Home Work

by Julie Andrews

  Within a few days, Saigon came under direct attack. President Ford announced that the U.S. government would evacuate orphans on military aircraft in a series of flights that became known as “Operation Babylift.” On the first mission, there was a devastating crash shortly after takeoff that killed 138 people, including 78 children. We were horrified to learn that babies and caregivers from Amelia’s orphanage had been on board, and we feared that Susan MacDonald, the lovely lady who had brought Amelia to us, had been killed. Mercifully, we caught a glimpse of her on the news.

  We cabled our contacts in Saigon, and five days later received word that our new baby was in fact already in the U.S., having come in on a subsequent airlift with more than three hundred other babies, all on one visa. We were asked to wait twelve hours or so until all children had been accounted for. Mia and André were also adopting another baby at the same time, and the agency then asked if we could possibly take care of their child for a few days, since the Previns were still in England and their travel visas had not yet been processed. We agreed to do so.

  On April 11, 1975, Joanna Lynne Edwards joined our family.

  I wrote:

  What a day! Our second baby is here—in the Beverly Hills Hotel. Asleep, clean, fed, warm—and safe. We got word this morning that a woman named Christie would be bringing her in. Christie was in the horrendous plane crash, and we were told she is pretty close to a breakdown. Apparently, she had very bravely turned around and gone straight back to Vietnam to accompany the next group of babies traveling out, which included our Joanna. We offered to put Christie up for the weekend to give her some TLC. She seems bone-weary, dazed and clearly in shock, but trying to hide it. Hope we can help her.

  Joanna is only three months old and weighs about nine pounds. She is very alert—a personality baby. She smiles a lot and “talks” up a storm. She has no hair at all. Her head was shaved on arrival in the U.S. to accommodate an IV due to a bronchial infection, but the first thing Blake said when he saw her was, “I think she’s beautiful.”Already I wouldn’t swap her for anything.

  Christie was clearly coping with post-traumatic stress disorder, and I asked my analyst how best to support her. He suggested we offer lots of tactile activities—things that wouldn’t require too much communication on her part. A trip to the hairdresser, a massage, a walk on the beach, to help her reconnect with herself.

  Alas, we had little chance to do much for her, since the next day we received word that the Previns’ baby was in San Francisco and ready to be picked up. Tony Adams accompanied Christie on a quick round-trip to collect her, and our Beverly Hills Hotel bungalow suddenly became a nursery, overflowing with babies and caregivers. The following day, the orphanage in Saigon summoned Christie back. As she departed, I found it hard not to weep at the courage and dedication it must have taken for her to return to the horrors there.

  The Previns’ baby was not well. She had severe dysentery and an ear infection. The poor child worsened as the day went on, her little knees drawing up in pain, and she cried nonstop. Our pediatrician very kindly made a house call, and promptly admitted the baby to UCLA Medical Center, where she rapidly began to improve under their excellent care.

  Both our babies needed a visa to exit the U.S., and another to enter Switzerland. Joanna had no passport or birth certificate, and if Saigon fell, which was looking increasingly likely, Amelia’s Vietnamese passport would become obsolete. Our lawyer managed to obtain a laissez-passer travel permit for Joanna from the Vietnamese Embassy and an entry visa from the Swiss Consulate, and we hightailed it back to Switzerland.

  Almost immediately, we received news that Saigon was falling. I rushed to the Vietnamese Embassy, over an hour away, in Bern, to obtain a passport for Joanna before it became impossible to do so. Everyone there seemed amazed that Jo had reached us without any travel documents or identity papers. The slightly pompous consul told me I would have to return with a notarized letter explaining everything, and photocopies of any adoption-related documents. I politely asked what would happen if Saigon fell before I could get back to Bern. Wouldn’t the embassy close?

  “Oh, madame,” he replied condescendingly. “We will always be here.”

  Two days later, Saigon did indeed fall to the North. I was just departing for Bern once again when I received a call from the embassy saying they had closed. We had missed getting Joanna her passport by one day, and now Amelia’s was no longer valid. The only option for the time being was to continue applying for laissez-passers whenever we traveled.

  Blake had gone back to Los Angeles for the press opening of Return of the Pink Panther, so Avril and I took turns caring for the babies individually during the nights, getting up for feedings and diaper changes and so forth. The day before Blake and Tony were due to return to Gstaad, we set about decorating the house in pink to welcome them. We made a huge banner to string across the balcony, Geoff and Emma made posters, we put pink flowers and candles throughout the house, and I put a stuffed Pink Panther, along with pink Kleenex and soap, in Blake’s bathroom.

  Just before their arrival, we all dressed in pink. Blake had chartered an air taxi service to bring him and Tony up from Geneva to the small airport in our neighboring village of Saanen.

  That evening, I wrote:

  Drove to the airport and there was the plane, landing quickly and smoothly. A skylark was singing over the field in the hot sun; even the plane did not disturb its song.

  The miracle has happened—my Blackie is home and safe, our children are home and safe, and for this moment, all seems right in my world.

  14

  THE RETURN OF THE PINK PANTHER was a smash hit, breaking box office records in America. The European opening was scheduled for early fall, and plans were made for a press gala in Gstaad at that time, since some of the film had been shot there. Blake and Tony were suddenly engaged in phone calls and trips to London to discuss the possibility of a sequel.

  Emma departed to spend the rest of the summer with her dad, and Blake, Tony, Avril, Geoff, the babies, and I headed to Los Angeles, where we would be spending the next two months in a rental house in Malibu while Blake worked on the Panther sequel. We also needed to research high schools for Geoff for the fall, since he was still adamant about moving back to California. It had never occurred to me that the children might not be happy in Gstaad, and I was terribly concerned about the family being separated. Patty was still emotionally unstable, so having Geoff live with her was not an option. Thankfully, Blake’s uncle Owen and his wife Lucille generously offered to help by allowing Geoff to live with them for a few months until we had a clearer sense of next steps.

  When we arrived in Los Angeles, we discovered that all was not well between Jenny and Tom. Blake very quickly found himself in the middle of that situation, and in endless discussions with Patty. Then I received word that Emma had contracted chicken pox while traveling with her dad, and we began to notice that something was amiss with Tony Adams, now twenty-two. He complained of back problems, and had developed stomach ulcers, for which he had been given prescription pain meds. Blake and I wondered if he was abusing them.

  Blake was still self-medicating every now and then when his back acted up, and Tony was clearly influenced by everything that Blake did. He had begun to dress like Blake, drive a similar car, and even use similar expressions. Although Tony was still the generous soul he had always been, Blake asked a great deal of him, and the promotion had obviously added pressure. Blake suggested that Tony take a couple of weeks off, which he did. It occurred to me that my husband was not unhappy to have someone else to point fingers at with respect to substance abuse—but I didn’t mention these feelings to him.

  Emma, now twelve, rejoined us at the end of August. She had spent the summer in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where her dad had been designing an opera, and though she had recovered from the chicken pox, she returned home with an ear infection and an orphaned kitten she had found in the desert. I was so happy to see her, but she was strung ou
t about saying goodbye to her dad and trying not to cry. It was painful to know that she was hurting so much.

  Our worries about Jenny and Geoff escalated. Tom Bleecker sent a letter informing us that, despite their recent relationship troubles, he and Jenny intended to be married in the fall. Jenny had just turned eighteen. Geoff, not yet sixteen, was still smoking and drinking, and Blake and I were deeply concerned about leaving him with Owen and Lucille Crump, as had been arranged. We prayed that the school we had found for him, his therapist, and the Crumps could “hold” him for the time being, but we knew we couldn’t impose on them for too long.

  Emma was entering eighth grade, the highest level at her school in Switzerland, and there were no English-speaking high school options other than boarding schools near Gstaad. Thanks to the success of the Panther film, Blake was now receiving a number of good offers for other film projects in Hollywood. It was becoming apparent that my dream of making Switzerland our permanent home might not be possible for much longer.

  Blake and I began discussing plans to reestablish a base in the United States once the new Panther sequel finished shooting the following summer. In order to maintain the official residency we had established in Switzerland, we would have to divide our time between Europe and the States for a while, and do our best to make it all work somehow. As luck would have it, we found a piece of land adjacent to the rental property we had loved so much on the bluffs in Malibu. It included an old 1935 ranch house, and we put a down payment on it.

  For now, though, work was calling us back to Europe. We had the Pink Panther gala weekend in Gstaad ahead of us, and Blake was on deadline to deliver the script for The Pink Panther Strikes Again, the sequel that was to start shooting in the New Year.

  The Gstaad tourist bureau and United Artists went all out for the gala weekend, which took place at the Palace Hotel. There was pink swag everywhere, and huge pink paw prints led up the road to the Palace and spilled over the side of the hill. It poured with rain for most of the weekend, but everyone was in a festive mood.

  The screening of the film was preceded by entertainment from the local brass band and an alpenhorn demonstration. Attendees gathered for dinner under a tent on the hotel grounds, where Henry Mancini conducted an orchestra. I sang “Moon River” directly to Blake, and was surprised to see him tear up.

  EMMA BEGAN HER last year at the local school, and Blake pushed forward with his next Panther script. As the exquisite Swiss autumn days unfolded, I focused on the babies and made it a point to enjoy as much of the outdoors as possible, especially on Sundays.

  A diary entry from the time:

  Went for a lovely walk this afternoon with Avril, Em and the babes. Em and Avril each had a back-pack with one little girl strapped inside. Getting tiny Joanna strapped into Em’s backpack was hilarious—at one time, the webbing under Jo’s chin was too tight, and she was grinning good-naturedly while slowly turning purple. Later, Em stopped to drink at a water trough, and Jo found herself staring at the sky, arms and legs pointing to all four corners, eyes wide with astonishment. Where had the earth gone? All very sweet, lots of giggles, and lovely fresh afternoon air.

  The children and I remained in Gstaad throughout the autumn. The film company procured a small rental house in London for Blake and Tony, since we had by now given up the house in Chester Square and they needed a base for preproduction on The Pink Panther Strikes Again.

  Just after Christmas, we learned that Jennifer and Tom had indeed gotten married, and that Jennifer was pregnant. There were also rumbles of trouble with Geoff, who had been suspended from school for two weeks. Blake flew out to L.A. to meet with Owen and Lucille, who conveyed that they couldn’t manage Geoff’s ongoing struggles much longer. It was now inevitable that we would have to move back to Los Angeles as soon as our work in Europe was complete.

  Blake commenced shooting at Shepperton Studios in England, and I commuted back and forth between London and Gstaad. Blake had hired a new secretary by the name of Francine Taylor, and on my first day there I overheard her muttering to herself about a gentleman who had been trying to circumvent her to get to Blake for some insignificant reason.

  “He is not going to get past me!” she said tartly, and I realized that Blake was in good hands.

  Almost immediately, Blake began having trouble with Peter Sellers. Peter had recently been diagnosed with a heart problem, the medication for which appeared to be affecting his mood and energy. As the days unfolded, he was chronically late for work in the mornings, asked for lunch breaks to begin early, and couldn’t wait to be dismissed in the evenings. He frequently phoned in sick, forcing Blake to shoot around him when possible, or fold the company for the day for insurance purposes. It was tough on company morale, especially so early in the production schedule, and very disturbing for Blake, since he had enjoyed working with Peter for so many years.

  When Blake confronted him, Peter threatened to quit the film, or sue. Blake talked him down, but the détente would only last a day or two before problems flared up again. Blake confessed to me how difficult it was to do comedy with someone so depressed. He began to look for ways to build the comedy around Peter, rather than having it emanate from him.

  MUM AND AUNTIE made a visit to Gstaad, and it was not what I would call successful. Mum was now sixty-five, but looked a good deal older. She had gained a lot of weight, and was breathless from her years of smoking. Auntie was five years younger, and had long suffered from rheumatoid arthritis, which had worsened considerably.

  I wrote:

  Took Mum and Auntie to the top of the mountain for a late lunch as it was such a gorgeous day. Mum seemed uptight, and it was hard to tiptoe through the sulks and icy remarks. Hard to tell who’s the worst of the two ladies. They are both bitchy behind each other’s backs. Auntie is perhaps the more subversive and devious of the two. Mum is more out front and just plain bad-tempered. Incredible that their sibling rivalry has lasted sixty years, yet they cannot live without each other.

  I hated to admit it, but it was a relief when they returned home.

  I had been receiving offers for quite some time to make an appearance at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas. Initially, I’d postponed a decision—but Caesars was persistent, and given that our expenses now included the new property in Malibu, it made sense for me to seriously consider it. It had always been important to me that I contribute to the family coffers when I could, so I finally accepted the offer to do sixteen performances there in August.

  I knew, however, that I couldn’t just open “cold”—I needed to create an act worthy of such a high-powered venue, and put in a considerable amount of time rehearsing and trying it out. A perfect solution presented itself: while Blake continued filming, I would premiere the act at the famed Palladium in London, where I had first appeared as Cinderella at age seventeen.

  I pulled myself up by the bootstraps and embarked upon a serious regime of exercise and singing practice. I recalled Richard Burton telling me that, in his younger years, he had gone to the Welsh mountains to orate from Shakespeare as a means of improving his voice and lung capacity. It occurred to me that I had mountains right outside my door. Since it was “off-season,” I thought I could safely attempt my own version of Richard’s exercise.

  Each day, I walked a full circle, up the hill from our chalet, across the fields behind it, down along the brook, and back to the chalet. It was a good stretch, and my legs grew stronger while I vocalized along the way.

  One day, I was practicing “The Sound of Music,” which I would be performing in my act. I was rounding the last curve, singing flat out, when suddenly a group of Japanese tourists, cameras around their necks, crested the hill in front of me. They recognized me, and looked simply stunned. I dashed for home, mortified.

  On one of my trips to London to visit Blake, he and I went to see Shirley MacLaine, whose act was currently the toast of the town at the Palladium. We went backstage afterward and showered her with praise and admiration. I asked Shirl
ey if she had any secrets to help me overcome the anxiety I still felt whenever I made a first entrance in concert. It was one thing to hide behind a “character” in a play or musical, but when appearing as myself, I often felt awkward and self-conscious.

  “Julie,” she said, “I just choose a persona to play. Will I be the gracious hostess, the comedienne, the vivacious dancer . . . ? It’s all part of the act, and once you’ve decided on your role, it’s a lot easier.” I vowed to remember her words.

  On my next trip to London, I met with Ian Fraser, who would be arranging and conducting. The more music we went through, the more I realized just how much singing I would have to sustain, and the old familiar panic arose as to whether I would be able to cut it every night—and twice nightly in Vegas—without losing my voice. I realized that the only thing I could do was to be so well prepared and in such good shape that I’d have a reserve of energy that hopefully never needed tapping.

  We spent the Easter break in Gstaad, and then Blake and Tony departed for Munich for location filming and I soon joined them.

  Dad and Win visited us in Munich, and it was lovely to have enough time to spoil them a little. Emma flew in for a long weekend as well. She and I spent a glorious day accompanying Blake and Tony location scouting in Salzburg.

  That evening, I wrote:

  Salzburg was fabulous—a beautiful day, and I felt the grandest feeling; something to do with coming back to Austria a happier person than when I was last here. Who would have guessed that I’d come back one day with Blake and Em? We had a delicious lunch at the Goldener Hirsch, looked at the gardens and churches, then took a horse-drawn carriage through the old town. Emma loved it, as did I.

  While I was having fun being a tourist, Blake was still struggling with Peter Sellers. One night in Munich, Peter stayed out until dawn with his leading lady and didn’t show up on set until the afternoon. Blake was furious, but didn’t confront him, since he knew it would only lead to sulking on Sellers’s part and cost even more time. Omar Sharif flew in to play a small role as a courtesy to Blake, and Blake confided to me what a joy and relief it was “to have a pro on the set.”