The most tragic case was Lani O’Grady, who played Mary Bradford. She always seemed to me to be a happy and outgoing young woman, who was professional in every way. But later Lani revealed that her problems ran much deeper. She said she had suffered from panic attacks and began taking large quantities of tranquilizers and alcohol to calm her before each show. One thing led to another, and by the time the series ended, she had become a full-blown addict.
After Eight Is Enough, her life spiraled downward. Once, my nephew Casey and his wife Pat went to the Brown Bagger Restaurant in Venice Beach, and Lani was there waiting tables. There’s certainly nothing wrong with working as a waitress, but it did seem from her appearance that Lani was heading toward rock bottom.
Lani also spoke candidly about her addiction in an interview in 1994. She was hopeful of breaking her habit and had checked into the Cedars Sinai Medical Center for treatment. But, in the end, she lost the battle. Lani was found dead of an overdose in her home on September 25, 2001. It was a terrible shock, and I was deeply saddened when I heard the news.
Perhaps the most publicized post-Eight Is Enough problems have come from Adam Rich. All of us who have children experience a little sadness as they grow up. If only they stayed like that forever. In Adam’s case, it wasn’t just parents watching him grow up, but the whole country. Everyone wanted little Nicholas to stay just like he was, but in a few years, that irresistibly charming little boy was gone. Rarely has anyone in this industry suffered so greatly from that transition.
Following Eight Is Enough, Adam fell into that familiar cycle of addiction and self-destructive behavior. In April 1991, Adam, now twenty-two years old, was arrested for breaking into a pharmacy to steal drugs. I remember receiving a call that Adam was in jail, so I went down to the Van Nuys Courthouse and bailed him out. No sooner was he on the streets when he was arrested again for shoplifting. In the end, the judge gave him a break. He wound up with a suspended sentence and a court order to enter a drug treatment program, which he completed. In fact, he even lived in my guesthouse for a while as he was trying to clean himself up and find work. Unfortunately, he’s had difficulty getting parts as an actor. No doubt, the ghost of young Nicholas is a tough one to shake.
Not all the post Eight Is Enough stories are so stormy. Grant Goodeve made a number of guest appearances on popular shows before he and his wife, Debbie, moved with their three children to Seattle, Washington. Grant really loves the beauty of the great outdoors. From his home, far from Hollywood, he’s had success with a number of local television programs, including as host of several popular shows for Home and Gardens television. And like Willie Aames, Grant found great support in his Christian faith. I still see him occasionally. Last year, while in Seattle for an Old Time Radio convention, Grant and I had dinner, and I was delighted to see how happy he is with his life and work. He’s every bit as good a person as he is an actor.
Laurie Walters, Dianne Kay and Connie Newton have left Hollywood and settled down with their own families. I truly enjoyed working with all three and am delighted to hear they lead happy and fulfilling lives. All of the young women on Eight Is Enough were, in my view, beautiful—but none more so than Dianne Kay. In fact, in one episode she entered a Sacramento beauty contest. I secretly used to hope she would hit it off with one of my own boys. It was easy to see Diane as a mother, especially after her performance in A Little Triangle, where she developed a special rapport with little Wendy, the three-year-old daughter of another widower. In the end, she comes to the sad realization that she loves the child more than the father. It’s a poignant and beautifully performed scene when Diana as Nancy explains to the little girl that she won’t be coming back anymore.
One family member who enjoyed an astonishing post Eight Is Enough career is Betty Buckley. One year after the show ended, Betty went back to her roots on Broadway and stunned the world with her now classic rendition of Memory, in the smash hit Cats. Her success has been so great that she’s often referred to as “the voice of Broadway.” When I listen to her soaring voice, it reminds me of how many times she begged the producers to let her sing on the show and how many times they said no. Betty sure had the last laugh on that one.
* * *
Eight Is Enough was a marvelous show, and I was proud to be part of it. Despite the problems, there was always a genuine affection existing among all the cast members. Those Bradfords were an important part of my life, and, more important, I believe they also entered the American consciousness in a very personal way. I still have people stop me on the street and ask about the Bradford kids as if we were all still living back in Sacramento. And the women always ask: “How is Nicholas?” Sometimes mothers come up to me and say: “I cut my son’s hair just like Nicholas’s.”
Time has passed quickly. It’s nearly thirty years since the last episode of the series. Still, I think people will continue to look back at the show and feel that maybe it represents something we’ve lost in today’s world. Brian Patrick Clark, who played Merle the Pearl on Eight Is Enough, described the show as a “relic” of another time. It was a time when life was just as complex as it is today, but somehow the support of that big, loving family made it all seem simpler. As Bill Blinn has noted, having ten people around a dinner table every night is something we not only look back on with nostalgia, but that leaves us yearning for all that was good in the magical world of the Bradfords.
46
BREAKFAST AT WIMBLEDON
Just as Eight Is Enough was getting underway, my son Vincent’s tennis game was also launching into a new gear. It was now clear that he wasn’t just talented, but had a special gift for the game and was quickly turning into a world-class athlete. Vincent, Jimmy and Nels are all good athletes, but I never expected this. By age seventeen, Vincent was beating everyone in the lower level “satellite” tournaments and was soon highly ranked among Southern California junior players.
The following year he joined his brother, Nels, at Pepperdine University. There, both Nels and Vincent worked with Coach Larry Riggs, son of the great tennis champion, Bobby Riggs. Pepperdine had a terrific program, but in a short time, Vincent’s game had rapidly moved beyond the college level, and in 1979, he turned professional.
Suddenly Pat and I found ourselves following all the tennis news. We began taking calls from Vincent from all over the world as he played on the Pro Tour against the top players. It is hard to describe our excitement. So many times I had gone to watch my father play tennis at Hempstead Park in the 1930s and 1940s where I’d developed a real love for the game. I’d also gone with him to see the great legends like Don Budge and Ellsworth Vines at the National Championships just down the road at the stadium in Forest Hills, Queens. Now, my son was on those same courts, competing against the greatest players in the world, and I was ecstatic.
In his first year on the tour, Vincent made it into the main draw at the U.S. Open. I still remember the thrill of heading off to Flushing Meadows to watch him play. It was even more exciting because my Dad was with us. Tennis was one of the great loves of his life, and he was never prouder than when we all took our seats in the player’s box on that first day at the U.S. Open.
In the opening round, Vincent was pitted against another newcomer named Ivan Lendl, and we actually thought it was a bit of good luck. After all, this quiet kid from Czechoslovakia was as new to all this as Vincent. Everyone at a major tennis tournament has talent. That’s a given. But it’s the calm under pressure that comes from experience which is usually the deciding factor. Drawing another novice seemed fortunate.
Boy, were we wrong! We got a little sense of Ivan’s personality before the match began when he surprised us by walking over to our player’s box. His family was still back behind the Iron Curtain. So here he was facing our extended family, all there to root for his opponent. I’ll never forget as Ivan approached us, he reached out and took Pat’s hand in his. With that serious look on his face, he literally bowed from the waist and kissed her hand. Then he sm
iled and said in his then broken English, “Hello, family,” and walked off to play the match.
In the 1970s, the youth culture in America had undergone tremendous change. Too often there was a disregard, even disrespect, for elders. Frequently, as I mentioned regarding Eight Is Enough, that sentiment was accompanied by a diminution of the importance of family. But young Ivan Lendl’s family was living under a dictatorship in Eastern Europe. He was a young man who understood real difficulties in life, and tennis was his way out.
While I instantly gained respect for him from that brief incident at the family box, there was still no way we could have known he was destined for greatness. Still, when he came over to our box and did his bow, he looked like a serious, respectful and self-disciplined young man—one to be reckoned with. Suddenly, we were all a little more concerned than we had been a few minutes earlier.
It was a tight first set. Vincent and Ivan both played well, but Ivan pulled it out at 6-4. After that, the match was a bit of a blur. I guess we all got a glimpse of the greatness that was yet to come from Ivan. The match ended quickly, and we later consoled a disappointed Vincent with assurances that his own prodigious talents would continue to sharpen and that many more chances lay ahead for him here at Flushing Meadow. As for Ivan, notwithstanding his brilliance that day, he was still not quite ready for the very biggest stage, and he lost in the next round to the far more experienced southpaw with a blistering serve named Roscoe Tanner.
By the end of 1979, Vincent had played in his first ATP finals in Montgomery, Alabama, where he beat a series of excellent players. He also had impressive wins against an array of former champions like Stan Smith, Bob Lutz, and Tom Okker. Smith had been number one in the world, and Okker, a veteran from Holland called “The Flying Dutchman,” had the honor of being a finalist in the very first U.S. Open, won by the great Arthur Ashe. Vincent’s explosive rise in the ranking, from number 450 in the world all the way up to number 42 was one of the most dramatic in tennis history. By the end of 1979, his precipitous, rapid and stunning explosion into the world’s top fifty earned Vincent the ATP newcomer’s award—similar to Rookie of the Year in other sports. For me, it was the thrill of a lifetime.
It turned out that one of the biggest tennis fans in Hollywood at the time was Johnny Carson. I had become a regular guest on The Tonight Show, and with Johnny’s encouragement, I could barely contain myself and my enthusiasm for this marvelous new stage of world-class tennis where my son was now performing—an accomplishment that I like to think was the result of the values he learned at home—values impressing the fact that talent will only take you so far. The rest is hard work, discipline, and commitment. Vincent was proving he had it all, and Pat and I were as proud as any parents could ever be.
Over the next few years, Vincent established himself on the professional tennis tour. While he played at tournaments all over the world, there was nothing more exciting than having a child playing on the fabled grass courts of Wimbledon, the same magical turf where great Americans from Bill Tilden to Pete Sampras have made tennis history.
But the biggest thrill occurred across the world in Tokyo, Japan, in October of 1981. As a boy playing with a local team of friends from Bellerose Village, Vincent recalls being excited about a match with a more powerful team from Douglaston, Queens. When the big day came, Vincent and his friends were trounced by the Douglaston kids—and this was only their B team. That day, however, he recalls the club members at Douglaston talking about a young ten-year-old prodigy who was already showing signs of potential greatness. The little kid’s name was John McEnroe.
Around thirteen years later, when Vincent arrived in Japan for the ATP’s Tokyo Indoor Championships, that kid they whispered about back in Douglaston had risen to the very top of the tennis world. In October of 1981, John McEnroe was not only the number one player in the world but was reaching the peak of his extraordinary career having just won both Wimbledon and the U.S. Open, beating the great Bjorn Borg each time in the finals. And now McEnroe was also arriving in Japan. For Vincent it might have seemed a bit like Douglaston all over again, except this time it was the A team.
It was an incredible week at the Van Patten home. Each night Vincent would call from Tokyo—and each night it got more exciting. In the second round, he barely survived a barn-burner after losing the first set to a great Argentine player, Jose-Luis Clerc, who would rank as high as number 4 in the world, 6-7, 7-5, 7-6. In the quarterfinals, it again seemed like he was headed home after losing the first set 6-0 to the legendary Vitas Gerulitas. But Vincent came roaring back to beat Vitas in the final sets, 6-3,6-3.
Suddenly he was in the semi-finals, and across the net was that prodigy from Queens, now the greatest player in the world. John McEnroe was supremely confident—and arrogant. In fact, this was just after he had made tennis history for not being offered membership in the Wimbledon Tennis Club after winning the title due to his obnoxious behavior. McEnroe not only believed that Vincent didn’t belong on the same court with him, but his condescending attitude was on full display. On that day, however, it was the kid from Bellerose who was unbeatable. Vincent took out McEnroe in straight sets, 6-3,7-5, in one of the biggest upsets of the year. And the next day, Vincent kept rolling as he won the tournament, beating Australia’s Mark Edmonson in a close three-set finals. When the week ended, Vincent had risen to number 26 in the world. More important, he had proven that he could play with anyone, a world-class athlete who made his parents proud.
But what delighted Pat and I even more than his winning was the fact that he behaved with such class and dignity at a time when too many tennis players felt it was okay to act like jerks, mistreating umpires, linesmen and tournament officials. And still more important for us was the camaraderie that existed between all three of our sons, then and throughout their lives. Just as exciting as Vincent’s rise to the heights of the tennis world was the fact that he and Nels could still enjoy playing together. As satisfying as Vincent’s accomplishments in singles was the triumph of Nels and Vincent at the ATP Grand Prix doubles championship in Athens, Greece. In fact, they are among the very few brothers ever to have won an ATP Tour tennis tournament. I had gone from watching my father play against his friends at the old courts back in Richmond Hill in the 1930s to seeing one of my children step onto the grass courts of Wimbledon fifty years later. Tennis is a wonderful game, and it has brought much fun and joy to the Van Patten family.
47
AFRICA
When Eight Is Enough was at its peak, I found there were now great demands on my time. Running from one celebrity event to another, there was barely time to reflect on all that was happening. I was also aware that people with good fortune have an obligation to give something back, and such an opportunity came along for me in the spring of 1981.
Father Michael Kaiser was a Catholic priest who hosted a television show in which he would frequently feature celebrities to talk about various issues. His association with so many stars led to suggestions that he was too frequently hobnobbing with Hollywood celebrities. Father Kaiser had an office in Malibu Beach and was viewed with mixed feelings by many—some thought he was too attracted to the glitter of celebrity, while others were convinced that he was a deeply spiritual man, dedicated to many praiseworthy charities.
I guess I believed a little of both. Still, I genuinely liked Father Kaiser, and we enjoyed going on his show. One day he told me he was planning a missionary trip to Africa and asked if I would like to join him. He had already signed up LeVar Burton, the star of Roots, and Patty Duke, and there were a number of other people committed to going as well. At first, I declined. I don’t recall what excuse I made, but it stayed on my mind.
Later that day, I met John Forsythe, a friend since we did Mister Roberts together on Broadway back in the early 1950s, after Henry Fonda had left the show. I told John about Father Kaiser’s proposal, and John immediately said I’d made a mistake. He thought it would be a wonderful experience for me, as well as i
t being a very worthy cause. After that, I kept thinking about it, and finally, later in the day, I went back to Father Kaiser and told him I would go. I’ll never forget his response: “Dick, after you left I said a prayer that you would change your mind. And here you are.”
We all flew into Dijibouti, the capital of Ethiopia. I had never been to Africa or any other place where people lived at a subsistence level. We brought food and other supplies that were desperately needed. I remember that Patty Duke was particularly wonderful with the children, and we all grew very attached to them.
In the short time I spent with these wonderful African children, I was struck by the fact that they seemed to have never been exposed to humor—at least not in the way we’re accustomed to. The day we were leaving, on the spur of the moment, I pretended to bump into a tree. Suddenly all the kids went crazy. So I kept doing pratfalls and put on a little show as they just kept laughing and laughing. I had the impression they had never seen any kind of organized show or act that was designed just to make them laugh. It seemed to me that this was something outside their life experience. It may sound insignificant, but in the midst of all their terrible privation, I found myself introducing these kids to comedy.
I’ve had many different audiences over my lifetime, but I don’t ever remember one more appreciative. More important, I never appreciated an audience more than I did those kids. Laughter really is good for the soul. And I hope the children in that village, with all the enormous burdens they carried, felt a little bit better for having laughed at this crazy American who was bumping into trees and tripping over logs.
Eighty Is Not Enough: One Actor's Journey Through American Entertainment Page 24
