Lessons from the Mountain

by Mary McDonough

  The others were filming down the road at Ike Godsey’s store, so David, Kami, and I wandered over to the tree house near the barn. It was a pretty fair climb up that pepper tree. The entrance was a square cut out in the floor, and we climbed in and just sat there, talking and looking around. We hadn’t asked permission, and something—the rule follower in me—knew we shouldn’t be there. Of course, childhood curiosity won out. It was so fun to be up there with the bird’s-eye view of the house, the yard, and the mill.

  Then I heard a scream. Kami had stepped back through the hole in the floor, fallen, and hit her head every inch of the way down. I will never forget the sound of her screams. I was horrified, and I don’t even remember getting down myself. David ran to get help, and I did the best I could to comfort Kami. She had a lump on her head the size of a lemon.

  They took her to the hospital. I was miserable. I was the oldest, and I felt it was entirely my fault. I should have known better, and now my baby sister was hurt. I cried and knew I was wrong to have wanted to go up there. My gray cloud hovered as I tossed and turned all night, waiting for the punishment. No one told me it wasn’t my fault. I just knew that after they took care of Kami, I would be in trouble. My cloud didn’t dissipate until after I saw Kami the next day and saw she was all right. I didn’t get the expected grounding, and no one said a thing to me about it. I vowed to myself to follow the rules. I punished myself by being miserable and said the rosary. I knew I was bad, and bad things happen to bad people. The fall should have happened to me.

  I carried this belief around for years, punishing myself for “bad” behavior: from gaining a pound, breaking a diet, not being perfect, speaking my mind, or blowing a line. It was a horrible way to live. I was so hard on myself, which only added to my misery. A wise therapist once said to me, “Mary, you would never talk to or treat anyone as mean as you treat yourself. You would never judge anyone the way you judge yourself. Why are you so hard on yourself?”

  The truth hit me like a bolt of lightning. Her words helped me start looking at how I beat myself up constantly, even when no one else did. I saw how I held myself back by being the victim and martyr. Eventually I learned to give up my belief that if I was a good girl, I could make good things happen.

  Maybe I was enough as I was. I am still learning forgiveness, especially toward myself. It’s hard to get those nuns’ harsh lessons out of my head sometimes; yet it would be vital for my survival. But that was another mountain to climb.

  THE CORK AND THE PEARL

  Some of us had a hard time with dialogue from time to time. Eric had a difficult time saying “Marsha Woolery” in one script. Then there was “practicing basketball,” which came out “praking baket-ball.” We cracked up so much, we had to do eighteen, or maybe more, takes on that one.

  As a result, the producers thought it would be a good idea for us to learn to enunciate properly. The obvious solution was for us to work on it in school. Someone brought in corks and we were supposed to put them in our teeth and read aloud. The idea was that if we could be understood while we held the corks in our mouths, we would articulate even better when they were removed. It was a challenging exercise, for sure.

  Glen, as he always did, made it interesting. We had to read The Pearl as part of our school curriculum; so there we sat, cork in mouth, taking turns reading John Steinbeck’s classic. We had a hoot with that one, because we sounded so funny. I am not sure it ever did any good, because we still muffled lines all the same.

  CHURCH ANTICS

  There were times when our outtakes were off-color. Actually, a lot of times, but they were all in good fun. Richard is a very funny man. He has a great sense of humor, and you wouldn’t think it—for all the sensitivity John-Boy had on the show—but I would say Richard was just as funny as he was dramatic. It’s an indication of how special he is as a person, and talented as an actor.

  He had us in stitches a lot. I love to laugh, so these moments are still precious to me. There were times when he would flub a line and turn it into a comedy sketch. Sometimes he would limp, or affect an accent, or exit the house with the walk of a completely different character. One time, he hobbled out like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, all hunched over, crippled on one side, and dragging one leg behind him. Our gag reels are full of Richard’s hilarious antics.

  I remember when he was in his monkey phase. He jumped on the couch, protruded his lower jaw, squinted like a monkey, and picked through our hair. This always made me crack up. I loved the silliness amidst the seriousness of the hard work.

  Richard played pranks, sometimes on us, sometimes on unsuspecting crew members. When Ritter visited the mountain, he and Richard melded like a comedy duo. They were famous for trying to break each other up, usually during takes. They went to great lengths to pull off these pranks, which played out while cameras rolled.

  I’ll never forget a particular church scene. We were in our Sunday best, and Reverend Fordwick had a huge, very important sermon to give. This was a really difficult speech, and there were a lot of people in the warm, close room; extras filling the pews, the crew, and all the equipment made the hot room even hotter. Picture the Waltons up front, the camera right behind us pointing toward Ritter waiting at the pulpit.

  On cue, he stepped up and began. All eyes were on him as he launched into this long-winded sermon. Prepared to be bored through long pages of dialogue, I glanced over at Richard, earnestly staring up at Ritter, a perfect John-Boy look of rapt attention on his face. Then I noticed a huge wad of white, thick, foamy spit seeping from the corner of his mouth. The ooze of drool made Richard look absolutely rabid.

  I almost burst out laughing on the spot, but for my amazement at the total focus Richard gave Ritter. I was worried I would be the one to break, and all the while they stayed perfectly in character. Ritter gave Richard his most sincere “Reverend” look, continuing to deliver his powerful sermon. I couldn’t believe my eyes. How could he not be laughing? My sides hurt from holding it in.

  From behind us, the camera could only see the back of Richard’s head, not the drool, so shooting continued. The longer it went on, the more spittle dribbled out of Richard’s mouth. I looked at Ritter as Reverend Fordwick, thumping his Bible and pounding the podium, and back at Richard soberly listening, the drool now covering his lips and making its way down his chin. Ritter’s performance was fantastic; he never broke character or blew a line. I was amazed and hoped someday I’d be as professional and controlled as these two.

  Turns out, this little trick was done with a makeup sponge. The timing had to be perfect and Richard had been working up to just the right consistency and saturation before the scene started. He chewed it like gum until it absorbed enough saliva; then at the perfect moment, a gentle bite on the sponge released its contents. The visual was effective, if not disgusting. I was fascinated and grossed out at the same time.

  Everyone, even me, remained professional and focused until Ritter finished his lines, and the director called, “Cut!” Ritter and Richard faced off, screaming wildly with laughter. They hooted and hollered like two boys who had just gotten away with hiding a toad in the teacher’s desk, congratulating each other. They were great friends, and we all enjoyed their friendship, pranks and all.

  From time to time, we all played practical jokes on each other. I will never count myself to be as clever as Richard and Ritter, but I do remember one fateful day. Cameras rolling, we were gathered around the table, reading letters from the boys at war, passing them to each other, sharing the news our brothers described from their war experiences.

  Elizabeth was reading a letter John-Boy had written. The piece of paper had holes cut out as if the war censors had vetted it against security infringements. Kami passed the letter to me, and I noticed she’d written her lines on the prop letter.

  After “cut,” I gave her grief about not learning her lines. Then, when she wasn’t looking, I wrote something naughty—I won’t spell it out here, this is a family show—in purple
pen right below her line.

  We set up again, the cameras rolled for the close-up shots, and I passed the letter to her. She scanned the page for her line, and her eyes got big, and she broke. “Mary wrote on the letter!” The shot was ruined, but I felt like a big sister teasing her.

  As we got older, the lines blurred between being “the kids” and coworkers. Just as all parents do, my Walton parents let me in on more things as they felt I was old enough to handle the jokes and “adult” material.

  One day at the dinner table, Ralph was teasing Michael about a movie he’d seen, and she was laughing and pushing him away. He told her it was in his trailer and she should go watch it. They were having so much fun over whatever movie this was, I couldn’t resist and followed them. Ralph set up the video and left, and Michael saw me in the open doorway.

  “Come in and keep me company,” she said.

  Just what I loved, to be included. It was so cool to be invited in, so I jumped at the chance and went in and stood next to her. Maybe I should have been suspicious when she wouldn’t even sit down to watch. The first images came on the screen, and I was shocked into silence. Michael was horrified as well, and then we ran out of the trailer, screaming like schoolgirls. She felt horrible, but I assured her I was okay. Truth was, I was a little freaked, but being included in the whole thing made up for having my first glimpse at porn with the notorious Deep Throat.

  That was the day Michael became more of a big sister than a mom, and she’s still a sister, a dear friend, and a close confidante.

  MOUNTAIN MOON

  My favorite gag reel shots are the naughty ones, of course. Being raised in these two conflicting worlds, I relished pushing the envelope. As the repressed religious girl, I pretended I didn’t hear the dirty jokes or off-color language. But I still waited until I was alone and could give in to laughter in secret. Eventually, though, I learned it was all right to laugh out loud, along with everyone else.

  In “The Heritage,” filmed for the second season, Grandpa pulls his back lifting lumber, and John-Boy volunteers to escort him for a long soak in their hot springs.

  Indeed, they make it, but instead of delivering the dialogue as written, at the opportune moment, Richard and Will turned around and lifted up out of the mountain Jacuzzi and shot the moon at the rolling camera. This one scene opened the way for many dropping-trou outtakes.

  This was all hilarious to me, even though I had to hide giggles from my parents’ stern glances. I longed to be funny and maybe even someday make it into one of the gag reels. It was like a mark of success for me.

  FISH KISSES

  We Waltons were all very touch-feely and loving with each other. At the McDonough home, public displays of affection were not a common practice. When my dad would wrap his arms around my mom and kiss her in front of us, she would shoo him away with the swat of a hand and say, “Larry, stop it.”

  Even though I was new to all this demonstrative openness, I wanted to be part of the free-flowing hugs and kisses. I loved the attention and affection. We were always jumping onto John-Boy’s bed, and we had to snuggle up close so we’d all fit. We would lie around and just be all over each other. Not in a “Hollywood” way, but like a litter of pups pawing and rolling around together.

  The makeup room was another great gathering place. We spent a lot of time in there getting ready; so naturally, everyone talked, gossiped, and caught up. Sometimes we’d run lines in there, too. I loved the makeup room because it was so communal. People coming together and sharing life, everyone talking about their lives before the workday began. I loved the authenticity, the vulnerability. We were who we were before we were made up to be who we played.

  One morning, when I was about eleven and trying out my new lifestyle, I decided to give Richard a good-morning kiss. As I approached, he started to chuckle. He said I looked like a fish coming at him with my lips puckered and mouth open; then he imitated me. I was embarrassed at first, but everyone else joined in with “fish kisses,” and I had to get over myself. This was one of those family moments that can either shut you down or you can just join in and laugh at yourself. This was one time I lightened up and didn’t look at my “kisses” as mistakes or doing something wrong. I actually learned something.

  He taught me a valuable lesson on what a kiss was not. I’m glad I had this safe place to get “with it.” I could have put myself in a truly embarrassing situation later on. That’s what big brothers are for, right?

  CACKLES

  Another makeup room topic was my laugh. One day, we were talking about laughter, and I said, “I giggle all the time.” Big brother Richard said, “You don’t laugh. You cackle.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, but it didn’t sound good, like my laugh was wrong. I took it on myself that his comment must have been negative, so I decided to change. I wanted to have a laugh, not a cackle. For the next few weeks, I tried on different laughs. No one seemed to notice how ladylike I was when I giggled now, or, heck, even laughed. No more cackles for me. No way.

  I tried a high-pitched, dainty laugh, but I probably sounded more like Betty Rubble. Then I tried not to open my mouth at all, stifling a giggle. Probably sounded like I was drowning. After trying a few more on, I settled on a squeaky, little laugh I thought was adorable. Still, no one noticed. I worked hard to change my laugh so I might fit in better, but no one cared. I was so overly sensitive, I was willing to change myself and my laugh to be accepted. This was just the beginning of a long list of thinking I could change to gain favor. It cost me in the future when it wasn’t just my laugh I thought needed to be changed to get recognition.

  Then one day, a few weeks after Richard’s cackle comment, I laughed so hard—probably at Ralph singing, I had to let go. No one seemed to notice that, either. I looked around to see if I had been caught—or worse—ruined something. Everyone was just going about their business. So the cackle came back, and has been here ever since.

  MEN OF THE MOUNTAIN

  We had guest stars every week, coming to the mountain. Some of the men were very cute, and we had our share of crushes on them. Okay, Judy and I did; maybe Kami was too young. Okay, maybe I did.

  In the fourth season, the very handsome Stephen Collins played Todd Clarke in “The Abdication.” I thought he was just the nicest person. Judy and I really liked him, and he paid attention to us, which was even better.

  One day, we were working in a scene at the front door of the house, and it was getting late in our day. Judy and I could only work for a little while longer, as our nine-hour day was rapidly coming to an end. There was some chatter about getting an extension for us, unless we could finish in time. If not, they had to bring Stephen back the next day. Well, Judy and I looked at each other and read each other’s minds. We smiled and nodded. We thought Stephen for another day was a great idea. The flirting began.

  “Wouldn’t you like to come back?” I said. (Of course, he would, I thought. What actor wouldn’t want another day’s work?)

  Judy and I were whispering about how we could help by messing up our lines. We could blow the takes on purpose, or maybe we should have a laughing fit long enough to extend us past our quitting time. Then voilà, we’d get him for another day. The episode’s director, Harvey Laidman, caught on to our little plan. We didn’t blow any lines on purpose, and Stephen had to go home because we finished the scene.

  Years later, I saw him in the lobby at a New York theater. What if this man I adored didn’t remember who I was? How embarrassing would that be? I finally worked up the courage to go over and reintroduce myself. We chatted for a moment…. He did rememberme! Then I really took the plunge and admitted I’d had a huge crush on him back then. He winked and said he had a crush on me, too. I could feel myself blush as I returned to my seat all aflutter. What a classy guy, and what a beautiful way of putting me at ease about my admission. No wonder he is so popular now.

  Another visitor to the mountain was Richard Hatch, who played our cousin Wade. He was way to
o good-looking to be our cousin! Despite being “related,” we thought he was cute, anyway. He was always very nice to me, and we really seemed to connect. Years later, we ended up on similar spiritual paths. It’s amazing how you feel a connection with someone, and then your paths cross again, confirming a bond that began years ago.

  I was often confronted with not being remembered, and I think the following experience had something to do with it. One man who came to the mountain went on to fame in his own hit television series. We found out he was filming on the lot nearby, and we all went over to visit. (As I said before, we liked to set hop.)

  He didn’t remember us at all—even as we stood there in our wardrobe. That was a rude awakening for me, and I was embarrassed. I took it personally, but Jon knew instinctively what kind of person he was. As we walked away, he said, “What a jerk.”

  The most famous visitor to the mountain was Elton John. While he was not on the show, he was a fan and visited us on the set. He took Richard and a few of us kids to lunch at the Blue Room, the restaurant side of the commissary. He also invited us to his concert and a big party, set up like an amusement park, at Universal. It was one of the best perks I ever received from being on the show. I got his autograph on the invitation, which I still have. It was so cool to actually meet the man you fall asleep listening to. I swear that the Goodbye Yellow Brick Road eight-track melted, I played it so many times.

  We all went to the concert, even Ellen. I remember telling her we were going to get a drink. I asked her if she wanted me to bring her one. She just kept smiling and nodding to the music. Then I screamed over the loud music, “Grandma, you didn’t answer my question. Do you want one?” She looked at me and nodded again, then reached up and pulled out an earplug.

  WACKY WALTON

  I do not consider myself a comedian, but there was a point when the producers thought I had a flair for the funny. It started with “The Tailspin” (Season 7), when Mary Ellen sets Erin up on a date she should have gone on herself. Erin is running late, and Mary Ellen is helping her rush to get ready, so she decides to wash Erin’s hair in the bathtub to save time. There I was, my head bobbing up and down. It was a funny scene, and Judy and I did a good job.