All My Life

by Susan Lucci

  Helmut began to figure out our best path down the mountain. The only reasonable course of action was to sidestep even farther up the mountain and then try to find the service road that is usually at the top. We sidestepped up for what felt like another mile. It took quite a bit of time, maybe an hour or more, because it was a very rough climb. We finally reached the very, very top. There were no markings to tell us how difficult the terrain below was supposed to be, and frankly, I didn’t need any. I knew right away I was in way over my head. I stood there, looking down and wondering how I was going to get to the bottom. I couldn’t see two feet beyond where I was standing because the drop was so steep.

  Two skiers came by who looked like real experts. You could just tell! And…they were about eighteen years old, too! Yes, those are the only people who should have been where I found myself that day. Helmut flagged them down to ask if they could direct us to the easiest route. They pointed to the way they were going. They kept saying, “Facile, facile” (“easy” in French). All I could think was, Easy for you!

  I had no choice but to point my skis downhill and just go. A short way along I found myself in the middle of a traverse, the narrow path that sits between and connects two mountains. It was only about eight to ten feet wide. I was following Helmut and I am not sure how it happened, but I suddenly slipped on the side of the traverse and over the edge. I screamed, “Helm-u-u-u-t!” as loud as I could.

  Let me be very clear. I never call my husband by his first name unless it’s an emergency. I call him “honey,” “darling,” “sweetheart,” and any of several other terms of endearment. The only time I say “Helmut” is when I am in trouble, and boy oh boy, was I in trouble!

  “Grab on to something,” Helmut yelled to me as I continued to slide down the mountainside. Unfortunately, there was nothing to grab hold of or to stop my fall. Thank God Helmut is such a great skier. He skied down and miraculously managed to get himself below me to stop my rapid descent to the bottom of the mountain thousands of feet beneath me.

  Thankfully, I was fine. My ego was a bit bruised, but other than that—and a few nightmares that followed—there was no damage done. I told Helmut I had had enough skiing for the day. I have never begged to accompany Helmut on the first day again. Whenever he wants to check out a mountain, I say, “Go, honey. Go. Check it out.” Lesson learned!

  The second time my husband saved my life was during dinner at a restaurant in New York City with Andreas and two of his friends from college. We were eating in one of our favorite Italian restaurants. I had ordered chicken cacciatore. I had eaten this dish dozens of times at that particular restaurant. I knew there were no bones, but sometimes things just happen.

  We were speaking and laughing, having a good time, when I took my second bite of my delicious dinner. I realized that a piece of chicken had lodged in my throat. Not wanting to make a scene, I turned my head to the side and tried to clear my throat by coughing, but nothing happened. So I stood up, walked a few steps away from the table, and tried to dislodge the chicken again. Still, nothing happened.

  I remembered seeing a news story on TV that you can give yourself the Heimlich by throwing your body over a chair. Just as I was about to do that, Helmut came up behind me. I had closed my eyes, hoping I wasn’t going to choke and die and make a terrible scene that would end up on “Page Six.” I could hear people shouting across the dining room in very heavy New York accents, “Give her the Heimlich! Give her the Heimlich!” Fortunately, Helmut was already taking action. He gave me two thrusts under my ribs and the chicken finally dislodged.

  When I sat back down, Andreas was staring at me. I felt awful. I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of his friends, so I did the first thing that came to my mind—I made a joke.

  “Well, honey. The good news is that your father did give me the Heimlich. It’s a good sign when your husband saves your life.” We all had a good laugh and went on with our night and I looked at Helmut with a lot of gratitude.

  CHAPTER 13

  That Elusive Emmy

  I was nominated for my first Emmy in 1974, the inaugural year of the Daytime Emmy Awards. To put things into perspective, I started working on All My Children before there were Daytime Emmys being handed out. I heard about my nomination in a roundabout manner. Judith Barcroft, the actress who played Ann Tyler on our show, came to me one day and very casually said, “The Academy is thinking of having a Daytime Emmy Award show, and if they do, you are nominated for best actress.”

  Although I was flattered, it didn’t mean that much to me to hear the news because, at the time, I thought it was pure speculation. And besides, there had never been an award handed out for daytime television, so there wasn’t a lot of hype surrounding it. When I got the official word that I was, in fact, nominated, admittedly, I was thrilled.

  Back in those days, the Daytime Emmys were held…well, during the daytime. They weren’t televised for the first few years. They were simply a way for our industry to acknowledge the work of our peers in the company of our peers.

  In the beginning, the awards show took place in random locations around Manhattan, including Lincoln Center, a boat, and other venues around the city. As the event grew in size and popularity, it was set up more like the Golden Globes are today, being held in ballrooms at various hotels such as the Waldorf-Astoria and the Plaza. There were tables of actors from all of the different shows, eating lunch and having a good time. Backstage, there was a designated waiting area. If you were presenting an award, there was also a common space where you could change outfits. There was always a lot of action going on backstage in those days, especially with several of us doing our best to get in or out of our gowns all at the same time.

  One year, the makeshift dressing room was set up near an elevator bank where fans could somehow walk right off the elevator and into wardrobe. And they did! With cameras! Show business certainly can be very glamorous, but these early awards shows made it a challenge.

  The fact that I was nominated for an Emmy so many times, or that anyone cared outside of my husband, my parents, my children, or me, was shocking. The attention I received surprised me in the most wonderful ways. The fans cared and so did the press. So many people over the course of time told me they were rooting for me all of those years. All My Children and Erica Kane had gotten a lot of attention from the public. It was unexpected, but that recognition was nothing short of amazing, lovely, and very, very touching to me.

  The process of being nominated for an Emmy has evolved over the years. I don’t really remember how the initial voting took place, but I do recall that it was always based on your body of work rather than on one particular scene. Some reels were submitted with one episode to reflect the whole season, while others contained two. When it came time to submitting my reel for nomination, I made a point of seeking the input of our producers, associate producers, and editors. They were enormously helpful because these people knew my scenes better than I did. They had seen the finished product, whereas I shoot scene by scene and rarely get a chance to watch an actual show.

  I typically have eight to ten scenes an episode, so you can only imagine how challenging it became to try to whittle down my reel selections to one or two scenes per season. I never thought that submitting one or two episodes was the best way to display one’s work for the year, especially if you play a character that has a lot of depth, breadth, and range. To make things even more difficult, there were conflicting thoughts about whether you should submit what you consider to be your best work or scenes that show off your range, for instance one comedy scene and one drama scene. Of course, everyone in my category was in the same boat because there were always such talented women nominated for—and winning—best leading actress.

  For many years, there was a “blue ribbon panel” consisting of actors who volunteered their weekends to watch submissions and judge a particular category that was not their own. So, for example, I couldn’t judge the best leading actress category, but I could jud
ge any of the other categories. If you agreed to participate, you would be given several VHS cassettes (and later, when the technology progressed, DVDs) to watch. For many years, the viewing of these scenes was held at a designated hotel, but more recently judges have been permitted to watch them in the privacy of their homes. I judged the best actor category one year when I was not nominated in my own category. The process of viewing each of these reels took several hours. I made a decision to view the best actor nominees in an office in the New York City studio so I could watch each nominee’s work all at one time without any distractions. I thought viewing their material in the same environment was the fairest way to give each actor the same level of attention.

  Judging the best lead actor category was a really interesting experience. For the first time in my career, I had the opportunity to watch other daytime actors whom I had never worked with do their thing. They were all extremely talented men. I realized that so much of what we do as actors depends on the writing we are given, the directing, the production values, and the other actors who work around us. From what I could tell, there was a lot of talent outside of All My Children. Many daytime actors have floated between shows over the years, so they have experienced different writing and different working environments. I have never done this, so it was rather eye-opening to peek inside other shows, if only through the scenes of those actors.

  This experience made me even more aware of how important it is to be the best we can be each day, because our colleagues are depending on us to deliver so that they can work to their fullest potential, too. Doing this brings more richness to the scenes we’re in, which ultimately makes the viewing experience so much better for our loyal viewers.

  Long before I won, I was asked to cohost the Emmys with Regis Philbin at the fabulous Radio City Music Hall. Dick Clark was producing. He assembled a spectacular group of people who put together a fantastic experience I will never forget. My entrance was very dramatic. The Rockettes danced to an elaborate musical number as I was raised onto the stage in a limousine by a hydraulic lift. The driver of that limousine was, of course, Regis, who gallantly opened the door for me as we were both introduced to the cheering audience

  It was magical waiting beneath the stage of Radio City, hearing the music while the Rockettes danced above my head. I grew up in New York, where the Rockettes are an institution. Radio City Music Hall is full of glorious entertainment history. But to me, there was the added personal significance of having once been a little girl in the audience with her parents watching the Easter and Christmas spectaculars in awe and now being the cohost of a celebrated and dazzling event on that very same stage. It was overwhelming and breathtaking, so much so that by the time I was lifted onto the stage, I had to stop myself from getting teary and remind myself to breathe so I could get on with the show. Hosting with Regis was a lot of fun. The perspective of being on that stage rather than in the audience was exhilarating. And although I didn’t win that year, I had been nominated, and that made the experience even more poignant.

  To be honest, winning the Emmy was not something I thought about from one year to the next. The set of All My Children is an atmosphere in which people don’t talk about the Emmy or any other award per se. I don’t believe winning an award was ever anyone’s goal. In my mind, we are all there to play our scenes and do the best work we can. It is a daily occurrence to see veteran actors and newbies alike running lines in the hallways and corridors of the studio, trying to squeeze in that last rehearsal before doing their scene. Personally, my main goal as an actress is to leave the studio each day feeling good about my contributions. I suppose it is also true that I want to have the respect and admiration of the people I work with—and the admiration of those I work for, too. If the producers and directors love my work, or the fabulous crew members applaud, cry, or laugh after one of my scenes, then I feel very good knowing I did what I was there to do—especially if they’re still affected after twelve-or eighteen-hour days! An Emmy award is the extra icing on the cake. It’s delicious, but it isn’t necessary in order for one to still enjoy the cake.

  Every year at nomination time, I would begin to feel butterflies, especially as the swell of speculation began about my prospects of winning. I never wanted to know when the nominations were supposed to be announced. I really tried to stay away from all of the hoopla. Besides, I am usually on the set working most mornings the Emmys are announced. When I did get the word that I was nominated again, it was always thrilling because that is a terrific confirmation that the work I love so dearly is being recognized by my peers.

  After I heard the good news, I would almost immediately get worked up into a frenzy of hope, excitement, and anticipation all over again. My angst was only magnified as the press, other media, and the fans began to get worked up, too. They were all so hopeful for me. Knowing this was so very moving and it certainly cushioned my fall each of the times I didn’t win.

  During the many years when I did not bring home an Emmy, my happiness for my peers who won instead of me was genuine. There was never a disingenuous moment. Don’t get me wrong. I wanted to win, but in that moment, I felt they had to be really good at their craft to be named “The Best.”

  Yes, there were many times when I—and so many fans from all walks of life—asked, “What would Erica do in a moment like this?” The answer, of course, is she would have run up onto that stage, grabbed the statue out of the other actress’s hands, and said, “Are you kidding me? I’ve earned this award. It’s mine, damn it!” And she would have done it long before receiving nineteen nominations. In the end, though, we all know how well that tactic worked for Kanye West, right? Still, it was fun at least to momentarily fantasize about pulling an Erica Kane even if I never had any intention of following through.

  In the years that someone else took home the Emmy for outstanding lead actress, the outpouring of fan appreciation was overwhelming. I received cards, letters, e-mails, flowers, and all sorts of gifts as consolation, all of which were so lovely and thoughtful. There were two little girls in Pennsylvania who sent me their ballet trophy. They thought having their award would make me feel better. Thankfully, they enclosed a card with their phone number on it. I called their mother to let her know that I had her daughters’ trophy, because I wasn’t sure even she knew it was missing. I told her how touched I was by their gesture, but that I was going to send it back. The girls protested, saying they didn’t want it. They wanted me to keep it so I didn’t feel sad. I thought their generosity was beyond gracious, so I invited the family to come to New York and meet me. They came to the set of All My Children to watch a taping, and I am so glad they did. Those girls were adorable. I told them I would agree to keep their trophy until I finally won an Emmy. When I did, I promised I would send their trophy back. They agreed, and that’s exactly what I did.

  And not to be outdone, another fan, Randy Stone, sent me his Oscar! He won the Academy Award for Best Documentary in 1994. When his Oscar arrived at my doorstep, the note simply read, Keep this until you win the Emmy. Helmut and I knew there was no possible way we could keep his precious award. When we called to thank him, he simply insisted that I keep it until I had an Emmy of my own. I told him I could be using a walker by the time that happened, but if he felt that strongly, I’d hold on to it, under the same conditions as the ballet trophy. When I won the Emmy, I returned the Oscar. Randy came to New York after my win and joined Helmut and me for dinner at Jean-Georges. It was the first time I actually met him. We had a lovely evening and I gratefully returned his Oscar.

  * * *

  My family had a bichon frise dog for fourteen wonderful years. Helmut and I fell in love with the puppy at first sight. When we brought him home, I wanted to name him Harley because he was the cutest little white fluffball—so opposite of the image of a Harley-Davidson. He was very playful and very sweet. A good family friend suggested that since I didn’t yet have an Emmy, we ought to name the puppy Emmy. Helmut said, “To hell with that. Let’s
go for an Oscar!” And so we named our new dog Oscar.

  * * *

  And then, there was one very memorable summer day when Shelley Winters appeared in the hair and makeup room at All My Children to hand-deliver a note to me written and signed from a number of actors from the Actors Studio. Shelley told me that she came to see me personally because she believed, along with the others, that I deserved the Emmy. She talked about Erica as a crossover character—someone people had come to understand better over time. They identified with her and tuned in to watch because of her. She said playing Erica gave me the ultimate boundless career. Shelley was very vocal in her opinion about why I hadn’t been given the award. She told me that even though she’d won an Oscar, she felt these types of awards were all political. She was extremely adamant. I didn’t know how to respond except to tell her how appreciative I was that she came to see me as a representative of the Actors Studio. It meant a great deal to me for them to recognize my work, because so often, critics underrate the work we do on daytime television, so it was especially gratifying to know my work was being appreciated, especially by such an exceptional group of actors.