Fame

A young actress shares her journey to fame, starting with her early memories of performing and her dreams of becoming a famous actress. She faces obstacles, including acne scars and a challenging relationship with her father. Eventually, she transitions to working behind the camera, facing struggles and learning about power dynamics in the industry. She reflects on how her childhood experiences shaped her and seeks healing and understanding. The story includes a memorable encounter with The Beatles during their US debut on the Ed Sullivan show. Introduction. A coming-of-age story 60 years in the making. In some ways, this is a fairy tale. How many Hollywood hopefuls can say they made it? I can. But it certainly wasn't the road I had any intention, education, or connection to travel down. My earliest memories are of performing for everyone except for my father. He seemed to think anyone else was more talented than I was, but I kept on going. My first professional job came when I turned 18. I would be Snow White. Our small theatrical company traveled America, and I was introduced to a country I hadn't learned about in my school textbooks. These experiences began to change many of the beliefs I grew up with. Other truths would take many more years for me to face. My dreams of becoming a famous actress were dashed early on when a stubborn case of acne scarred my pretty little face. Scars weren't allowed, at least for actresses. My parents chose not to get medical help for this. That created a different kind of scar. They didn't mean to hurt me. They were just too busy trying to save themselves. A chance meeting led me behind the camera. Then the hard work began. Sometimes I'd be the only woman on the set. It was a fight just to belong. But I had learned one thing as a child. How to fight. And fight I did. Every film or TV show I worked on became a family. Functioning, non-functioning, or both simultaneously. Success or failure dependent on how I fit in. Sometimes I did, and other times not so much. Often I misjudged power and control. Who had it, who wanted it, and what they might do to get it or keep it. My rise to director took years, but the fall only took months. Surely I knew better than to keep poking that bear. I have been compared to a terrier with a bone, not giving in and not letting go. Always trying too hard to prove I belonged. But it was always one person and his power and control I was wrestling with. My father. How had his drama shaped me? Could I learn to escape the echoes of my childhood world and embrace it simultaneously? Would understanding help me heal the wounds, scars, and blemishes that lived inside me? These are my memories. The people I've written about may and probably do see the past differently. That forms their story, not mine. I've been as honest in telling these stories as possible. I've tried to report fairly and with grace, not knowing what was behind someone's behavior, good or bad. I have examined my own extraordinary life with the same honesty and grace. Chapter One. Fame. I'm crammed in a tiny elevator with five other teenage acting students as it descends to the lobby of the building where the American Academy of Dramatic Arts holds its acting classes. It's February 1964 and in one month I will be 17 years old. Our class has just presented our final student project, Scenes from Our Town. I was Emily, the lead character. Our acting teacher seems very proud of me or of himself as a teacher. The feeling of satisfaction continues as my fellow teenagers chat openly on the elevator out of the earshot of our instructor. He's staying upstairs doing whatever paperwork is needed to send to his bosses. I love my Saturday acting classes and will miss them dearly. They provide a wonderful escape from my parents, well from my father at least. The old elevator bounces a bit as it hits the lobby floor. We are used to that. Usually we hug each other and go out the lobby doors of the Ed Sullivan Theater. Once out onto Broadway, we go different directions towards our home, but not today. When the elevator door opens, we are greeted by a plethora of New York City police officers. The lobby is in chaos. All I can see are guns pointed at us. Who are you? Where'd you come from? How'd you get in? The questions from the police are coming too fast to answer. Finally, they motion us out of the elevator. The police seem beside themselves and as confused as we are. Then through the glass doors, I see hundreds of screaming teenagers and police on horseback and foot trying to protect the entrance doors. What the heck is going on? A sergeant comes to us and he is furious. We start to explain who we are and why we are inside the building. We're acting students. Our class is upstairs. The sergeant, huddled with some other cops, is trying to figure out what to do with us. There is no way out the front doors. Somehow they have the impression that on Saturday, the Ed Sullivan building is closed. So they conclude that we somehow snuck in. Things are going so fast, no one has time to figure out how we could have gotten by a battalion of police officers, screaming kids and paparazzi. The immediate problem for the officers is how to get us out of the building. Attached to the lobby is a coffee shop. Years later, this is the shop David Letterman would use for various skits during his show. The police usher us in to wait while they figure out what to do next. None of us know what's going on. Such drama. This is wonderful for a group of acting nerds. The small coffee shop has two entrances, one from the lobby and one from the side street. Suddenly the side door flings open and there are even more cops. With them are four handsome young men with lovely long hair. Everything about the four seems different and new. Our little coffee shop now holds six young acting students, many police officers, the coffee shop manager and four young Beatles. Now it's crystal clear what's happening. The Beatles have come to rehearse for their US debut that Sunday night on the Ed Sullivan show. For a moment you could hear all of our hearts beating as one. My eyes immediately fell on Paul. When I come back to earth, the other three come into focus. George seems anxious. He sits at a table by himself watching. He never speaks. Ringo asks, Goliath, what you doing here? John picks up on us being acting students and seems to mock us. Sure loves, you want to be famous? You want to be movie stars? Well, yes I do, but I keep that to myself. My fellow actors are serious theater folk. Movie stardom isn't their goal. Ringo jumps to our defense with some wisecracks, but it's Paul I'm dazzled by. He has an audience of six young gals and he flirts away. Oh John, leave them alone. Oh John, leave them alone. They are doing what they love to do, right gals? Paul will always be my favorite Beatle. John has a few more discouraging words for us and this time Paul jumps back and repeats, oh leave them alone John, but with much more force. I can tell that John has an edge to him. He mumbles something and slinks away. I'm glad to be left with Ringo and Paul. George is still sitting by himself on the small corner table. Everyone in that coffee shop is frightened and excited. The shop manager came to work expecting a typical Saturday. The police are caught short. They totally underestimated the popularity of the Beatles. I am amazed at the wild crowd outside. This is what fame looks like. Here I am stuck in a room with the most famous new arrivals from across the pond. These kids outside would kill to be me. An officer from the lobby area comes in to usher the Beatles out. With the building maintenance workers and stage hands help, the cops block the glass doors so no one could see inside. The Beatles walk past the covered doors denying all of the fans a glimpse of history. The Fab Four leave with a goodbyes, good lucks for our fame and fortune. Their exit sucks all the air from the room. There's nothing left to do but go home. There's nothing left to do but go home and tell of our adventure. We leave by the door that the Beatles had entered our lives through. That Sunday I find myself antsy with excitement. I sit in front and center and eyes glued to our 13-inch TV for the start of the Ed Sullivan show, proudly knowing that I know the Beatles. They are in fact sitting on my dining room table. For some unexplained reason, my father is selling their posters. He left his job in downtown Manhattan to sell advertising trinkets.