Mommie Dearest

by Christina Crawford

I learned about the ideas of reincarnation and karma. I thought a lot about that in the context of my own life. It was the first philosophy that gave me anything to hold onto. It was the first concept that seemed to make any sense in the light of my own life and my relationship with my mother. It was the first time I sensed some order to the universe, some meaning to my own lifelong pain. If my relationship with my mother was something to do with karma, then it didn’t appear to be total absurdity. There was a reason I was put on earth … a life lesson I had to learn. I would continue to have to learn it over and over until the karma was resolved. Until there was peace in my life, I could go on no further. It was a time of inner speculation. It was a time when I was forced to come face to face with myself. I didn’t always like what I saw in my own mirror.

  During these years I made no attempt to keep in contact with mother. I sent no gifts. I wrote no polite letters. I gave up making any pretense of being the good, dutiful daughter. She lived her life and I lived mine quite separately. I gave up trying to blame her. I also had to give up making excuses for either one of us. I honestly didn’t care what she thought about me, or if she thought about me. I had to put my own life back together based on something other than total bullshit insanity. I had my journey to discover and to complete and that was my only concern. I think those years saved me from totally destroying myself.

  I was on the bottom rung of the economic and social ladder but this time it was quite different. Now there were groups of people who helped one another. There were people banding together in communes who chose not to participate in a system they found corrupt and unjust. We all believed passionately in President Kennedy. We believed in the civil rights movement. We knew the injustices first hand. There was no use trying to bullshit us through the media because we’d all been there. People made it on unemployment, by painting houses and fixing cars. They all wanted to be somebody, but on their terms and not the systems! The dissatisfaction ran very deep. It was the beginning of a social revolution that would last through the sixties.

  The day John Kennedy was assassinated, I was working on the switchboard at the savings and loan when the news came through. I couldn’t believe it was really true. At lunchtime I rushed to a friends house to see the television coverage.

  When he was dead I cried harder than when daddy died. He represented the only real hope for the future my generation had ever known. His loss was devastating. We were all glued to the television set for the next three days. I went to church to pray for him. When I returned, Lee Harvey Oswald had just been murdered in real time, right there on television! The whole world was falling apart! The whole thing was just falling apart. Everybody was crying.

  I don’t think that anyone who was in their early years when Kennedy was murdered was ever quite the same again. A trust, a faith, a belief and a hope that things would get better left all of us.

  I didn’t start back to work in show business until nearly the end of 1964. I did a play in Los Angeles, one in Santa Barbara, summer stock in Chicago and a couple of small parts on episodic television, but nothing significant. Early in 1965 I auditioned for John Cassevettes’ movie Faces and was hired.

  Through the considerable efforts of a friend in New York, I was booked the entire summer doing various plays in stock companies and on tour throughout the Midwest. I was happy to return to Chicago for a month, where I’d gotten very good reviews the summer before and made some friends.

  While I was still performing at a dinner theater about half an hour’s drive west of Chicago, mother arrived in town on Pepsi business. I’d heard she was staying at the Ambassador Hotel and sent her a note inviting her out to see the play. I had enclosed the glowing reviews we’d gotten. She never came to the theater, never called me. It so happened that, quite separately, a group of local Pepsi people had gotten tickets to see our play. I found out that they’d taken about ten tables and that night I arranged for small flower arrangements with a personal note from me to be placed on all the Pepsi tables.

  After the play, I met some of the people who were most complimentary. They asked if mother had seen the play and I had to say she’d been too busy.

  When I returned to Los Angeles, this letter was waiting for me.

  June 8, 1965

  Christina dear,

  Thank you so much for your note and the reviews. I am terribly sorry that they arrived the day after I had departed for New York. Fortunately, some of the Pepsi people were still in Chicago and sent them on to me.

  I am delighted about your success. I am really deeply happy for you.

  I don’t know what your plans are, or how long you are running there, so let me hear. I am back in New York now.

  God bless.

  Love,

  Mother

  Except for my screen test at Fox, mother had never seen anything I’d done. I guess she’d heard from fans in various parts of the country who had come to see me, but she really had no idea what I was like anymore. The last time I’d seen her was almost seven years before, when she told me I’d better go out and find a job. I’d spoken with her on the phone for several years after that and we’d written to one another periodically.

  She’d had a great success with her movie What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? in 1962. I’d had to laugh when I read all the stories about her fued with Bette Davis, because I could just imagine the trauma of those two working together. How Bob Aldrich ever got that picture finished is a marvel of modern times. Bette Davis was probably the only actress alive who was an absolutely fair match for mother. Years later, mother would only have to hear Bette Davis’ name mentioned to start into a complete tirade. I don’t think it is possible to carry that amount of hostility for so many years without a secret admiration for an equal adversary. When you meet your match and can’t come away with a total victory, there has to be a certain respect mingled with the anger, whether or not you choose to admit it.

  My last stop on tour that summer of 1965 was a theater in an amusement park in the coal mining region of Pennsylvania. Before the week’s run was quite over, I received word that I’d gotten an audition in New York. It was very exciting news. Saint Subber was looking for a replacement of the lead in the Chicago company of Barefoot In The Park.

  The day of my audition, Sue Mengers went with me to the theater. I’d never auditioned in a Broadway theater and I was so nervous I was visibly shaking. I did the best I could in a sort of totally unconscious state. When it was over, there was dead silence in the dark house. I was on the stage and didn’t know whether to just leave, whether I was supposed to stand there or find someplace to sit down. I was sort of immobilized.

  Then a voice came out of the darkness of the house. It was the producer himself, St. Subber. He said, “That was probably the worse audition I’ve ever sat through. You haven’t seen the play, have you?”

  I thought surely I was going to throw up all over their pretty set! I managed to nod my head, “no”, but I couldn’t say anything. The voice from the darkness said, “See the play tonight and come back at 10:30 tomorrow morning.”

  I laughed so hard during the play that night, it was nearly impossible to see it and memorize the blocking in only one viewing. But I got the idea of what they wanted and I’d made a lot of little notes on my script. It was only then that I realized what good training I’d gotten over the years in summer stock. There, you only had one week’s rehearsal at the most and everything was done very quickly. I stayed up half the night memorizing the lines and working out the blocking as best I could. Fortunately, there was only one set, so that wasn’t very difficult.

  The next morning I returned alone to the theater, and this time managed to be composed enough to remember the stage manager’s name. I thought the whole audition went very well. It was certainly light years away from the disaster of the day before. They had me do three scenes, after which I was soaked with perspiration from all the running the character was directed to do. They said thank-you-very-much-we’ll-be-in-touch, and I lef
t, not knowing one thing about what my chances were.

  I was back in Los Angeles almost a month before the agents called to tell me I was hired and to come to New York immediately to begin rehearsals! I would be financially solvent for the first time in my whole life. I was just 25 years old, but I’d been totally on my own for the last six years.

  The stage manager I’d met at the original audition, Harvey, was responsible for directing the replacements. The first evening in Chicago we were taken by Harvey to meet the cast. Joan Van Ark was playing “Corrie”, Dick Benjamin was playing “Paul”’ and Myrna Loy was playing the mother. Myrna was the star name in the package. Joan and Dick were gracious and offered to do whatever they could to help us. Joan and I had a rather long talk and she was just wonderful. Myrna Loy was polite as we shook hands and she mentioned something about meeting me as a little girl wearing white gloves and curtseying. I smiled back politely, not terribly amused.

  I realized the first day of full rehearsal in Chicago that Myrna was not going to be particularly helpful to us. She simply didn’t adjust to the fact that we were different people and try as we might, neither of us was going to be a carbon copy of the people she was used to seeing in our places. We didn’t sound alike, we didn’t look alike, but we were determined to give good performances.

  I’d worked with my fair share of stars in summer stock and the most difficult ones I’d known were pussy cats compared with Myrna.

  Harvey was wonderful to me, kept trying to reassure me that everything would be fine once the tension of our opening night was past. He told me I was superb in the part and not to worry one bit.

  Opening night was the most exhilarating experience of my life! Everything worked magnificently. First of all the play was a brilliantly written comedy. Secondly, the original direction by Mike Nichols was what we were following and it was paced so fast that the audience never had a chance to fully recover from the waves of laughter that engulfed them after the opening seconds. It was the most thrilling acting experience with an audience I’d ever known. I’d done a lot of comedy, but nothing to compare with this. My part was on stage almost every minute of the play and was a thoroughly exhausting assignment. What made it so fantastic was the laughter.

  August 25, 1965

  Tina darling,

  I’m delighted you are doing Barefoot in the Park. It should be a very exciting experience for you.

  The Festival was just wonderful - 25,000 people in the arena - and I was on Eurovision three times, which meant an audience each time of 50 million.

  I’m off on the 7th for Atlantic City, to be a judge for “Miss America”. Back to New York, then off to California to do a “Hollywood Palace.”

  Love to you and please give my fondest love to Myrna Loy. She is a great lady.

  “Mother”

  I gave Myrna mother’s regards, but by now I did not share mother’s opinion, at least not based on my own personal experience.

  What mother had neglected to mention in her “itinerary” letter, was that she was also scheduled to be in Chicago on company business. Once again I learned from the papers that she was staying at the Ambassador Hotel. I sent a bouquet of flowers to her with another note inviting her to see the play. The Chicago critics had re-reviewed the play. If I’d tried to write a review of my own performance, I couldn’t have asked for a more glowing accolade then I’d been given. In the midst of the growing tension at the theater those reviews were a much needed confirmation of my own instinct and professionalism, upon which I prided myself.

  Mother did not come to see the play. She declined on the basis that her schedule for Pepsi was already brimming over and left her no free time. It was bullshit, of course, but I had to swallow it.

  September 14, 1965

  Tina dear,

  So glad the play is going well. How long do you stay in Chicago and where do you go from there?

  Didn’t quite understand what you meant by “we all have such games.” Personally, I don’t have time for them.

  Dearest love to you.

  “Mother”

  I had written her a very sarcastic letter after the “busy schedule” excuse. Her reply was only what I would have expected.

  One night I was surprised to learn that Dick Benjamin was in the theater. I liked him very much in the short time I’d known him and admired his talent greatly. To my dismay, I discovered that the reason he was in Chicago was to redirect some of my scenes! Not only was that highly unusual, it was a terribly difficult position for him to be in. We all made the best of it, but it was a dreadful couple of days. Everyone’s nerves were frazzled, mine along with the rest.

  I called Harvey in New York to try and find out what was really going on. He’d heard that despite the great reviews and sold out houses, our star wasn’t happy. Management was trying to please her and it wasn’t really directed totally at me, even though I seemed to be taking the brunt of it. We were playing to standing room only. The new reviews and the personal publicity I was getting because I’d become quite popular in Chicago, helped make our show a solid hit all over again. It looked as though it could play Chicago another year at this point.

  Things went from bad to worse as the weeks went by. The New York office kept sending people out to see the show and report back on what they saw. Business was great and holding up solidly. The reviews were so good that I was subsequently nominated for one of the critics awards as best young actress of the season.

  I started hearing a rumor that they were going to fire me! I couldn’t believe it. I called my agents in New York but they said no one had said anything to them. Out of total desperation, I called my mother. I told her what I’d heard was happening and pleaded with her to call our star and help me get this thing straightened out. Mother listened to the entire story and then told me that she was very sorry. She said she didn’t thing she should interfere, and that she didn’t think Myrna would really do that. She wished me good luck, and that was it.

  The following morning, my agents called, terribly upset. The producers’ office had called to tell them I was being fired. They had no cause, no reason that would stand up with the union, so they were going to have to pay me every cent they owed under the terms of the contract, which didn’t expire until the following May or June. My agent said that the producers told him they were very sorry about the entire situation, but that it had come down to a choice of firing me and paying off my contract or loosing their star. Naturally, I was the one to go.

  I called mother to tell her I was returning to Los Angeles, after my brief stay with friends. She vehemently objected to my being with friends. She said when things like this happen, you should be alone. Don’t ever let anyone know how you feel, was her motto. Go off by yourself and don’t come back until everything is all right again. I wanted to be with people who cared about me, who loved me. I needed that right now. Her way would have been to disappear until she figured the whole incident had blown over and not say a word to anyone in the meantime.

  She kept everything locked up inside of her and wouldn’t let anyone in to see what was really going on. She wouldn’t admit to anyone that she hurt, wouldn’t admit that she needed anyone. She wouldn’t allow any help, wouldn’t accept any kindness. She pushed people away, except when she was in total control. She handled life like a wounded animal. She didn’t trust herself or anyone else enough to let the pain show through. In my opinion, that had caused her more pain, more failed relationships, more hurt feelings and more sorrow than the original pain she tried so hard to cover up and deal with all alone.

  I don’t think she ever felt really secure and comfortable in any relationship she ever had with anyone other than a person whose only function was to serve her wishes. But that was another kind of loneliness. That was the loneliness of the superior and the inferior, the mistress and the servant. That was not real friendship, not true companionship. But she never lasted very long in relationships where she was not in total control, calling all the shots an
d dictating all the other persons’ behavior. Maybe she just never learned how, I don’t know. She had learned how to be a dancer, she had learned how to be an actress, she had learned how to be a star. Maybe she just never had enough time left over to learn how to be a human being. Maybe she only felt safe within the rigid boundaries she set and only when she had a well-defined role to play.

  I returned to Los Angeles after four months instead of one year. It was a very difficult time for me.

  Harvey called nearly every day. He was wonderfully supportive and always made me feel happier. He came out to visit and we spent some time together. When he was back in New York, he wrote often and kept calling. Finally, he asked me to marry him and I accepted. I thought I loved him and I welcomed the prospect of moving back to New York where he lived. I was tired of Los Angeles and I seemed to have better luck professionally in New York anyway. Most of my friends were very pleased for me. I was almost 26 years old and never married. I guess I also had some fears about being an “old maid” which sounds very silly now, but was real enough then.

  However, along with the thought of getting married, came the realization that I was going to have to tell my mother. I hadn’t spoken to her since my emergency call from Chicago and I really had no idea what her response would be.

  Several days after I arrived in New York, I called her. I had to go through the company switchboard since I no longer had her private number. When I finally reached her, what I said was: “Mother, I’m planning to get married. I’d like you to meet my fiancé. I’d also like you to be at the wedding. It just wouldn’t seem right without you there.”

  It was a combination of many things, but I got so choked up that I could barely finish the sentence. I waited for her reaction for what seemed like an eternity. There were no guarantees as to how she’d react, and I’d gotten the “busy schedule” routine so many times over the last few years that no excuse would have totally shocked me.

  What happened next was something akin to a miracle. My mother was delighted! Instantly she invited the two of us to come for drinks that very evening and to join her at a dinner party with Marty Allen and his wife. It was a total and complete acceptance in a turnaround that I never could have anticipated in a million years.