full of expression. Yes, Erica has always been known for her fiery temper and her irresistible diva behavior. By comparison, it takes a lot to rile me up, but very early in my career, my feistier side had a tendency to rear its head from time to time, too. I have never been one to lose my cool at work, but there was a moment when I was around twenty-four years old that has become something of a legend on the set of All My Children.

  There was a fantastically talented director working on the show at the time by the name of Henry Kaplan. When he first came to the show, I had never met another human being quite like him. He was downright frightening to me. He used a wand while directing, like he was conducting an orchestra instead of working with actors.

  Henry was a man who was very comfortable in his own skin. His sense of humor was incredibly biting. He wasn’t especially careful with the words he used or how his message was being conveyed. He was notorious for saying something very jarring to actors moments before they were set to do a scene.

  “You have no timing!”

  “You’re as funny as a fish!”

  These were not words of encouragement, especially to a young actress just starting out. His comments were meant to cut, rattle, and disarm—at least that’s how I saw things from my very naive and green perspective. I didn’t understand that Henry was just being sarcastic. I took his statements very seriously, so much so that after a couple of weeks of his poking, I began to feel physically sick. I was tied up in knots over the things he was saying to me.

  The final straw came during a very emotional scene where Erica and her mother have a big fight. Erica had packed her bags and was leaving. At the end of the scene, I was supposed to pick up my suitcases, walk to the front door, open it, turn, and then give a long final look to Mona before walking out and slamming the door behind me. This was not a complicated scene. However, during the first rehearsal, the suitcases that were placed on the set for me were hard-shelled. They were so heavy that I could barely pick them up and accomplish what I was supposed to do.

  I don’t know how it is on other shows, but on All My Children, the actors are responsible for checking their props. It was obvious they weren’t working for me, so I spoke to the head of the prop department to ask if he had any soft-sided suitcases I could use instead. I figured those would be easier and lighter to carry. He assured me that it wouldn’t be a problem to swap the cases. When we did our final dress rehearsal, the soft cases weren’t that much lighter, but they were better and easier to handle than the hard cases. I was feeling okay about the scene. I knew it wasn’t perfectly smooth, but it was a lot better than the last time we’d run through it.

  Just before we began taping, the director called us to “Red Chairs” so we could get our notes. There was no time for lunch that day, so I brought a cup of yogurt with me to eat while we sat and listened to Henry. The entire company was there as Henry proceeded to yell at me. He called me the most unprofessional actress he had ever encountered.

  “You have no business being an actress. How dare you go behind my back and speak to the prop department about changing suitcases. How dare you do that scene with soft suitcases!” Henry was in a rage.
Even if I wanted to explain myself, he never stopped yelling long enough for me to get a word in edgewise.

  I was seeing red because he wouldn’t let me speak. I remember shaking on the inside while furiously stirring my yogurt. I was frustrated as he continued to cut me down.

  “You will use the hard suitcases, got it?” he commanded.

  I kept stirring and stirring until I’d finally heard enough. I was afraid that if I stayed, I’d throw my yogurt right at Henry, so I got up and walked away. I had a scene to play and needed a few minutes to compose myself. I left the studio floor and went into the hallway. I was infuriated. Perhaps I let my own insecurities get in the way—perhaps I was being hypersensitive, but I was really upset. Still, I was young and too new to the show to think I could tell anyone how I felt. I figured I just had to get over it, go out there, and do my best. I stomped down the hallway until I came across an empty control room. I stood in the dimly lit cubicle, still stirring and stirring until, on impulse, I suddenly threw my yogurt against a wall of television monitors. At that very moment, Felicia, our associate producer, came into the room. I wasn’t known for being a troublemaker on the set, so she knew something was terribly wrong.

  “Susan, what is it?” she asked

  I told her what had happened. I didn’t like being in that position, but what else could I do? There I was standing in a room with yogurt dripping down the walls—it was raspberry.

  “Don’t worry about this, Susan. Go to your dressing room. I will take care of everything.”

  I was very grateful for her kindness and understanding. I walked across the hall to my dressing room, where I suddenly realized after looking in a mirror what she meant by “everything.” I had been wearing my costume—a brown velvet jacket—the back of which was covered in yogurt. Even my hair was doused in it from the windup to my throw. I was desperately trying to wipe the mess from the jacket when Fra walked into our dressing room.

  “Oh, honey. What happened?” She had been on the floor getting her notes, too, but I don’t think she knew how upset I was after receiving mine. So I told her what I was feeling.

  “Oh, dear. Don’t take Henry’s words to heart. That’s his sense of humor. He’s just pushing your buttons.” Fra always had an aura of calm that I found comforting.

  I hadn’t realized Henry was just being, well, Henry. I felt so embarrassed for having blown up like that. The wardrobe department, being the miracle workers that they are, salvaged the jacket in ten minutes’ time. Henry was none the wiser about what had happened as I made my way onto the set to do my scene. When I got there, I noticed that the soft suitcases had been left for me to use. Sure enough, and just like Fra said, he was only pushing my buttons.

  A couple of days later, Henry knocked on my dressing room door.

  “Do you have a minute?” he asked.

  “Sure, come on in.” I was nervous.

  “I heard what happened, Susan. I want you to know that I never meant to hurt your feelings.” I thought it was very nice of Henry to stop by and offer an explanation. He most certainly did not have to do it. It was very much appreciated, though. It turned out that Henry and I forged a wonderful relationship after that incident. Not only was he a tremendously talented director, he became a good friend. He continued to go after me for many years, but now I knew where he was coming from. Although I hadn’t noticed it before my blowup, Henry had a gleam in his eye that let you know he was being a little bit of a devil whenever he was trying to get a rise from you.

  When I was pregnant with my daughter, Liza, he must have overheard me talking about finding an antique christening gown for the baby. We didn’t have a special gown in our family, but I really wanted one. A few days later, Henry, who also happened to own an antiques shop, called me to say he had found the perfect gown for my baby. I will never forget working with Henry, but more important than that, I will always treasure our friendship.

  I only had one other meltdown on the set after that incident. This second event involved a wooden hairbrush and a mirror. I don’t recall what happened, but I do remember how thankful I was that the industrial-strength mirror didn’t shatter. If it had, there would have been glass everywhere and the fallout would likely have been much worse than it was. After that outburst, I realized there is no real payoff to these types of meltdowns. There is no place for them on the set or in life. We work in pretty tight quarters, so if someone is acting like a full-blown diva, it affects everyone. I have learned it is far better to take a giant step back and breathe before reacting. If you do, I assure you, things won’t seem so bad when you finally calm down. Of course, it is only fair to point out that as Erica Kane, I do have lots and lots of opportunities to use my emotions and get them out in a safe and effective way. You can bet there have been plenty of times when I’ve channeled personal frustration into a scene where Erica can say and do all of the things I’d sometimes like to as Susan Lucci. There’s an expression in acting—“Use it!”—which means use your emotion in the scene you’re about to do—if you can. That outlet is a great perk of the job. The work is demanding enough. Keep the drama on the stage.

  CHAPTER 7

  Blended Lives

  I was told early on that many writers prefer not to have any interaction with the actors they are writing for. They would rather watch the nuances that the actors bring to the parts they are playing in the context of the show. Apparently, how we interpret their words further feeds and inspires what they write. I had been told that Agnes Nixon preferred this kind of distance. She liked to create a character and then see what each actor brought to the part. I understood the process and respected it.

  The first time I ever spent one-on-one time with Agnes outside of the studio was during a train ride we took together to an event in Prince ton, New Jersey. I met her on the train and sat next to her for the entire ride down from New York. Over the course of our trip, Agnes turned to me and asked if I believed in spirits and the Ouija board. I told her my only experience with the Ouija board had been at slumber parties with friends when I was a little girl. At the time I felt like we were the ones who manipulated the pointer to move around the board. Agnes said she had been skeptical, too, but now totally believed in it. She shared a story with me about going to a party with some friends who decided they wanted to use the Ouija board after dinner. One of the men at the party was a complete skeptic. He refused to sit at the table, choosing instead to watch the action from behind everyone else. All of a sudden the pointer went haywire, spelling out what appeared to be gibberish. Agnes said she was disappointed because she wanted to prove to the man that the Ouija was real.

  “There must be some type of problem here,” she said.

  “No! Wait!” the skeptical man cried out. “That’s not gibberish. It’s spelling out the name my father called me in Lithuanian.”

  After that, the man was a complete believer.

  When we finished the event in Prince ton, Agnes invited me to join her for a late lunch at her home in a beautiful suburb of Philadelphia. Her house was a beautiful historic home that used to be a stop on a Pony Express route. It was very much a family home. It was warm, elegant, and inviting all at once. I watched Agnes interact with her four children and realized she wasn’t just a businesswoman. She was a mother, too. She created a lovely environment for her children to grow up in, inspiring me to want one day to do the very same thing. Although Helmut and I did not have any children, we were definitely planning on starting a family.

  After lunch, Agnes asked me if I would like to work the Ouija board with her.

  “Sure,” I replied. After hearing her earlier story, I was curious to see what might happen.

  “Do you have any questions?” Agnes asked.

  “Yes. When will I have a baby?” The answer came back, Sometime in the distance. I was a little disappointed because at the time, I was secretly hoping I might already be pregnant.

  “Will it be a boy or a girl?” The answer came back, A girl.

 
; “What month will she be born?” The answer came back, February.

  Honestly, I didn’t know what to think about the experience. I’ve never forgotten that day, though, because it was the first time I realized just how “in touch” Agnes Nixon really is to things and how “in tune” she is to people. Agnes is quite spiritual and deeply intuitive. I’ve come to believe that there was never a “coincidence” to those story lines on the show that mirrored events in my personal life. Although I’d rarely shared intimate information with Agnes before she wrote these scripts, she somehow always knew exactly what was happening with me.

  There have been a number of story lines on the show over the years that blurred the lines between Erica’s reality and my own. Although the timing didn’t always correspond, the experiences often did. Sure, there were also lots of stories revolving around events that were the complete opposite of events in my life, too, but those were the stories that gave me even more of an opportunity to push myself and grow as an actress because I had to dig deeper to find the right responses.