I Love the Illusion: The Life and Career of Agnes Moorehead (52 page)

In their cross-country travels, Quint also got to know Mollie. “We
would drive to Reedsburg quite regularly or she would fly out to
California,” recalls Quint. He remembers Mollie as “quite outspoken” and
when people would come up to her and say something about Agnes, “she
would say, ‘I want you to know I have two daughters,’ not forgetting
Margaret.” Mollie was the only one who could “upstage” Agnes; when
Mollie was around, Agnes was “like a little girl . . . instead of the strong
woman I knew. She was never short with her mother and all Mollie had to
do was say ‘Now Agnes — Shush’ — and Agnes would obey her.” Mollie
made an impression on others who got to know her, including Paul
Gregory. “Her mother was very sweet, but tried to convert people,” Paul
recalls. “Agnes was the same way and I always withdrew from her when she
started with the Bible thumping; when she did that I would say, ‘Time for
champagne,’ which was our code phrase for ‘change the subject.’” Paul also
says that one reason that Mollie didn’t live with Agnes was because Agnes
really didn’t want her to. “Agnes was very religious but she also liked to have
fun and liked to serve champagne and a little wine which her mother
wouldn’t have approved of.”

Jeanne Marking, of Reedsburg, Wisconsin, would remember Mollie as a
“most gracious lady” who always dressed well and wanted her clothes to “fit
perfectly.” She described Mollie as having a relatively small stature that
required special alterations to fit her body which was “short-waisted and
slightly large in girth.” Mrs. Marking did a great deal of sewing and
alterations for both Mollie and Mollie’s companion, Grace Conklin. “They
were very appreciative of the fact that I could sew for them with results that
satisfied them. I remember specifically doing a pink lace outfit for Mollie,”
Marking recalled. “It was a particularly flattering color for her. She also
liked purple and dressed a bit more ostentatiously than did Grace.” Mrs.
Marking describes Mollie and Grace as “devoted companions” who shared
their lives together, with Mollie being a widow and Grace never marrying.
She recalls that Mollie and Grace usually brought their little white poodle
with them wherever they went, “the dog often had curlers in her hair, wore
pink ribbons in hair, little sweaters or vests and was truly an enjoyable part
of their lives.” Occasionally Mollie, Grace and the little poodle went to the
local pizza parlor; “they . . . would tuck the little dog into their coat or
somewhere where she would not be noticed.”

Mrs. Marking had the opportunity to meet Agnes once at an afternoon
luncheon. She described Agnes as “a very devoted daughter and a most
interesting and enchanting woman . . . I was always a fan of her’s and watched
her performances whenever I had the opportunity.” After Agnes died, Mollie
gave Mrs. Marking a pair of Agnes’ earrings “which I still have.”

According to family friend Gordon Emery, Agnes enjoyed coming to
Reedsburg because it allowed her to “unwind and let her hair down and
everyone knew her not as ‘Miss Moorehead,’ but as Agnes.” Emery recalls
Agnes as “not flamboyant in real life but she was heavily made up all the
time, but then so was her mother. They both liked to wear very expensive
and gaudy jewelry.” Occasionally Agnes would be driven to Reedsburg by
her chauffer, Rochelle. Emery recalls that Rochelle was “very protective of
Agnes. When he was around, he wore a black suit, black hat and white
gloves. If he drove her anywhere he would stand out by the car while she
was shopping or running some errand and he would just be using a rag
wiping spots — whether they were there or not — from the car.”

Emery recalls Mollie as independent, well into her 90’s. “I once asked
her if she was afraid of living alone and she said, ‘Not at all,’ and she went
over and opened up a drawer and showed me a revolver she kept.” But as
the years went on she did begin to exhibit some eccentric behavior. “One
day Mollie called,” Emery remembered, “and told me that her dog had been
sick for a couple of days and had not gotten out of his bed. Well, I said I
would come over and take a look. and when I got over there I checked out
the dog and he was as stiff as could be — he had been dead for at least three
days and Mollie hadn’t really noticed.”

In the spring of 1967, with
Bewitched
on hiatus, Agnes went to visit
Mollie and Grace Conkling. Like Mollie, Grace was quite elderly. The
devoted roommates could often be heard in the evenings in the Music
Room at their home on Walnut Street in Reedsburg making music —
Mollie on cello and Miss Conkling at the piano. Agnes arrived in May
when the unexpected happened and Grace suffered a heart attack. Agnes
went into detail in a letter to Georgia Johnstone: “It must have been divine
guidance that brought me home at this time. Mother’s companion, Grace,
who has lived with her for over thirty years — died Sunday morning of a
heart attack — Mother called me around 2:00 A.M. and by 2:30 she had
gone to her eternal house.” Agnes said the “doctor stayed with us,” but
“details” of the funeral planning had fallen into Agnes’ hands. She reported
that she was “exhausted” from calling florists, mortuaries and so on. “It has
helped my mother and that is what is important. I hate to leave her alone.
She says she will be alright, but the loneliness will come in great gusts and
she is heartsick. I have never seen anyone die before. I found myself in awe
and reverence — Strange emotions — one is so helpless when it’s God’s will
to take one of his lambs home.”

Another death, early in 1967, also deeply affected Agnes; her old friend
and radio colleague, Harry McNaughton passed away just shy of his 71st
birthday. McNaughton’s widow wrote to Agnes, and Agnes forwarded her
note to Georgia requesting that she “respond very sympathetically,” adding,
“I liked Harry very much.”

In November 1967, Agnes took offense over a newspaper profile of her
printed by the
Kansas City Star
, which painted her in a somewhat unflattering light. Agnes felt so strongly she wrote to the writer: “I’ve read and
reread the results of the interview . . . and my reaction is one of puzzlement
and disbelief. I’m puzzled because, having been raised a Christian, I never
‘sneer’ at anyone. Since you’ve used this term a number of times I wonder
why you can’t remember one single pleasant or gentle comment I made during
the entire discussion. Is it because you believe the type of article you’ve
written is what the public wants to read. I’m certain you didn’t intend the
public to think of me as ‘blunt and overbearing,’ ‘sneering,’ or ‘moans,’
‘drawls,’ ‘speaks disgustedly,’ ‘twisting her mouth . . . down in disdain’ ‘with
a sneer’ and finally ‘sneered’ again. Yet this is the impression anyone reading
the article will receive. How could it be otherwise? I choose to believe you
wanted to show my talent for acting, and I am grateful to you for that, but
in doing so you made me seem like an ugly person. I hope we shall meet
when I visit Kansas City again, That meeting might provide an opportunity
for us to know each other better.” In an accompanying letter to Georgia
Johnstone, Agnes was still venting. “How about this?” she wrote. “I never
sneered at anyone in my life let alone the press, but here is a woman who
loves her snide remarks and her ability to destroy you . . .”

Agnes went into 1968 hard at work on
Bewitched
and by the spring
would be on the road. Leaving L.A. for Chicago and a series of personal
appearances from March 26–29, and then to Reedsburg to visit her mother
until April 2, she was back to Chicago for a couple of days and then an
appearance with her one-woman show in Rock Island, Illinois on April 6.
She flew into Las Vegas for Debbie Reynolds’ opening at the Tropicana on
April 7, and was back home by April 8.

In May 1968, Agnes appeared as a presenter on the Emmy Awards and
turned an embarrassing situation into one of the highlights of that year’s
program. Agnes would call the program “chaos.” She had been asked to
present an award with Melvyn Douglas. “Of course he (Douglas) knew I
was supposed to be there,” Agnes would recall, “but (host) Dick Van Dyke
didn’t. When I appeared Dick looked at me as though I was Sonny Tufts.”

She didn’t have any cue cards, as they were all written for Douglas, “and
he never suggested that I read any of the nominations, so I stood there —
mute. I thought of several things I wanted to say but I have Charles
Laughton and Orson Welles to thank for thinking on my feet and exerting
self-discipline.“ Finally, after realizing how ridiculous it was for Agnes to
just stand there while he was reading all the nominations, Douglas turned
to Agnes and asked, “Why don’t you read one of the nominations?” Coolly
and with poise, Agnes responded, “Oh no, it’s your turn.” It was one of the
biggest laughs of the night. NBC sent her two dozen roses and a note of
apology the next day.

In June, Agnes received an invitation from Broadway producer
Alexander Cohen to appear in a musical version of
The Madwoman of
Challot
with Angela Lansbury. She declined. That spring and summer of
1968, Agnes was out on the road performing her “one-woman show”
almost constantly, returning to Beverly Hills by early July to begin filming
Bewitched
which was going back into production with its fifth season.
In late August Agnes reported to Georgia Johnstone that she was
“contemplating writing a book, after much inquiries as to publishers.” The
president of her fan club, a man named Roy Buchanan, was also working
on a book about Agnes’ career and Agnes, through Georgia, would
occasionally answer his inquiries. Had she been serious about doing her
own book, clearly Buchanan would have been cut off as she would not want
dueling biographies. In September 1968 she wasn’t sure of her future plans
with
Bewitched
, writing to Georgia Johnstone, “. . . I don’t know whether
Bewitched
will go on — or whether I will be on it. I have asked for more
money if they take up an option — but if they don’t I’ll have to book a fall
tour — and so I’ve been waiting to see what they are going to do.”

The filming of the fifth season of
Bewitched
was going along relatively
smoothly. From late June to late November 1968 the cast had completed
roughly twenty episodes for the season. But in the past two years Dick York
had been a man working under almost constant pain from the severe back
injury he had suffered ten years earlier making
They Came to Cordura
.
Despite the pain, York was a trouper and his suffering was never evident in
his still-energetic performances. York was also at the top of his game in
Hollywood. For the 67–68 seasons (the fourth) York had finally been
recognized by his peers and nominated for an Emmy as Best Lead Actor in
a comedy series. It was a long overdue honor. Time and again the Academy
had nominated people like Bob Crane for
Hogan’s Heroes
and Don Adams
for his very funny, but strictly one-noted Maxwell Smart on
Get Smart
,
while ignoring York’s consistently three-dimensional performances on
Bewitched
. York not only was funny but he was also incredibly romantic
and sweet in his scenes with Elizabeth Montgomery. He was, in this
author’s opinion, with the exception of Dick Van Dyke, the best light
comedy actor on television during the 1960’s. York’s wife, Joey, recalls that
Paul Lynde came up to her at a season wrap party and told her he felt Dick
was the “funniest man” he ever met.