The Eternal Party

by Kristina Hagman

  My brother and I often commented on it; even when we were in our twenties, Dad could stay up later, drink harder, and be ready to go to the next venue to keep dancing when we young folks were ready to pack it in. Dad would never be apologetic about doing drugs. That was obvious from the number of interviews he did discussing the beneficial properties of pot and LSD. He was comfortable with his drug use, and it was not what he would have been seeking forgiveness for.

  * * *

  Two days after getting high with Dad’s friends, I went to their home and placed two dozen yellow roses on their doorstep. Whenever Dad was thanking someone or wanted to send something special for a birthday, he would give people the yellow roses of Texas.

  The gesture was not lost on his friends and brought his spirit back to us all for a moment.

  4

  Two Stars

  MY FATHER’S MOTHER, Mary Martin, was a great, entrancing performer who became one of the most beloved entertainers of all time.

  Mary had been only seventeen years old when Dad was born, but even at that early age, her drive to perform was unstoppable. Her passionate heart hardly skipped a beat after the birth of her baby boy, and soon she was dancing and singing again, with the complete support of her parents, who were behind her ambitions 100 percent. They even built Mary her own dance studio not far from her father’s law office, where she taught tap and waltz and something that looked like ballet to local kids.

  Meanwhile, Ben Hagman, who was Mary’s husband and Dad’s father, joined his father-in-law at his law practice. Preston Martin was one of the most well-respected lawyers in the community; as a sign of respect, people called him Judge Martin. He opened the doors of the legal profession for Ben, making the career the young man had dreamed of become reality. Grateful for the opportunity, Ben worked long hours all week—and, to let off steam, he went hunting with his drinking buddies almost every weekend.

  The young couple barely saw each other, as Mary worked night and day at her dance school, which grew and grew. With his mother so consumed, the baby, named Larry but nicknamed Luke, was cared for by his grandmother and the nanny who had helped raise Mary.

  Mary was only eighteen years old when she realized that, due to her limited knowledge of dance techniques, she needed to take classes herself to keep a step or two ahead of her growing roster of students. Enterprising young woman that she was, Mary found a dance-teacher training school in Los Angeles, California. Since Ben was working so hard, he did not object when Judge Martin, always completely devoted to his daughter’s happiness, sent her off to dance and learn in Los Angeles. Mary’s mother, Juanita, had given birth some years earlier to a boy who died in infancy, and she had yearned for a son since, so she was more than happy to keep little Luke at home with her.

  Mary’s solo trip showed her a glimpse of the life she wanted in the big, wide world. When she came back to Weatherford, she was restless. Ben loved the comforts of their small town, but Mary hungered for a more glamorous life in the city. I can only guess what the conversation was like in their home when Mary said she wanted to go back to LA for more dance lessons. Though I was quite young when Papa Ben died, I remember seeing my grandparents together and recognizing that he always had a soft spot for Mary, even long after their divorce. One year after her first trip to Los Angeles, she convinced her parents to send her back there. Given Ben’s respect for Judge Martin and his appreciation of Mary’s drive and talent, he did nothing to stand in her way. He may have been reassured that Mary would not get into trouble because this time, Grandma Juanita, baby Luke, and Mary’s female companion Mildred Woods came along to see what Mary was up to in Los Angeles.

  * * *

  Mary’s mother, Juanita, was a musician who had performed and taught violin at Weatherford College before her children were born. Though her own days in front of an audience were long gone, she was still a performer at heart, and so she was completely wrapped up in every aspect of Mary’s career, and she wanted to see for herself what show business possibilities might be out there for her precious daughter.

  In Los Angeles, all of them were inspired by the dream of sudden fame and stardom that attracted thousands of young, hopeful, Depression-era performers to Hollywood from small towns all over the United States. It was while Mary and her mother were in LA that it became obvious that Ben and Mary wanted entirely different kinds of lives; their divorce became inevitable and freed them both to pursue the lives they wanted.

  So Mary began her real career as a performer, and she did so with Juanita always by her side caring for her precious Luke, her grandson and the baby boy she had wanted so much.

  * * *

  Having left Texas behind, Mary was working her way toward becoming one of the greatest stars of the American musical theater at a time when musical theater was at its peak of inventiveness, brilliance, and charm. Her success did not happen overnight; she auditioned tirelessly. Often she did not get the role, but her optimism and disarmingly open personality attracted many mentors and supporters, among them some notable millionaires. Winthrop Rockefeller gave her an incredible Indian raj necklace and matching earrings, both pieces festooned with emeralds, diamonds, and rubies. Stanley Marcus saw her at the night club at the Cine Grille on Hollywood Boulevard and sent her the perfect evening gown from his department store, saying he wanted to see her dressed properly when she performed at that venue.

  Juanita wanted to protect Luke from Mary’s flamboyant life as a single young woman, and for the most part, she did. She was surely a loving force in his life, but without a doubt, she was strict and gave him structure and guidance, sending him to kindergarten at the Black-Foxe Military Institute in LA.

  Dad was five years old when Mary landed a role in Leave It to Me!, the Cole Porter show that would be her breakthrough. Dad and his grandmother took the train to New York to see her perform.

  This was the show in which Mary sang “My Heart Belongs to Daddy” to the young Gene Kelly. For that number, she was dressed in a lynx coat and hat, and during the course of the song, she removed them, revealing that she was clad in nothing more than a pink satin lace chemise. She was a sensation and soon appeared on the cover of Life magazine, with a big centerfold spread of her doing her “striptease.” Dad wrote about the experience of seeing her in the show. He said that he had been kind of embarrassed while also noting “by today’s standards, her strip was not even a tease.” In his memoir, he added that he never said anything to his mom about how uncomfortable he felt, instead telling her, “You’ve got great legs.” This was not the kind of statement a child would make, but it is how he remembered the occasion.

  It was during the run of that show, while singing “My Heart Belongs to Daddy” every night to great fanfare that Mary’s father died. She adored him but was not with him at the end; she would never miss a performance, not even to be at his side when he died.

  * * *

  After Leave It to Me!, Mary went back to LA to work in films and to be close to her newly widowed mother, who had moved there permanently with Luke.

  I’ve often thought that if Juanita Martin had been able to pursue her own talent as a musician, it’s possible that neither Mary nor Dad would have become the stars they did. But Juanita’s own frustrations prompted her to transfer all her ambition to them.

  As Mary’s fame and reputation grew, Juanita stayed close to her, but not too close. She protected Mary from the demands and needs of her child just as she made sure that young Luke was protected from the frenetic whirl of Mary’s suitors and the relentless demands of publicity appearances and performing. Still, Mary often turned to her for strength and encouragement. Juanita had a grounding effect on her irrepressible daughter.

  But as Mary became more sophisticated, she grew out from under her mother’s influence and sought out someone who had more showbiz savvy. She found someone who was equally devoted to making her successful and keeping her focused on her dreams as her loving parents always had. His name was Richard Halliday. As
I learned later, Richard had always been looking for a talented person he could guide and even lead. Richard was all about control and perfection, and Mary, also a perfectionist, had always had someone in her life who took care of all the details and practicalities for her, and she was happy and relieved to cede control over real-life matters so that she could pour everything into her life on the stage.

  I remember Richard well: he was tall and extremely thin, and everything about his style and manner suggested that he was gay. I believe they had more of a partnership than a marriage, but I know with certainty that he was totally devoted to her. Together they created one career that was much greater than careers that either of them would have been able to achieve individually. They were seen in the right places, wearing the right clothes, and together they worked day and night to choose the right theatrical properties to highlight Mary’s exceptional talents.

  In 1949, she became a sensation as Ensign Nellie Forbush in the original production of South Pacific. With that show, she became a muse for the great songwriting team of Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein and worked with them to create the role of Maria in one of their greatest hits, The Sound of Music.

  The songs Mary sang in her favorite role as Peter Pan were composed by five people. The music was mostly by Mark “Moose” Charlap, with additional music by Jule Styne; most lyrics were written by Carolyn Leigh, with additional lyrics by the storied songwriting team of Betty Comden and Adolph Green. The songs they wrote were designed for Mary’s particular voice and character and were a major reason why, as Peter, she made such an indelible impression on her audiences and captured their hearts.

  Within her profession, she was not simply admired; she was regarded with reverence and recognized as one of those rare performers who sets the standard of excellence for everyone. Even as a child, I could see the immense respect she had earned: on those occasions when she took me to a Broadway opening night, I would sit next to her at Sardi’s, the famed theatrical hangout, sipping my Shirley Temples late into the night and watching as every famous person in the room came over to our table to greet her with so much deference it was as if she were a queen. In a way, she was. She not only loved performing, she truly believed in the power of the performing arts to change lives.

  In the years since her death, I have gone to see revivals of her shows like South Pacific and Peter Pan, and when word would get out that I was Mary’s granddaughter, people would come up to me and tell me all kinds of stories about how much her performances had meant to them. I particularly remember the siblings who told me about their parents, who had an interracial marriage and had met while their father served in the South Pacific. They said that because the musical South Pacific had dealt so sensitively with the subject of interracial marriage, it had helped their families back home understand that love has no color and that prejudice is taught to us in insidious ways. Women who had been nurses in the Pacific theater during World War II told me they knew just how it felt to want to wash that man right out of their hair. But the show that so many people still hold very dear in their hearts is Peter Pan. My grandmother was the embodiment of joy and life in that musical. Older men and women come up to me at the end of a show, eager to tell me how much they loved my grandmother and that they still dream of flying.

  Her fans came from all walks of life. One day, as she was crossing Fifth Avenue, a big guy wearing a hard hat emerged from a manhole. Recognizing her instantly, he asked, “Peter, will you crow for me?”

  Though she was dressed in her usual, stunning Chanel suit, she planted her legs as far apart as her elegant skirt would allow, placed her hands on her hips and, in the middle of New York’s busiest street, let out a loud, guttural, and joyous crow.

  * * *

  One of the most fabled lines in Peter Pan came when Grandma, as Peter, asks the audience if they believe in fairies. Peter was her very favorite role from a career that was full of lovable and memorable characters. She truly was the spirit of Peter Pan. When anyone she knew was in need of courage, she would get physically close to that person, often crouching down next to him or her in a tomboyish fashion, and then she would quote one of the iconic lines from the show: “Do you believe in fairies?”

  Those words, when said by my grandma, were a magical tonic that somehow had the power to infuse whomever she said them to with a new strength.

  When she was sixty-nine, that spirit of Peter Pan was still in evidence after she was in a terrible car accident. It was a tragedy that killed two people who were very dear to her—her manager, Ben Washer, who had been living with her for several years and was like a member of the family, and the woman who was like a big sister to her and her closest friend, the film star Janet Gaynor. Though Janet did not die that day, she was so seriously injured in the crash that she struggled in vain for her life for two more years before she passed.

  Grandma’s injuries were life threatening too: her lung was punctured, two ribs were broken, and her pelvis was broken in three places, yet she remained in the hospital a mere nine days. As she was leaving, moving with the aid of a walker, scores of nurses and doctors gathered and called out after her, “We believe, Mary! We believe!”

  The following year, she headlined a benefit for that hospital. At the age of seventy, dressed in her green Peter Pan costume, Grandma “flew” over the audience, crowing and sprinkling fairy dust on the upturned heads of the crowd far below. When she was still wired for sound and was finally set back down on the curtained balcony high above the seated audience, we could all hear her say, from her hidden perch, five words that for me totally exemplify her amazing and ever-youthful spirit. The words were: “Can I do it again?”

  * * *

  At the time I was born, Mary was only forty-five years old and was still playing Peter Pan for a production of the show on TV. She was much too young and spritely to be called “grandmother,” so I affectionately called her Ganny. Ganny never forgot her small-town Texas roots, and she wanted to make sure that everyone, not just those who could pay for a trip to New York and a Broadway show, would see her perform. She starred in the touring cast of shows like Annie Get Your Gun, Peter Pan, and Hello, Dolly!, performing in towns all over the United States and all over the world to bring her gifts to folks where they lived. She truly cared about her audiences, and I think that’s part of the reason they cared so much about her. It is really uplifting to hear the many wonderful stories about Ganny from so many who knew her or saw her on the stage. One such story was sent to me by her accompanist and arranger, Louis Magor. It’s about a show that Mary was to do with the symphony orchestra in Milwaukee, where the very high price of the orchestra seats had seriously hindered sales.

  One morning, Mary received a call from her manager. Because the show was not selling well, their administration asked Mary to cancel.

  She told us that she had let the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra know that she would not cancel. If they wanted to cancel the show, they could, and she would make sure that her friends in the business stayed clear of that orchestra. It was both a defiant move and one that reinforced her image in my mind as the ultimate trouper.

  The Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra got busy and did a fairly good job of selling tickets for the show, so by the time we arrived, they had sold all but about 250 tickets, which were for choice center orchestra seats—the most expensive in the theater.

  In Milwaukee we stayed at a hotel that was also hosting a convention of the Battered Wives of Wisconsin. The morning of our final rehearsal, as we were waiting in the lobby for our ride to the orchestra hall, a beautiful, well-dressed woman came up to Mary, hugged her, and exclaimed, “Peter Pan!”

  She told Mary about her first experience seeing a professional musical.

  She explained that she was in Milwaukee as the keynote speaker for the Battered Wives convention, as she was also a former battered wife. Mary asked how many women were at the convention, and she replied, “Two hundred fifty.”

  I immediately checked to
see if those center orchestra seats were still available, and it turned out they were. After a little conference with Mary, it was decided that we would offer them, with the orchestra’s compliments, to the women at the convention.

  On the spot we gave them to the woman just before she began her speech. The first thing she told the crowd was that she had just run into Peter Pan in the lobby, that “he” had sprinkled fairy dust all over her and them, and that as a result, everyone in the room would be attending the Mary Martin show with the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra that evening.

  After the show, all 250 women came backstage to meet her. She graciously spoke to each of them, signed programs, and gave them a gift of love that sent them home believing in the good people have to offer.

  The next day, as we were on our way to the airport, I asked Mary if she had any idea how good she had made those women feel, and she responded, “Do you have any idea how good they made me feel?”

  Ganny believed in the transformative power of the theater. She was also amazingly brave. During the height of the Vietnam War, President Lyndon Johnson asked her to perform for the troops. At that time, she was starring in the touring cast of Hello, Dolly! This was a grand, big production with lots of sets and actors. When the cast heard that they were being asked to go to the war zone, most of them did not want to go. They did not want to do anything in support of a war that they opposed, a war they did not believe the United States should be involved in. Ganny did not like the war either, but she told them that it was an honor to be asked by the president himself to use their talents as actors to support Americans who were serving our country. These were young people, stationed far from home, who truly deserved to be cheered and entertained. She said that she would go even if no one else did. The cast was persuaded, and after a great deal of planning, Ganny was on her way to Southeast Asia with Hello, Dolly!