Ed Sullivan, Ann-Margret and Danny Kaye

Channel 9, CBS affiliate in Washington, D.C.

Ed Sullivan was booked as a guest on our local TV talk show called Cadence. I worked in the production department. Everyone was so excited about our famous guest. Lee Shephard, the host of Cadence, and I greeted Mr. Sullivan and escorted him to the studio. Just as we were getting on the elevator, someone called Lee aside and told him we had to stall. The elevator doors closed and we asked our guest if he liked ice cream. Oh yes, of course, he said. I got off at the cafeteria and bought a little cardboard cup of ice cream. It came with a flat wooden spoon. I returned to the elevator and gave it to Ed Sullivan. Up we went. There was still a delay. Back to the cafeteria. Another cup of ice cream. Catch the elevator before the doors close. Here we go again. We rode up and down in the elevator for quite some time. Lee made small talk with Ed Sullivan while I fed him ice cream. He never questioned what was going on, but chatted quietly, smiled (in his own way) and ate ice cream. What I remember most is how tall he was, what a long face he had, and how very patient and kind he was...and how absolutely amazed I felt to find myself riding in an elevator with Ed Sullivan, watching him lick ice cream off of a flat wooden spoon.

That same year, Ann-Margret was booked as a guest on Cadence. Long story short. She ripped her pantyhose. I gave her mine - a brand new pair that cost a fortune. In those days, even the cheap pantyhose were expensive. She smiled and thanked me, then off she went to her next appearance. I remember thinking how gorgeous she was. Nice, too. And she was wearing my pantyhose!

What a year that was for me. We were invited to have breakfast with Danny Kaye at his hotel dining room. I believe it was the Shoreham Hotel. There were eight of us at a round table. He regaled us with humorous anecdotes. He also dished on a few well-known people in Hollywood. He told us that Katherine Hepburn ran on the beach every day...and ate a pound of chocolate candy. Now that's impressive! He was charming and funny. And his eyes actually twinkled...just like in the movies.

"Leaving for Christmas" update. Sent two more chapters to my editor. Working on Chapter 16. Acted out a future scene. (I love to do that.) Look for excerpts one of these days.

The First Act(ing)

When I was nine, I wanted to be Elizabeth Taylor. Those clothes, those jewels, the cameras, my name in lights. Black hair, violet eyes. The way she looked in Cat On a Hot Tin Roof. A movie star. As I got older and my hair didn't darken and my eyes stayed green, I gave it up. By the time I got to high school, theater had become my first love. I'd have a career on the stage. Ah...life in the theatah. All that drama. Behind St. Matthew's Cathedral in Washington, DC, there was a small professional theater company. I auditioned and won an apprenticeship there. What a thrill. One step closer to my dream. It was a wonderful program. We learned to apply stage makeup, work the sound and lights, build sets, paint scenery. The works. We even had small non-speaking parts in some of their productions. The highlight of the program was a workshop with a prominent local director. He arrived with a flourish, a fedora and a long black cape. His first priority was to teach us to project our voices. It was theater in the round. We were to sit on a stool lit by a single light in the middle of an otherwise darkened stage and read the prologue to Henry V. Nothing to it. A snap. Oh, yes ... one other tiny detail. With two marbles under our tongues. Ah. Okay. My number came up first. Lucky me. I was ready for this. My time in the spotlight. Literally. The very dramatic director told me to speak from my diaphragm. He read the first line the way he wanted it read. "Oh for a muse of...(deep breath) (from the diaphragm)...fire." Etc., etc., etc. Okay. I got it. And so I began. "Oh for a muse of...(deep breath)..." This was it. I'd shake the rafters with my projection. How impressive I'd be. Ethel Merman who? I didn't make it to "fire." When I inhaled for my big moment, I swallowed one of my marbles. Forget about breathing from my diaphragm, I couldn't breathe at all. My breath finally whooshed out in a giant gasp, causing the other marble to fly out of my mouth and me to fly off the stool . One foot hit the floor, the other landed on the marble. I slid off the stage and out of the theater. My acting career ended with an unforgettably dramatic flair. I lost the theatah, kept the drama.



Book update. Got two more chapters off to my editor today. Spent a lot of time this week in the snowy mountains of the 1800s.