JOAN CRAWFORD
Its so nice, George, remembering the children every year.
GEORGE
It’s easy to see looking over the gigantic group of packages under the tree now that the youngsters will have enough presents to keep them busy for months.
JOAN CRAWFORD
Yes. You see, I don’t let them have all their presents at one time. They’ll get to play with them all, you know all day tomorrow, and then we put a large group of them aside. From tomorrow on they earn their gifts.
GEORGE
How do you mean they earn them?
JOAN CRAWFORD
Well, if they stay on their good behavior, they are given their choice of what present they want next. Christopher had his birthday in October and he still hasn’t received all of his presents.
GEORGE
I suppose you give away a good many things.
JOAN CRAWFORD
We don’t give away any of the Christmas presents. I don’t think that would be fair to the people who send them. What we do is to have a complete housecleaning three times a year, every plaything, every article of clothing, is carefully gone over and large bundles go to the children’s homes and hospitals.
GEORGE
Do the children help you with this?
JOAN CRAWFORD
Oh, yes. I think its excellent training for them. I always see to it that they give up something they really love; otherwise, they don’t really learn the value of giving.
GEORGE
Christopher. What one thing do you want more than anything else to be in one of your packages tomorrow?
CHRISTOPHER
A pair of Hopalong Cassidy guns.
GEORGE
And Christina, what do you hope St. Nick leaves for you?
CHRISTINA
More than anything else in the world, I’d like a Collie dog like Lassie.
GEORGE
Miss Crawford. Could you tell us what you would call your most exciting Christmas?
JOAN CRAWFORD
I think the happiest moment of my life was the Christmas the children came into our home. I don’t see how any home can be complete without children of how any Christmas can be really enjoyed without youngsters around.
GEORGE
Now, suppose you tell us what’s going to happen for the rest of the evening after I leave you?
JOAN CRAWFORD
Well, Cynthia and Cathy will be off to bed pretty quickly, but I’ve discovered that there’s no point in trying to get Christina and Christopher to bed for hours. So they’ll help me with the last minute things and we’ll talk about tomorrow and watch the Christmas tree lights. Then in a little while we’ll welcome some of the children’s friends who’ll be in to help us sing Christmas carols. I imagine we’ll sing Jingle Bells even before Cynthia and Cathy go to sleep.
GEORGE
Christina, what’s your favorite Christmas time song, dear?
CHRISTINA
My favorite Christmas song is “The Little Town of Bethlehem”.
GEORGE
And Christopher, what’s yours?
CHRISTOPHER
“Away in a Manger”
GEORGE
And we’ll want to know your favorite too, Miss Crawford.
JOAN CRAWFORD
I think I’ve always loved “Silent Night” best, George.
GEORGE
Then when your friends leave, Christopher, what happens?
CHRISTOPHER
Mother reads to us.
CHRISTINA
Yes, we’re reading the Christmas Carol this year.
JOAN CRAWFORD
Helen Hayes sent us about four years ago a beautiful illustrated copy of Dickens’ Christmas Carols and it is one of our most prized possessions. I started to read it to them last year but Christopher couldn’t take it, it was too scary for him. He’s a bigger boy this year, though, so we started it several weeks ago and we’ll finish it tonight.
GEORGE
And then surely you finish up by reading “’Twas the Night Before Christmas’”?
JOAN CRAWFORD
Oh, no Christmas Eve would be complete without that.
GEORGE
Do you remember the last two lines?
CHRISTINA
I do.
CHRISTOPHER
So do I.
GEORGE
Well, then, as a Christmas present to all of us, do you suppose you could say those lines for us?
ALL TOGETHER
“And I heard him playing as he drove out of sight, Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”
GEORGE
And a Merry Christmas to you, Cathy, Cynthia, Christopher and Christina, and, of course, to you, Miss Joan Crawford. Thanks again for allowing all of us to share a part of your Christmas Eve.
JOAN CRAWFORD
Thank you so much, George. Merry Christmas to you and to all of your listeners.
And so the millions of fans across America were given a capsule glimpse into the glamorous world of Hollywood with the nearly perfect picture of one happy, lucky family. We had everything, so the story went. We had the gifts and the money and a beautiful famous movie star mother and the world should have been at our feet. remember being dressed up and paraded in front of interviewers and photographers with my little rehearsed responses and photo-perfect smile. Our manners were those of model ladies and gentlemen that no longer existed in 1949. We were like little echoes of mother’s constant drive for perfection and gentility. Out of the cauldrons of Hollywood’s melting pot she had clawed her way to the top and now we were the final stars in the crown proving her not only successful but morally superior. Her generosity in taking not one, not two, but four orphaned children (we were never referred to as illegitimate) into her home was extolled in numerous movie magazine stories.
When the reporters and photographers left, we returned to our room and changed our clothes. It was a case of extremes: one minute being treated like privileged royalty with reporters paying careful attention to your every word and a few minutes later all that attention was gone.
CHAPTER 12
At times when there was no man around, mother often wanted to go out anyway. On those evenings she told me that I was going to be her “date” and we were going out to dinner. The two of us would get dressed up and get into her big black Cadillac.
In no time at all we’d pull in front of one her favorite restaurants. Sometimes it would be the old LaRue’s on Sunset Boulevard, other times it would be Romanoff’s where her friend and erstwhile prince, Mike Romanoff, would greet her warmly and show us to one of the best tables. For lunch we often went to the Cock ’N Bull, but my favorite place for dinner was Don the Beachcombers in Hollywood. I loved the Polynesian food, the waterfalls and the booth we always sat in that looked like a little grass hut. Wherever we went, the owners always fawned over us and mother would smile happily. She always told them she was taking her big girl out to dinner and they would beam with pleasure and tell me what a pretty young lady I was. No matter what restaurant it was, people would always come by the table and sit to talk with us. Mostly mother would talk business with them while I sat quietly and ate my food. She always told her friends that I’d wanted to come to this restaurant and I’d been such a good girl that she couldn’t refuse me. I was used to the routine and I’d just smile politely. I already knew that unless mother and I were alone, I was not supposed to join into the conversation and by now I didn’t really mind.
One night at Don the Beachcombers a tall, strange looking man came over to our table. Mother greeted him warmly and introduced him as Howard Hughes. He sat down and ordered drinks. He stayed with us through most of the meal and was obviously trying to get mother to be more than just cordial toward him. When he finally realized that he wasn’t getting anywhere, he kissed her on the cheek and left.
“He’s weird!” I whispered to her, not entirely sure he was out of earshot. Mother laughed.
“He’s Howard Hughes, Tina, and he’s very rich.” It was while we were waiting for the check that she told me that years before Howard Hughes was starting in the films and had wanted to put her under contract. She had refused him a number of times, even though he was offering her a tremendous amount of money, because she didn’t want to ruin her reputation. She said that Howard wanted to buy people and own them. Many times he’d put some unsuspecting young actress under contract and she’d never do one movie. The others, like Jane Russell, were just used for exploitation and mother didn’t want any part of it.
When Howard failed to entice her into a contract, he tried to get her to go out with him. She finally accepted and they went out a couple of times, but all he wanted to talk about was machinery and she wasn’t interested. He was also quite deaf and wore a hearing aid which he was vain about and didn’t like to have anyone mention.
I thought about him for a while as mother was paying the check and felt sort of sorry for him. He was a strange, tall, rumpled man who hadn’t seemed very much at ease with us or himself.
We usually had a very good time on our dates. Mother would chatter away about the people that came to the table for one reason or another. It was funny that she hated to have dates that were what she called “table hoppers” but if it hadn’t been for all the men that did table hop, we would have been left talking to ourselves! I guess she just didn’t like being out with a man who did that. She never got up and went to anyone else’s table, she said it was bad manners. So … everyone else got up and came to ours.
When we got home, having discussed the entire evening during the drive, mother would often ask if I wanted to sleep in with her. I always felt badly about saying no for fear it would hurt her feelings. She had two giant beds in her room, one at either end of what we called the sleeping porch. Sometimes I would sleep in the other big bed but often she would want me to sleep with her.
She divided her bed into two parts down the middle with great big pillows so we wouldn’t bump into one another during the night. Then she got into her half and I crawled into my half and she went to sleep.
There were two things I didn’t like about sleeping with mother. One was that her blankets were so heavy I felt like I was being buried alive. The other was that I couldn’t move all night long. She claimed that I wiggled incessantly and it woke her up. So I would try to remember not to wiggle, which meant not to move and it would keep me wide awake half the night.
I was a very good student even in the elementary grades and enjoyed Gretna Green Public School. Because the work became increasingly easy for me my teachers decided to skip me ahead one half grade. So, over a weekend in February I went from the top of third grade to the top of the fourth grade.
The transition wasn’t particularly difficult except for one subject: math. Somehow I had missed a significant part in the process and I had to have Mrs. Howe tutor me after school for the rest of the year.
There were new friends to be made as well and I was now a little younger than most of my classmates. But we were all near enough in age that making friends wasn’t impossibly difficult and indeed the relationships developed.
I had been walking the two or three miles to school, but now I was allowed to ride my bike which made me feel quite grown up and was a lot easier. I had been absolutely forbidden to accept rides from strangers and walking to school many mornings I was sorely tempted to ignore the stem warning. I took a short cut through several alleys and there were always dogs that seemed to lie in wait to scare me half to death. The bike was a definite improvement.
I joined the Brownies and had to wear my uniform one day a week to school. The only reason I joined was to be with some of my friends because I didn’t really like Brownies that much. We did one fun thing though and that was a play, which mother directed. The play was Hansel and Gretel and I had to be the mother. We rehearsed on the small stage in our own theater and mother managed her little troupers very patiently. I was furious at having to be the ugly old mother, but she explained that because I was taller than the other girls, it would look ridiculous for me to play one the children. Since we were only girls in the Brownie troop, there were no boys in the play and being the mother was better than having to be Hansel! We were all very excited the day of the performance as we put on our costumes and mother helped everyone with their makeup. Unfortunately, I got a classic case of stage fright during my unauspicious acting debut and forgot half of my lines which shortened the entire play by about 10 minutes.
Mother was quite strict about where she let me go, so most of my friends had to come to my house to play. My two best friends were Judy and Cynthia. Their families had nothing to do with the picture business and they were as different as any two people could be.
Judy was tall, had carrot-red hair and was a terrific athlete. Cynthia was a petite blonde and much more socially conscious. Cynthia had wonderful slumber parties which were great fun because her mother was not so strict and let us make noise and be silly.
Judy and I started out as rivals. She was the tetherball champ and no matter how I tried I couldn’t beat her. We battled it out on the school playground and then after school we would actually meet behind the fence and have a fist fight just like the boys. She had long red hair and I had long blonde hair and there was more hair pulling than punches. I didn’t have any more success winning our fist fights than I had at tetherball and after she finally landed a solid punch that gave me a whopping black eye, we called a truce. I lied about the black eye at home with some story about getting accidentally hit with the tetherball during recess and after that Judy and I were great friends.
Mother had a very peculiar habit that I grew to find downright embarrassing. With my close friends she insisted that they call her something other than Miss Crawford. At first she suggested they call her Aunt Joan, but that didn’t work very well because most of them didn’t feel comfortable with our aunt and uncle convention. It was then, to my horror, that mother suggested the nickname “Stinky”. The girls were as taken aback as I was hearing the name, but that’s what it was to be … “Stinky”. It was absolutely humiliating for me to have my friends call her “Stinky” to her face and then laughingly tell the other kids at school behind her back. When other kids would tease me about it, I just told them to go to hell.
That wasn’t nearly as bad as some of the other things that the kids said. There was the whole business about not having a father. I tried to explain that I was adopted and mother said that made me specially wanted, more than even people who had their own kids. But what I got in return was snickers and pointed remarks about being a bastard without a father. It was so unusual for someone to admit being adopted that I didn’t meet any other children who had been adopted until many years later. The more common practice was for parents not to tell children they were adopted until the child was nearly grown up, if indeed they told them at all.
But mother had told us even before we were fully able to understand all the details. She said that she chose us from a pink cloud. When I was very young I used to look up in the sky and think that the different colored clouds were the explanation for the different colored people.
There was, in addition, the business about being a movie star’s daughter.
This was a public school and although it was in west Los Angeles, not all the families were wealthy. Most were sort of middle class and some were downright poor. In fact it was a shock for me when I was invited to some of the birthday parties of my classmates that year. I was eight years old then and for the first time allowed to go to some of the parties given by people other than the members of the movie community. Mother was extremely cautious because of the kidnapping business and always felt uncomfortable when I was with people she didn’t know very well. Unfortunately, this overprotectiveness was taken as an insult by some of my friends’ parents and I actually lost some friendships because I was never allowed to go to their houses, they always had to come to mine.
The first such bir
thday party I was allowed to go to was difficult for me. This time I knew everyone there because we were all classmates. But I was horribly overdressed compared to the other girls and it was quite embarrassing. What I wanted to do was to fit in and to be accepted but my expensive party dress set me entirely apart. Then too, I had to be so careful of my clothes and not scuff my shoes so that I wouldn’t get into trouble when I returned home that I couldn’t participate in most of the games they played. I had taken off my white gloves the minute I got into the house and I knew mother couldn’t see me, but it wasn’t quick enough to escape the eyes of my friends who had never seen anyone their own age wearing gloves. Nobody said anything but I could see them exchange glances. My present was one of last year’s Christmas gifts I wasn’t allowed to have and it was a lot bigger than the other packages. It was wrapped in beautiful paper with an elaborate satin bow and stood out like a spotlight in the midst of the more ordinary presents. If I felt uncomfortable, the girl’s mother was nearly beside herself. She tried her best to be normal but she kind of lost it in the excitement of introducing me to all the neighbor friends who “just happened” to drop by to wish her daughter happy birthday. She introduced me as Joan Crawford’s daughter, which seemed to be the important part, and several times forgot my name or didn’t think it necessary to add. I shook hands, smiled and curtseyed as I’d been taught to do when meeting anyone for the first time and had the sense that everyone was staring at me. After the first few introductions I just said “Hello” and left it at that.
When we went out into the small back yard no bigger than the space we used to hang out the laundry at home, I felt sorry for my friend. Her family must be very poor, I thought, and tried harder to be polite about this sort of sad situation.
It wasn’t until after a couple more of these birthday parties that a monumental truth began to dawn on me. The houses of most of my public school friends were quite a bit better than the site of the first birthday party, but they weren’t at all like our house nor any of the homes of mother’s friends. And it wasn’t even the houses that surprised me so much as the yards. I was well into the eighth year of my life before I realized that not everyone in the world had swimming pools! Little by little it dawned on me that most people didn’t live like the way we did. They didn’t have swimming pools but they didn’t have to wear white gloves and their parents weren’t nearly as strict as my mother was. It was a different world entirely.
Mommie Dearest Page 11
