Betty

When I was about 13 years old, I was grounded for breaking some rule or back talk or some other thing and was sentenced to staying in for the weekend. I was miserable. All the kids in the neighborhood were hanging out out on the street and I was stuck indoors with my mom. I was in my room, sulking when my mom came in and asked me if I would like to come out and watch an old movie with her. It was called "The Gay Divorcee" and it starred Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. I thought the idea was horrible and boring but it beat sitting in my bedroom all night so I begrudgingly joined her in the living room to watch some black and white movie on TV.

The next 90 minutes changed my life forever. That movie - filled with glamour and sophisticated wealthy, witty characters who broke in to song and dreamy, romantic dancing - lit a flame in me so intense that I became obsessed with American musicals. I wanted to be a part of it. So I set about to become a great actress. I had found my purpose in the world. And I mean that literally. I read every book I could get my hands on about the early days of Hollywood, the evolution of musicals and the people who made them. I spent my weekends watching every old movie that I could find on television. I studied performances and assumed "personalities" and tried to create my own acting style.

Favorites of mine were the musicals from MGM's glory days. I saw them all and knew them all. One of the most delightlful, free-sprited, funny, and talented movie stars from that great and important time in the history of American film was Betty Garrett. She was so wonderful in "My Sister Eileen" and "Wonderful Town". I had seen all her movies and knew her roles on television's "All in the Family" and "Laverne and Shirley". She was a star of Broadway as well. She did it all. And I loved her ability to be silly and funny and over-the-top and truly make it work. Her performances were genuine and fun.

In 1987 I was cast in a production of Stephen Sondheim's "A Little Night Music" being produced by Theatre West, the oldest membership theatre company in Los Angeles - a company founded years earlier by a small group of actors, among them Betty Garrett. Betty was in the cast as well and I cannot tell you how thrilled to be on a "bill" with her. (The photo above is of the cast. Betty is in the wicker chair. I am sitting with a white ruffle on my dress). She was marvelous to watch. The part required she spend the entire show in a wheelchair and I have to tell you that had to have been a challenge as she was so completely full of energy. But she was gracious, giving and warm and incredibly funny.

Once during rehearsals we were staging the opening of the play and the director was trying on a number of ideas. I had been cast as one of the "Quintet", the "greek chorus" of the show, and as we sang the overture - a sort of light opera aria - he asked us to lead, one by one, all the principle characters to the stage and set them in place where they would "freeze" until the first scene. But his idea also included that they would all be blindfolded with pastel scarves illustrating their "blindness" to themselves. On the final note of the overture, we were to pull the blindfolds off the players and they would begin the scene. Once we finished blocking that portion of the show, had run it for flow and were ready to move on to the next scene, Betty, who had been following directions and doing what the director asked, stood from the wheelchair and said: "Good. Now in the second act, we'll all be deaf!" I almost wet my pants. Needless to say, the blindfolds were scrapped. And it was a wonderful, successful, long running production. And every one of us loved being in that show.

I was voted into the membership after that production and had the thrill of being part of Betty's musical comedy workshop. Every Thursday night a group of us from the company would come with our music charts to work out musical performance. I loved being a part of this class. I loved to get up and give my all for Betty - hoping she would approve but anxious for her advice - as she was always right. She knew how to cut to the core of it - she knew instantly what was missing or off. But if you ever gave a performance that completely won her over it was heaven. She was a master at giving you power and confidence and self-esteem. But she was honest. If she didn't like something - you'd hear it but never in a way that was painful. I remember one night an actor who finished a particularly self indulgent performance stood waiting for praise. Instead, Betty said with her sweet laugh: "David, you are in love with the smell of your own perfume!" (Again, I nearly wet my pants.) Occasionally she would get up on the stage and sing and dance and kick her lithe leg high above her head - well into her 70's. And I felt so thrilled to be in the presence of this tour de force - to share the stage with her - this woman who had left an indelible mark in stage and film.

I attended a few parties or gatherings at her wonderful, big, comfortable home filled with mementos from her career. They were lively and smart and festive. This was the home in Laurel Canyon that she shared with her husband, Larry Parks - an enormously talented actor whose film career was cut short and abruptly by Joseph McCarthy and the House of Un-American Activities back in the 50's. They survived that nightmare, with their two sons, and were together until his death in the mid-70s. I had known this about her life from all the reading I had done about film history back when I was a teenager but she told this story in a one-woman show I saw her perform about 20 years ago. She told it with tenderness and humor. And she moved on.

Betty died today. She was 91. Grace came to tell my my friend Cyndy was on the phone with the message that she had sad and important news. I imagined many who might have died as I walked to the phone, but I was shocked when she told me it was Betty. It never occurred to me that Betty could die. She was such a large presence that it was shocking again to realize that it had been about 12 years since I had seen her.

About 20 years ago, Betty sent me the music to a song she had written with a note saying: "Valri, I would love to hear you sing this". I was overwhelmed by such a compliment. But I was in midst of taking on a new life, with three babies and a new husband and I never made it back to Betty's musical comedy workshop. I regret that I never got around to singing her song. Right now, I regret it more than I can say.

I knew Betty for only a short time but she was a fascinating person to talk to. She led an eventful and interesting life. I will always remember her in her comfortably stylish clothes, a long scarf around her neck, her shock of white hair as she sat in the dark theatre, notebook in her lap and feet on the chair in front of her - taking notes and giving from her wealth of talent.

But most of all, the miracle of Betty is that she truly never grew old. Never. Betty lived all 91 youthful years fully. She has moved on but I have no doubt she is still living fully.

Much love and gratitude to you Betty. I am going to find that song.