Lessons from the Mountain Page 13

  The producers thought I had great timing and started to write comical things for me after that. In “The Home Front,” Erin’s male chauvinist boss, J.D. Pickett, refuses to consider her for a position as assistant manager at the defense plant because she’s “too pretty and young.” So she dresses as a Southern belle, complete with ringlets and a hoopskirt, greets him one morning with a sweet Scarlett O’Hara lilt, and offers him a demitasse and homemade cookies. When she bends over to discard the mail and filing she used to do, but now couldn’t bother her “pretty, little head” about, her dress lifts and exposes frilly pantaloons, embarrassing J.D. (Shocking, huh?) While I didn’t think I was funny in that scene, Lewis Arquette, who played J.D., was funny. No, he was hilarious.

  I smiled whenever I saw Lew was returning for an episode, because I knew it would be a good time. He was professional, interesting, and different for the show. We didn’t have a lot of comedy, but Lew made J.D. Pickett a delightfully hateful boss, and he was great to work with.

  He told me about his kids, who were close in age to me. He was quite thoughtful about them, and spoke in great detail of their individual qualities. I asked him if they were interested in acting. Looking back, I think, What a dumb question! The Arquettes are one of the most successful families in entertainment. Way to go, J.D.

  I learned a lot from watching Lew. I wasn’t trained in comedy, so I felt fortunate to work with and to watch “funny.” I learned timing and how to be a bit out-of-the-box by watching him. His character, J.D., was over-the-top, something Erin could have used a bit more of. I treasure the times I had with him, and the environment that allows you to get to know people while waiting for the lights to be set and “action” to be called.

  There were many wonderful lessons in laughter. I’m a lucky girl, so glad to have been a part of the off-camera jokes, silliness, and pranks—and of having the opportunity to work on my own comedic skills, and not be embarrassed to let loose every now and then with a very loud cackle.

  By the way, Erin got the job as assistant plant manager.

  MOUNTAIN WOMEN

  Many women also came to the mountain. Some became famous after they left; some were already quite well known when they arrived.

  Beulah Bondi was one of those famous women. Her first episode as Aunt Martha Corinne Walton was “The Conflict” in 1974. She had been acting since 1897 when she was nine years old. She had worked on Broadway, in movies, and on television for seventy-nine years when she did her last performance with us in “The Pony Cart” in 1976. She was so smart and sweet and tiny. She seemed frail to me in her backwoods dress and apron hat, but as soon as she opened her mouth, her strength filled the set. I was amazed she remembered the lines for a very long story she had to tell us in that episode. Her portrayal of our aunt Martha Corinne earned her an Emmy award.

  Beulah had never married or had children of her own, but she played Jimmy Stewart’s mother in four films, including Ma Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life, my favorite movie. Every time I watch it, I say, “There’s Martha Corinne.” And, of course, when Ellen appears as Miss Davis, I say, “There’s Grandma!” There is something so magical about actors that always touches my heart.

  Jean Marsh also stood out as a respected actress in our midst. She was beyond accomplished when she visited the mountain to play Hilary Von Kleist in “The Hiding Place.”

  Toward the end of a long day, there was a scene that required tension, but we were in one of those giggly moods and couldn’t stop. This time, lesson learned from Richard that forever changed my view as an actor. He told us we were an ensemble and every actor needed our support. This important message has helped me in numerous life lessons as well. We are all here to support each other. Everyone deserves our respect.

  Here was this wonderful actress having to deal with our mountain “qualities.” We shaped up, and there wasn’t a giggle in the house the rest of the day.

  Jean had cocreated and starred as Rose in one of my favorite Masterpiece Theatre events, Upstairs, Downstairs. My mom and I watched it together, and I think it started my fascination with all things British and proper.

  Sissy Spacek guest starred twice as Sarah Jane Simmons, first in “The Odyssey” and then “The Townie.” We knew she was special from the moment she walked onto the set. She had a great sense of humor. She and Richard cut up and are in more than a few gag reel shots together.

  Sissy even looked like us with her red hair and freckles. It was so fun to watch all of her movies over the years. I liked to think we were a stop on her train to the Oscars. Three years after she was on our show, she was first nominated for the Academy Award for Carrie, and then she won in 1981 for Coal Miner’s Daughter. I remember sitting in my living room in my sweats and eating brownies, watching the ceremony, feeling it made me cool because I knew her.

  Kathleen Quinlan appeared in two episodes, “The Thorough-bred” and “The Collision,” as Selina Linville. I remember how elegant she was atop the horse, and how my Walton brothers and the crew also thought she was quite spectacular. When her Golden Globe–nominated role as Deborah Blake in I Never Promised You a Rose Garden launched her to fame, again I felt proud.

  Another actress who had a positive influence on me was Joan Pringle. In “The Illusion,” filmed in 1978 (Season 7), Erin and Esther were harassed by J.D. Pickett when they worked together to get Esther a job at his defense plant. After some tough challenges, we succeeded against the male-dominated world.

  I so admired Joanie for her grace and class. It was an honor to watch her work. I could see her talent and aspired to be as good an actress someday. She went on to be a regular in The White Shadow and many other shows, and I was so happy to see her career flourish.

  I learned so much from these women, lessons I’ve carried with me to every set I’ve worked on, hoping to someday be as classy as my mentors.

  ANOTHER ERIN

  In 1975 when I was fourteen, Erin Moran, who played Joanie on Happy Days, made Ben jealous in “The Song.” She was a hoot, did a terrific job as Sally Ann Harper, and we had a great time with her on the set. She was my age, fit right in, and we all became fast friends. But we got into some trouble with her. Eric, for instance, sped around the lot with her in his sports car. The guards at the gate were always all over Eric for rushing the gate. He didn’t like to slow down in his fancy sports car.

  We decided to take Erin out to our favorite off-the-lot lunch spot, The Magic Apple, a fabulous place that served organic food. We did something that day I still have the heebie-jeebies about. Picture it. There we were—Jon, Eric, Erin, and I—still in our “homespun” wardrobe, because we only had an hour break. We were sitting at a table waiting for our smoothies, and in walk Donny and Marie Osmond. We knew they were probably on a break from doing their show over at ABC Studios.

  They were dressed in these 1970s-era bell-bottom pantsuits, and I want so badly to say they were matching, but memory doesn’t serve that well. I just know the hair was big, and the outfits, well, nothing like ours. As they were led past us to their table, someone from our group said, “Nice outfits.” I cracked up. There was such a disconnect between our drab clothes and plain hair and their trendy fashions and makeup.

  Erin started to sing that she was “a little bit country…” and Jon joined in with the rock-and-roll line, and we all burst out laughing. It was another “church moment” it was rare for us, but we couldn’t help acting our age. I still hope they didn’t hear us and think we were rude. Sometimes we let loose and had to be kids. Sorry, Donny and Marie, this was one of those times.

  Erin and I continued to hang out and became friends. We had so much in common, having been raised in a similar way, and now we were both on TV. I wrote about her and the time we spent together in my journal: I have been going out with Erin a lot lately. We are kind of the same. We grew up the same way too. I like her a lot.

  We often visited each other’s sets. I even got to go to Happy Days on taping night, which was a big deal. I met Henry
Winkler. Imagine being fifteen and getting to go to the show and meeting “The Fonz,” how cool is that? These were the moments that made it all worthwhile, getting to be behind the scenes of America’s favorite television shows. I sensed I was part of history, even then.

  I enjoyed seeing Ron Howard again. The previous year, 1974, in our second season, Ron had done an incredible performance on our show. As Seth, a friend of Jason’s who died of leukemia in “The Gift,” he played a dramatic role that was quite different from Richie Cunningham. Ron was so good in that episode, people still talk about it as a favorite. He says it was that performance that landed him the role as Gillom Rogers in John Wayne’s last film, The Shootist.

  Jon also gave a great performance. I’ll never forget him sitting on the porch, playing “Beautiful Dreamer” on the recorder Seth made before he died, as Earl’s narrative begins: “As time went on, there were other occasions that necessitated our grieving, and I often think that this early brush with total loss made us better able to face those which were to come after.”

  I cried when I watched it at home: the family facing the death of their friend and standing beside neighbors in their times of need. I believe one of the reasons the show had such an impact, and still does, is because of important story lines written by our wonderful writers, such as this one by Carol Evan McKeand. Being a part of all that was not only another perk, but facing these serious social issues with my Walton family helped strengthen me for the impacts my own family would soon experience.

  I went with Erin and her family to Mammoth Mountain to ski, and we went to parties together. We used to go to a diner kind of place called Norm’s in Westwood, or Dr. Munchies, another hangout. Erin was older, so she drove us around in her new Volkswagen Scirocco. We smoked cigarettes and drank black coffee (no cream because of the calories) until late at night, talking and laughing. Erin exudes contagious energy. Her laugh is as loud as mine—well, almost, and her eyes could light up the sky. She has a devilish grin and perfect smile: 1976…sometime in the spring I wrote, Erin and I are going to the People’s Choice Awards. Erin is going with Jimmy, I am going alone, as always.

  At the awards that night, we were bold enough to approach Sylvester Stallone and gush to him about how much we liked Rocky. Many years later, I reminded Mr. Stallone of what I’d done when I was fifteen, and he got a kick out of it.

  Erin was on the cover of the May 1981 issue of Us magazine, and I was pictured in one of the sidebar boxes as one of “TV’s Sexy Teens.” Valerie Bertinelli was pictured, and also Lisa Loring from The Addams Family and As the World Turns. The cover article’s subtitle was, ON THE TUBE THEY PLAY GAWKY TEENS, BUT OFF CAMERA—WOW!

  Erin was there for me throughout a difficult teenage time. It was so good for me to have someone to talk to. She was someone I could relate to, as we went through similar experiences: I am really very jovial, but sometimes I change myself for different people. At work I can never be myself. Richard recently asked me, “Who are you really, Mary McDonough?”

  I felt safe with Erin. I remember talking until we fell asleep; we loved Stevie Nicks’s “Landslide,” and played it over and over. I felt that song completely related to me and my life. I had been so “afraid of changing, ’cause I’ve built my life around you.” The “you” being the show. What was I without this girl I played for seven years?

  Who was I? My journal illustrates the questions I wondered back then: Who is Mary McDonough? Do I really know? Yes, I do and sometimes I don’t. I guess I don’t really let people know who I am.

  Erin and I talked about our shows, the casts, and the producers. We even talked about being Catholic. We shared our experiences in the fast world we lived in, and how tough it was to live up to the unrealistic expectations. Like any other teenagers, we shared diets and secrets, and had fun. Erin’s strong spirit encouraged me to be bolder: I have had fun the last few months. I have done things I never thought I would do. It’s great. I live a radical life. Here’s my latest motto. “Live each day so you have a story to tell tomorrow.”

  I am grateful for her friendship. Whenever I see her now, I still think about us running around and staying up late, sharing what it was like to be us. To this day, we still exchange Christmas cards. Even today, “Landslide” is still a special song for me. I now look back to that time of my life and can see my own growth. I was a young girl afraid of changes. Today when I listen to the song it brings tears to my eyes. I think of another girl about the same age I was then. The “you” in the lyric is now my daughter. It’s a powerful song whose metaphors still bring me so much growing and learning.

  6

  MOUNTAINS AND MOLEHILLS

  August 1976. It’s hot in the Valley. I’m fifteen years old, sitting on the edge of my parents’ backyard pool, staring into the clean, clear blue water. That familiar gray cloud that lives inside me is particularly menacing today. A storm rages in my head as tears stream down my face. If only I could be clean and clear…a solution emerges from the cloud. “Mary, just exhale, fall into the pool, and inhale. Then you won’t be so sad. You won’t have to worry about your weight, Hog Body, working, or fitting in.”

  My singing teacher had told me about her own near-death experience. She said drowning was “peaceful.” I longed for that peace, an escape, to leave all the pain behind.

  I watched my feet slowly moving back and forth in the cool water and thought about what people would say. Would anyone have expected it? How many would say, “She had it all. Everything handed to her. What was she so sad about?”

  Would my close friends understand?

  Then I thought of my parents, how it would hurt them. Besides, suicide was a mortal sin. A mortal sin? Are you kidding me? I smiled. That old safety valve kicked in, and I actually found the humor in where my mind took me.

  Saved from that round, but there would be many more rounds to come. Luckily, I had some big angels help me through tough times and teach me powerful lessons.

  In those teenage years, life seemed to speed up and so many things happened.

  F FOR DRAMA

  Back at regular school, I needed to take an elective to fill credit requirements. I think they figured I needed a break, so they put me in drama class.

  I was terrified. I had never taken a class like this. All the other kids in my school were doing musical theater and putting on plays all year. I had never taken any classes, especially improv.

  I sat and watched. Whenever there might have been a place to jump in and participate, I never did. I was paralyzed, the voices in my head said, “You’ve been working in the business for how long? Shouldn’t you be better at this? Everyone will laugh at you and you’ll be seen as the fraud you are.”

  One day, the teacher said, “Mary, you have to start joining the exercises in class, or you won’t get a good grade. It wouldn’t look very good if I failed you in drama, of all things.”

  That thought touched on my insecurities. Once again, I was magically supposed to know how to do something. Facing literal failure, I put my fears in the backseat and forced myself to participate. My mouth dried up as each day came and went. One day, as I watched the exercise, I knew I had to get up. I tentatively raised my hand and joined in on a simple improvisation exercise, urged on by my peers Perry and Roger. Their gentle encouragement helped. I took a breath and stood before the class, knees trembling. I fought to get past the terror of doing something I didn’t think I could do perfectly or even very well.

  I was so relieved and even felt a bit proud of myself. I had started to face my fears. By doing this simple improv exercise, I began to face up to a long list of things I would never dare for fear of failing. With my new attitude, no matter how scared, I forced myself to jump in and learned that facing the fears makes them fall away. Once I challenge them to a standoff and look them squarely in the eye, I can see the truth: These situations are never as frightening as they seemed when I hid from them. Not dealing with them kept me immobilized. Taking action always makes me feel b
etter.

  I actually began to have fun in the class. I even made a few new friends. Oh, and I did pass.

  MARY BETH’S HIPS

  My teenage years were a contradiction of messages. Our wonderful producers arranged special Christmas parties with a special presentation or event. They would show us a hilarious gag reel of our goof-ups, put on a skit spoofing something that had happened during the season, or Earl would read a funny poem mentioning each one of us.

  One year, Rod Peterson, our producer, sang a tribute to the tune of “Thanks for the Memories.” The lyrics about me had a line that went, “Ronnie Claire’s lips and Mary Beth’s hips.” I was horrified. My hips? Oh no, what’s wrong with my hips? Instead of taking it as a compliment as intended, I thought it meant something was wrong with me. Feeling so embarrassed that I couldn’t ask about the real meaning, I took it upon myself to “fix” the problem. I went back to extreme dieting.

  As Erin—and I—grew up, we were always being put into contradicting situations. As Mary, I was told I was “the pretty one.” As Erin, I was taught that the pursuit of anything based on looks was wrong.

  In “The Fire Storm” (Season 5), Erin enters the Jefferson County Day beauty contest, despite her parents’ disapproval. Of course, she lost. When Erin exits the stage in tears, Grandma’s line sums up what I remember about this episode: “I hope it’s taught you something.” And then in “The Pin-Up” (Season 7), Ben enters a photograph of Erin wearing shorts and wins first place in a newspaper contest. When she became a Camp Lee poster girl, everyone was outraged because it was wrong to be known for your looks. I got it: pretty equals loser.