Stories From Candyland (26 page)

I did make love, not war, but not until I was married, of course, and I got married a month before my eighteenth birthday.

There was no right or wrong path to take. Everyone had his or her own life. I might have liked going to Woodstock to hear the music, but I wouldn’t have liked the communal living. In retrospect, I should have cooked for the protesters during their sit-ins.

My growing-up years were a confusing time also in terms of women and working. My fate was clear. I was going to have a womanly career in retail and fashion and then get married. Done. I’d get married. Done. Twice. Then, in between raising children and caring for my husband and home, I could do some charity work. Done. Happily.

If anyone had told me I’d be in charge of insurance and purchasing for one of Hollywood’s largest entertainment conglomerates, I would have run the other way. That wasn’t in my life plan. Business was all right, as long as it was women’s business. Comparing insurance policies and rates? Trying to determine the benefits of health insurance for
employees’ families? Determining how much our documents were worth in the event of a fire or flood? Purchasing truck-loads of office supplies? Supplies for our wardrobe department? Trucks for our productions? Done it. Take that, June Cleaver and Aunt Bea.

I was also involved in planning and hosting many legendary social and charity events over the years. That was more fun, and closer to my destiny. Just like the Jeffersons, I was moving on up and making sure I was giving back. That’s one of the great privileges in life.

And I learned there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do. Is it any wonder, given that I was brought up with advertising messages that taught me that nothing was out of my reach? Back then we had such information as:

Lysol for feminine hygiene use: I spelled marriage—mirage. A wife’s story of marriage happiness rediscovered once her doctor advised her to use Lysol disinfectant for feminine hygiene.

Ouch.

You can give yourself a lovely TONI Home Permanent for your date tonight.

New . . . a cream deodorant which safely helps stop underarm perspiration. . . . It does not rot dresses and men’s shirts.

Does your laxative leave a bad taste in your mouth? Use Ex-Lax, “The Happy Medium Laxative.”

Listerine Anti-septic for Infectious Dandruff.

Now that your man is a man of Property and now that you own a house of your very own, use eternally-vigilant Sani-Flush.

I had the added advantage of being named after a movie star, so I had even more information than most about how to act and what I was allowed to do. From one of my mother’s magazines came my job description:

She [Carole Lombard] came down the stairs in a white, satiny robe trimmed with fur like the girls wear in your dreams . . .

She came downstairs in that robe, and if there ever was a million dollars cash she was it.

Television reminded us of all our resources and safety, too. We were in good hands with our insurance company, our imported cars got eighty-four miles per gallon, cheap watches were indestructible, Heinz’s slogan told us ketchup was “slow good,” we could feel stronger fast with a spoonful of Geritol, lions protected our investments, Ajax cut grease faster and polished with half the effort, even a monkey
could operate an early Xerox machine (so women certainly could, I guess), talking tuna and green giants watched over our food, and our FBI agents drove reliable Fords to solve crimes. Slacks and jeans were being allowed for women as “fashion fundamentals to save wear and tear on your best bib and tucker.” Vinylite (“new lustrous plastic in a choice of colors never to lose their gleam”) handbags had hit the market, as had Sea Nymph bathing suits. We had it all.

We even had hope if we ever messed up. In a 1950 story in
Modern Screen
magazine, Hedda Hopper, the foremost celebrity expert, reported about a new rehabilitation and mental health clinic in Kansas:

Stars whose emotional mix-ups threaten to wreck their personal lives are facing facts with the aid of science—and finding happiness.

I found happiness, and I know there is so much more to find. What a ride my generation and I have had. And even though we’re being called “senior citizens” now (how did that happen?), we’ve got a lot of teaching, giving, sharing, and experiencing to do.

And I can’t wait to create even more stories from Candy-land.

W
riting this book has been one of the most challenging, frightening, and freeing experiences of my life.

My life has always been defined by other people’s expectations and dreams, and I was very proud about how much I pleased them. Writing this book flooded me with memories of happy and sad times, but mostly it showed me how far I’ve come and how far I can still go.

Every day is a new learning experience, with ups and downs, surprises and disappointments, new kinds of fears and new levels of joy.

And now I’m in my sixties and a grandmother. My daughter,
Tori, and her husband, Dean, have blessed me with two healthy and beautiful grandchildren, Liam Aaron, born in March 2007, and Stella Doreen, Liam’s little sister, born this past June. Randy is great with children and loves being an uncle. He’ll be a terrific dad, too.

I can’t wait to share my stories and tell my grandchildren of the endless adventures of their wonderful grandfather, make them giggle with stories about their mom growing up, and delight in tales of their Uncle Randy’s escapades. In the meantime, though, I’m going to temporarily suspend the baby-talk dialogue we use to communicate and share some thoughts.

Dear Liam and Stella,

I love you, and you have brought so much happiness and meaning to all of us. My only sadness is that you didn’t get to meet your grandfather. Oh, would he have loved you! No, make that worship, as he worshipped your mother and uncle.

This is some time to grow up. People have never been exposed to so much, and you will lead relatively sheltered lives, removed from some of the hardships and tragedies of the twenty-first century. I’m relieved we can protect you to some extent, but I don’t want you to think you’re different or better than anyone else.

I’ve written about being a celebrity by marriage, and
your mother and uncle were brought up with strangers smiling at them, sometimes fawning over them, seeking their approval, giving them whatever they wanted and asking very little of them. I don’t know if that will happen with you, too, but based on the e-mails and letters I’ve received about how beautiful and delightful you both are, I suspect that you, too, will be the center of attention for much of your childhood, even before you accomplish anything on your own.

One of my favorite characters is Auntie Mame (and I hope you watch that movie when you’re older). I’ll never forget her saying, “Live! Life’s a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death.” I always thought it was a fun way to live, but I realized that Auntie Mame—and my real-life role models—not only enjoyed the banquet but helped feed the others and made sure they wouldn’t starve. That’s our legacy, that’s our privilege, that’s what we’re supposed to do. I say to you, “Life’s a banquet, and let’s share our blessings with everyone.”

I know you’ll be Googling and reading all kinds of stories about our family. Some will make you roll your eyes. Some will raise questions. Many will be about
Charlie’s Angels, Beverly Hills 90210, Dynasty, Fantasy Island, The Mod Squad,
and other titles that won’t mean much to you. I urge you to find the shows, which you’ll probably be able to download into your latest mini-tech-whatever-pod, and see
how your grandfather looked at life, the influences of the generations before you, and what life looked like to your parents and me.

Don’t think we were just silly. Things were mostly great and, in relation to today, very simple.

I hope your lives are as happy as ours have been. You are so lucky, have so much potential, and we all love you so much. Please don’t grow up too fast. Enjoy your lives and enhance the lives of others, as I do my best to enhance yours.

Love,

Candygram

• • •

Ingredients

1 cup raw rice

1 fryer, cut up

1 package onion soup, undiluted

1 can beef consommé

1 can cream of mushroom soup, undiluted

1 can water

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Grease a 3-quart casserole dish.

Pour all of the raw rice in the casserole dish, then place the chicken parts on top of the rice. Sprinkle the package of onion soup on top of the chicken, followed by the beef consommé, then the cream of mushroom soup, then 1 can of water.