Not Young, Still Restless (16 page)

—
D
OUGLAS
M
ARLAND

Peter Bergman

The relationship between Terry Lester and
The Young and the Restless
ended in 1989, and I promise you, based on a lot of long, emotional phone conversations, he deeply regretted the bridges he’d burned along the way. Arriving to assume the role of Jack Abbott was a tall, handsome actor named Peter Bergman, with perfect military-class posture, an amazing shock of hair, and a soap following from his days as Dr. Cliff Warner on
All My Children
.

The transition from Terry to Peter was an interesting one for us actors, let me tell you. Terry wore Jack Abbott’s imperfections on his sleeve. From the very beginning Peter kept them well hidden, pulling them out only on an as-needed basis when he saw no other choice. Terry’s Jack Abbott was likely at any given moment to be a loose, silly, playful womanizer who happened to be an executive in the family business. Peter’s was and is, first and foremost, an executive in the family business who happens to have a somewhat flawed personal life and an all-encompassing love of family. Just like in real life, you couldn’t imagine Terry Lester or his Jack Abbott settled down with a wife and children, while you couldn’t imagine Peter any other way, or doubt that his Jack Abbott wanted to settle down, no matter how misguided his efforts might be toward that goal. But the bottom line was, incredibly different as they were as people and as actors, both Terry and Peter brought great talent and depth to a complex role Bill Bell meticulously created when he decided
Y&R
needed a new core family named Abbott in Genoa City in 1980.

On Peter’s first day we were all privately sizing up “the new kid,” involuntarily thinking, “That’s not how Terry would have played that scene.” Several of us, including Peter, were sitting around discussing God knows what—I admit it, I was a little preoccupied with missing my pal and not paying much attention. When they called us to the set, I started to stand up as I’d been routinely doing with ease for about fifty years and suddenly discovered I could no longer hop to my feet from a cross-legged sitting position on the floor. I kept trying and failing as discreetly as possible, not wanting to call attention to myself, when I looked up to see Peter standing there, smiling and extending his hand to me.

I felt a little self-conscious, but I was grateful for the help and took his hand. “I’ve always been able to do this,” I explained as he pulled me to my feet.

“As long as I’m here, you’ll always have a hand up,” he told me. He’s kept that promise ever since, and I hope that, in my way, I’ve done the same for him.

His children, Connor and Clare, were babies when Peter and I first met. They’re in college now, and I’ve had the pleasure of watching then grow up and marveling at what great parents he and his wife, Mariellen, are. He’s such a class act and such a pro, always focused and prepared and never bringing his personal baggage to the studio. On any given day you’ll find Peter and me in my dressing room trying to figure out how to solve the show’s problems when no one wants to listen, or sometimes just deciding how to play a scene that sounds like nothing either Jack or Katherine would ever say or do. His instincts are as impeccable as his performances, and no one has cheered more loudly than I have for his sixteen Emmy nominations and his three Outstanding Lead Actor Daytime Emmy Awards.

It’s an ongoing source of fascination to me that two actors so personally different from each other, taking such different approaches to their performances, can be so successful at playing exactly the same character . . . and that I can miss Terry Lester every single day, on-screen and off, while being just as grateful every single day, on-screen and off, that Peter Bergman is a part of my life.

Christian LeBlanc

It was April Fool’s Day 2009 when the announcement hit the news that the longest-running soap in history, the CBS classic
Guiding Light
, had been canceled. It was shocking and heartbreaking and infuriating and a whole lot of other adjectives I’m sure many of you felt too. Including its days as a popular radio serial,
Guiding Light
had been around for seventy-two years. It made its television debut in 1952. One school of thought, I suppose, is that it had outlived its usefulness. But as far as I’m concerned, you don’t discard an institution if it’s got problems; you fix it. It’s the TV equivalent of finding cracks in the Lincoln Memorial and replacing it with a strip mall.

The decision had been made, though, and I was pretty sure that a good stern scolding from me wasn’t going to change anyone’s mind. Instead, I decided that, since every soap actor in the business owes
Guiding Light
a huge debt of gratitude, I wanted to find a proper way to say good-bye and thank you. I immediately called Barbara Bloom, who was then the head of CBS Daytime, and ran my idea past her: I wanted to make an appearance on the show during its final week. I didn’t want any dialogue. I didn’t want to say a word. Just put me in the background on a park bench, or have me stroll past and nod at a cast member or two, and I’d consider it an honor. Barbara Bloom talked to
Guiding Light
producer Ellen Wheeler, who responded with a resounding “Yes!”

I was excited and told my castmates about it, and the words were barely out of my mouth before Christian LeBlanc, aka multiple Emmy winner Michael Baldwin, leapt up and chimed in, “I want to go too!”

Think of your ten most high-energy friends fueled by a generous supply of chocolate-covered coffee beans. Put them all together into one person and that person would be named Christian LeBlanc. He’s tireless, he’s generous, he’s a spectacular actor and artist, he’s the life of every party, and he’s
everywhere
. “I want to go too!” should be his motto if it isn’t already. I explained the part about no dialogue, just background in some scene or other, and he didn’t care. He wanted in. I was happy to have a pal to go with me and
Guiding Light
was delighted.

So delighted, in fact, that by the time we arrived on the set in rural New Jersey, the writers had actually scripted brief cameo roles for us. I was a wealthy dowager, and Christian was my Italian (I think—I know he played it with an accent of some kind) boy toy with his shirt unbuttoned to his navel. It was an amazing experience, being welcomed by so many treasured, talented friends under such sad and incredibly unfair circumstances, knowing that all those people in the cast and crew were going to be unemployed soon through no fault of their own. What an honor to have been part of it, even if it was just for one day, and be given a chance to tell everyone in person how appreciated they were by the whole daytime community and how much they’ll be missed. In case I didn’t say it often enough while we were there: to all of you involved with
Guiding Light
, thank you so much for having us.

Then, at Christian’s invitation, he and I were off to Tennessee to pay a visit to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis. I’d never been, and I was looking forward to it, but I wasn’t prepared for how completely blown away I was by the whole experience. It’s a magnificent facility, the staff is extraordinary, and the children were brave and sweet and utterly inspiring. In the hours we spent with them I saw that side of Christian that’s so gentle, playful, compassionate, comforting, and full of hope, with that rare gift of making every child he talked to feel like the most important person in the whole world. And every bit as touching to me was the fact that throughout our entire visit, there wasn’t a single photographer or reporter in the place. Believe me, I appreciate the importance of publicizing worthy charities. But I also appreciate discovering quietly generous friends and colleagues in this business who don’t look at every charity as a potential photo op. God bless you, Christian, for being one of them and for including me in those few extraordinary hours I’ll never forget.

(I wasn’t kidding about the chocolate-covered coffee beans, by the way. When you happen to think of it, send him some. He loves them, and chances are, whatever day he receives them, he’s done something to deserve them.)

David Hasselhoff

It was 1975 when a tall, wildly handsome twenty-three-year-old boy named David Hasselhoff arrived at the studio to replace William Gray Espy in the role of Snapper Foster, who was a medical student at the time and (ostensibly) Jill Foster Abbott’s brother. (Of course, Jill later found out she wasn’t a Foster at all and was then thought to be Katherine Chancellor’s daughter for a while, until she was finally revealed to be Lauren Fenmore’s sister.) David’s was a classic Hollywood “discovery” story—he was spotted by super-manager/casting director Joyce Selznick while he was waiting tables in a restaurant in Marina del Rey. She quickly signed him to a management contract and aimed him straight toward daytime, knowing he was as green at acting as he was great-looking and that the training and discipline of a soap could give him the kind of career building he needed.

Bill Bell loved David’s chemistry with the rest of the cast, and John Conboy was excited about this brand-new potential young heartthrob. One of John’s first long talks with David still makes me chuckle. Trying to be as diplomatic as possible without offending him, John asked David if he would have any objection to changing his name for career purposes. David, earnest and unoffended as could be, said no, he wouldn’t mind that at all . . . as long as he could keep the name Hasselhoff.

What David lacked in skill and experience he more than made up for with his work ethic, his love of the work itself, and his genuine desire to learn the craft. Bill Bell asked if I would take on the challenge of being his coach, and it was precisely because David was so earnest and so eager to become a good, respected actor that I agreed. We became close, as castmates, as mentor/student, and, eventually, as a woman who’d fought her own demons and wasn’t about to sit by and watch him give in to his without some long, private, loving, painfully honest talks. Even after he moved on to prime time in 1982 and became a star on
Knight Rider
, and later on
Baywatch
, he knew and still knows I’m pulling for him to find the peace of mind I know he’s capable of.

In 2007 I went to see David in a Las Vegas production of the Mel Brooks classic
The Producers
. His reviews will back me up on this—he lived up to every bit of his potential, and he was spectacular. I was so proud of him, and so touched when he introduced me to the cast backstage with a sweet, heartfelt “This is my friend Jeanne Cooper. I want you to know that everything I’ve achieved as an actor I owe to her.”

David was back on
The Young and the Restless
for a few episodes in 2010. His two daughters were with him, and it was a joy to watch him with them and see how much he adores them. Hamburger video, colossal public screwups, tabloid stories, and all, don’t ever, ever doubt that.

I have a lot of love in my heart for that earnest, excited boy I met in 1975 and will never stop believing he’s still in there, waiting for those demons to get out of the way. No one dares to speak badly of David Hasselhoff around me, that’s for sure, and no matter how many times he manages to shoot himself in the foot, I’ll be praying he finds a way to grow another one.

Nancy Grahn

No, Nancy Grahn isn’t one of my castmates. She plays Alexis Davis on
General Hospital
. She’s a superb actress, as most of you know, and she also happens to be a passionate, hilarious woman and an incredible mother to her daughter, Kate. This is one of my favorite stories, the story of how, if a certain evening had gone a little differently, Nancy might have joined the cast of
The Young and the Restless
. It’s never appeared in print before, and I’m telling it with the permission of the two people directly involved: Nancy and my collaborator, Lindsay Harrison.

Beginning in 1985, Nancy brilliantly played the role of Julia Wainwright Capwell on the NBC soap
Santa Barbara
. When the show was canceled in 1993, Nancy took a little time off and then began the process of auditioning for prime-time series. And believe me, it can be infuriating. With rare exceptions, prime-time producers tend to be very dismissive of daytime actors. It’s not uncommon for them to say at an audition while they glance through an actor’s résumé, “I see you’ve been on a soap opera for the last eight years, but have you actually
done
anything?” Nancy was going through more than her fair share of that nonsense, and it was beginning to get on her nerves. Then just when she thought she couldn’t be made to feel more estranged from her career, she received a formal invitation to the Soap Opera Digest Awards.

“Just what I need,” she told Lindsay, “an evening with hundreds of people I know, all of whom are working and all of whom know I’m not. That should be a real confidence builder.”

“You’re going, right?” Lindsay asked.

“Are you insane?” she shot back. “I’d rather shave my head. It’s too awkward and too embarrassing.”

Lindsay wasn’t having it. “Are
you
insane? Of course you’re going. You said it yourself—hundreds of people will be there, all of whom know you and respect your work and many of whom are in a position to hire you. You’re going to go, you’re going to look like a million dollars, and you’re going to be the friendliest, most outgoing person in the room, if you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t know what you mean, and I’m not sure I want to,” Nancy said, voice dripping with skepticism. “Friendly and outgoing like what?”

“Like, in addition to all the friends you’ll run into, who’ll be happy to see you by the way, you’re going to walk up and introduce yourself to people you admire but have never worked with. Bill Bell, for example.”

“You’re kidding. You know how terrible I am at things like that. You really think I’m going to just stroll up to Bill Bell, and say what, exactly?”

Lindsay’s enthusiasm was building, despite the fact that Nancy’s wasn’t. “Think about it. This will be perfect. It’s the Soap Opera Digest Awards. Every show has its own designated tables. So once everyone’s seated at the
Y&R
tables, you’ll walk up to Bill Bell, extend your hand, and say, ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I can’t believe we’ve both been in the business for this many years without meeting. I’m a huge fan, and I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Nancy Grahn.’” After a series of barfing and gagging noises on Nancy’s end, Lindsay added, “I know you can do this, and we both know it’s exactly the right thing for you to do, especially since there’s nothing dishonest or insincere about it. So come on, let me hear it, you’re going to walk up to Bill Bell once he’s seated at the table and you’re going to say . . .  ?”