Good Stuff Page 10

  Jimmy Stewart

  Princess Grace

  Danny Kaye

  Irving Lazar

  Peter O’Malley

  Stanley Fox Family

  Dan Melnick

  Maggie & Eric Leach

  Stanley Donen

  Barbara

  Peter Bogdanovich

  Sammy Cahn

  Katharine Hepburn

  Tom Lasorda

  President & Betty Ford

  President & Nancy Reagan

  Barbara

  These loving birthday messages played like some fabulous personalized combination of Kennedy Center Honors and Friars Club roast. Princess Grace read “The Owl and the Pussycat” in melt-you-to-the-core perfect pitch. Sammy Cahn doodled tailor-made for Cary versions of songs on his piano. “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World” became “The Most Wonderful Man in the World,” and “A Touch of Class” had added Grant pizzazz. Johnny Carson’s message to Dad: “You’re just terrific and I would’ve liked to have been with you on this occasion, but it’s my bowling night. I’m with the alpha beta bombers, I know you’ll understand.…” Frank Sinatra crooned, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Cary, happy birthday to you.… That’ll be five thousand dollars.” Tommy Lasorda’s greeting: “Hi Cary … you know I’ve just found out that you were an acrobat before you went into the movies. I’ve been thinking what an outstanding shortstop you would have made.… Just think how many pennants you could’ve helped the Dodgers win by now.” Stanley Donen, who directed Dad in Charade, styled his own poem:

  There once was an actor named Grant.

  He gave life a happier slant.

  His talents fantastic

  On-screen and gymnastic,

  But he never learned how to say “can’t.”

  His acting was all double duty.

  He deserved all the fame and the booty.

  No one else in our crowd

  Will be ever allowed

  To say

  Judy Judy Judy Judy Judy.

  I’ve known him as actor and friend.

  Our conflicts always had an end.

  When we’d disagree

  On script or on fee

  He was rigid so I had to bend.

  The problems he posed me were vast

  I want Bergman, I want Hepburn, make it fast!

  Then I’d fly off to Rome

  Or Paris, alone

  And they’d do it with him in the cast.

  He’s known as the ultimate in tact.

  For elegance there’s nothing he lacked.

  But the hours of pleasure

  That I’ll always treasure

  Are in a theater watching Cary Grant act.

  So tonight is a birthday for Cary.

  Shoot rockets, fire cannon, be merry

  You can search, you can seek

  He’s truly unique

  Do we love him, oh yes we do … very.

  Happy Birthday Cary.

  Their love was evident. It just felt good to be around them. On the patio of 9966, 1981.

  Ingrid Bergman shared her love, too: “Dear birthday child. This is a message to wish you a very happy birthday. I’m a little embarrassed because I’ve never given birthday wishes over a tape recorder. I think it’s a very nice idea except I’m a little stuck for words. But I’ll tell you I remember a long time ago when you and I were working on a picture, and I came over one morning full of excitement and said to you, ‘You know that together you and I are one hundred years old?’ And you didn’t like that joke very much. So, I’m not going to repeat it.… I’m not going to even think about how old together we would be today. Not having a personal script writer I think I’ll read something that was sent to me long ago; I have no idea who it was who wrote it, but it is a prayer and it’s something that you must’ve read earlier because it’s very much what you have done. The kind of life you have had. But I’ll read it to you anyway—it goes…

  Give me a good digestion, Lord, and also something to digest.

  Give me a healthy body, Lord, with sense to keep it at its best.

  Give me a healthy mind, Lord, to keep the good and pure in sight,

  which, seeing sin, is not appalled, but finds a way to set it right.

  Give me a mind that is not bored, that does not whimper, whine or sigh.

  Don’t let me worry much about the fussy thing called I.

  Give me a sense of humor, Lord. Give me the grace to see a joke.

  To get some happiness from life, and pass it on to other folk.

  “Well … that’s it. And you see what I mean, Cary. You have lived accordingly. That’s why you have many friends and we’re very happy to think about you, remember the good old days, and today especially, send you the best wishes for the future, for all your heart desires. From your old friend—and here’s the same joke: You’re Notorious and Indiscreet and as Hitch would say, ‘the old bat’, Ingrid.”

  President Gerald Ford and his wife, Betty, sent a joint message that included a story of inauguration night:

  President Ford: “Hi Cary, this is Gerry Ford wishing you a very, very happy birthday.”

  Betty Ford: “And Betty Ford here too wishing you the very same.”

  President Ford: “We’re there in spirit if not in person. As you well know we’ve admired you so many years. We cherish, we treasure your friendship.”

  Betty Ford: “Cary, you have no idea how many tapes it has taken to get this far. We’re just not the pros that you are. But we know you understand. I think often of that very celebrated night when I had the opportunity of having you as an escort for a very special occasion and I remember well how all the rest of the girls said when they saw the picture of us dancing together, ‘Wow! What a man!’ Well, we all still feel that way and this is your special day.… All the best.”

  President Ford: “I second everything Betty has said and there’s no way we can adequately express our gratitude for your friendship and to wish you the happiest possible birthday.”

  President and Nancy Reagan improvised their birthday greeting:

  President Reagan [to Nancy, hushed, aside]: “Is this a dinner or something they’re giving?”

  Nancy Reagan: “No dear, it’s her … well, she might have a dinner for him, but it’s her surprise present for Cary. And she did this for him once before and he was very touched. Some people told funny stories that concerned him and some people just talked about what a nice man he is.…”

  President Reagan: “All right… [Then, louder, to microphone] Well, Nancy …”

  Nancy Reagan: “Well, don’t say Nancy.”

  President Reagan: “Why?”

  Nancy Reagan: “Because you’re talking to Cary.”

  President Reagan: “Yes, but I thought we were doing it as a dialogue.”

  Nancy Reagan: “No dear.”

  President Reagan: “Oh, we each say something separate.… Forgive me, Cary, my wife won’t talk to me, so I’ll talk to you. [Nancy laughs]…Cary, now that we’re straightened away here, I suppose the first thing to say is happy birthday. And for whatever help it might be to you, for a long time now I haven’t been having them myself. I’ve just been having anniversaries of my thirty-ninth birthday. But it is a pleasure to have been invited to participate even in this remote way and to be able to not only congratulate you on your birthday, but tell you how much your friendship has meant and how very much we wish we could be there with you, so God bless you.”

  Nancy Reagan: “Cary, I’m going to tell you a story that I’m sure you’ve probably forgotten, but—As a very scared, nervous newcomer to the picture business and Metro, I’ll never forget how you were to me when I was trying out for a picture with you. I’ve forgotten the name of the picture. But I remember you were the star and I wanted very much to play opposite you. I didn’t get the part and it just broke my heart and you of course knew that and you took me to lunch and you were so dear, and so sweet, and so nice, as you always are. B
ut I’ve never forgotten it, and I really wish I could be there in person and wish you a happy birthday and give you a big kiss and a hug for being so nice to that young girl.”

  President Reagan: “So shall we both say happy birthday now again?… and Cary, this is the first time I’ve heard that story and I’m going to continue the dialogue with Nancy after we get off these microphones.…”

  Both: “Happy Birthday Cary!”

  Dad compiled such quotes for Barbara and me along with several pages of guidelines from the “Love Is …” comic strip.

  Barbara produced the sweetest star-studded tribute of all time. She loved Dad, loved seeing him happy, and knew how to make it happen. In choosing my father as her partner, Barbara knowingly put aside her desire to have children. Dad was seventy-seven when they wed. His child was mostly grown. It was Dad’s gentle hour, to be spent with his companion, friend, and mate, Barbara. But what of Barbara’s life after Dad? Almost certainly they both knew he’d leave the world before she did, and she might never again have a chance to reproduce. Yes, Barbara and I were and are close, but having a child of your own is one of life’s dearest treasures. Barbara would have been a genius at mothering, and she knowingly gave that up. Dad didn’t want her to make that sacrifice. Beginning at age eighty, Dad tried to give Barbara a child. When it didn’t work as they had hoped, Dad asked if Barbara would consider being inseminated with a donor’s sperm. The year of his death, they were on that road. At twenty- or thirty-something, it’s hard enough to wake through the night, change diapers, rock a crying baby to sleep, and turn your world upside down with an infant’s needs. So imagine the selflessness of this act for an eighty-two-year-old Cary Grant who was accustomed to being the star in his well-earned, perfectly contained oasis. Perhaps Barbara and Dad both sensed his time was running short. Perhaps a new child would hold Dad to this earth. Or, perhaps if he did have to go, at least his wife would have the comfort of new life at her side. Sadly, they never made that new life. We all have our trade-offs.

  Auntie Sylvia believes Dad pursued Barbara because he spotted a strong ally in her. If it’s tough to face life alone, death’s approach likely made it that much tougher for Dad, as well. Barbara could be his travel mate for the final journey. Perhaps a loved one’s eyes can cushion the blow to the hereafter. Barbara could be an ally for his daughter, too. Well, if so, Dad was correct. The term “stepmother,” not unlike the term “mother-in-law,” gets, in general, a bad rap. Not in my case.

  I use the French term belle mere, which literally translates as “beautiful mother,” to refer to Barbara. We have often gratefully acknowledged our relationship. We didn’t have to be friends. I’ve seen many families torn apart by the reading of the will. Money can get ugly. We have the classic “trappings” that could easily have driven us to ruin. Still, together with my father, we constructed a family that we “carry” forward through the years.

  The main reason Dad and Barbara worked so perfectly is that they wanted the same things in life. They put intimacy, coupledom, and relationship above all else. Dad was the masculine thinker, planner, and “doer,” and Barbara the feminine, receptive, intuitive “feeler.” Of course, she was masterful at gently bending things her way. If Barbara ran the show from backstage, no one else knew it. Especially Dad. Barbara knows the art of gently planting a seed that later takes root as someone else’s idea. “Darling, I just had a thought …” Oh really?… Successful couples are like Rubik’s Cubes to me.… How do they do it? In Barbara and Dad’s case, they made it look easy. I suppose ultimately it is. Dad wanted to eat English cucumber sandwiches, and Barbara delighted in cutting off the crusts for him. They shared the same values, they agreed on mutually complementary roles, and they honored these values by living them.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Grants

  The Grants” refers to Dad, Barbara, and myself. Since my parents split when I was but a babe, though I may have some unconscious knowing of their togetherness, I don’t really remember us being a family. The Grants was my first nuclear family experience. Our family rhythm was light, silly fun. We referred to ourselves as the Grunts: Poppa Grunt, Missus Grunt, and Baby Grunt. Some families bicker constantly, stage big dramatic fights, pontificate, or find their union in spirited debate. It’s a dance. It seems we establish certain steps and a tempo sparks. A chemical reaction. At times I still feel like a child around my family. My feet begin doing their habitual two-step before a syllable is uttered.

  The Grunts generally combusted into play. Play was a cornerstone in our lives. We were dynamic goofballs. One of Dad’s favorite tongue twisters was “Black bug’s blood.” Say it ten times as quickly as you can. Because Dad was in his seventies and eighties in my teen years, game play was generally of the tame, mind-bent variety. We weren’t the snowboarding, touch-football-playing, rock-climbing, Rollerblading types. We went the way of card games, board games, guesstimating distance games, hangman, word scrambles, memory games, magic tricks, television game shows, and the ever popular “roll around in a ball in the backseat while Dad swerved the Cadillac like a madman” game. Remember the nonsensical singsongy rhyme in The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer?

  A: “You remind me of a man.”

  B: “What man?”

  A: “The man with the power.”

  B: “What power?”

  A: “The power of voodoo.”

  B: “Who do?”

  A: “You do.”

  B: “Do what?”

  A: “Remind me of a man …”

  Under the Golden Gate Bridge on one of our Princess Alaskan cruises, circa 1980. With my own room, and therefore my own key, I felt all grown-up on these trips.

  And so on ad infinitum. At least once a week, for as many years as I can remember, one or the other of us would randomly begin our ritualistic nonsensical prayer. From down the hall I’d hear, “Hey … by the way … you remind me of a man …” Nothing to say, but wanting to engage in blithe togetherness. “Oy … have I told you lately? You remind me of a man …”

  Their wedding day. Barbara would have loved to invite her family, but for reasons known only to him, Dad insisted on it being just the three of us. On the patio of 9966, 1981.

  NOVEMBER 21, 1970 · DAD’S BEDROOM AT 9966

  Dad sings to me.

  CG: “Oh horsey keep your tail up, keep your tail up, keep your tail up, oh horsey keep your tail up, keep the sun out of my eyes.”

  Dad and I place stuffed animals on an improvised “tissue paper” hammock, which occasionally breaks as we swing my various dolls.

  CG: Daddy’s tired. He’s been traveling for quite a while to London for a charity for Prince Philip and his wildlife foundation. Dad sat on the right of Queen Juliana.

  No response from Jennifer.

  CG: I was doing a lot of name dropping. Didn’t you hear me?

  Dad speaks to the tape recorder as Jennifer gives dolls rides on the swing.

  CG: Jennifer’s bed faces mine so that when we awaken we can see each other across the length of the room.

  JG: I’m going to be five.

  CG: Time flies. I want it to go slower.

  Jennifer goes over to Daddy’s “magic drawer.”

  JG: Let’s see if the magic drawer has something for us?… Not yet.

  CG: Sometimes when she opens it, there’s something that Jennifer has never seen before. It’s magic.

  Daddy and Jennifer tie laces on “tidy lace-up” doll.

  CG: Daddy’s tired because it’s two forty-five a.m. in London and here it’s just past teatime.

  [Then singing] “Please put a penny in the old man’s hat.”

  JG [singing]: “Christmas is coming the goose is getting fat. Please put a penny in the old man’s hat. If you haven’t got a penny a ha’penny will do …”

  CG: Darling, it’s pronounced “hay-penny.”

  JG [singing]: “If you have no hay-penny then God bless you.”

  CG: “Merrily we roll along, roll along, roll alon
g …”

  JG: “Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb …”

  CG: You know, those sound alike. Oh no! You’re going to swing teddy bear and hit Julie and George.

  JG: Don’t tell them!

  Daddy laughs.

  JG: We won’t be your best friends.

  CG: I want you to be my best friend.

  JG: I will if you stop kicking me.

  Dad cracks up.

  CG: This is being taped!

  Later…

  CG: Darling, you have two of those books, please give one to Willie, for her grandsons.

  JG: I made something for you in Mrs. Knowles’s class.

  Jennifer Scotch tapes a new drawing on Daddy’s wall.

  CG: You are very generous.

  JG: The drawer is magic, but you put everything in it.

  CG: How do you know?

  JG: I know.

  CG: How do you know it wasn’t the good fairy?

  JG: I don’t have one yet cuz I didn’t lose a tooth.

  CG: You get a fairy when you lose a tooth?

  JG: Yes, but you get money, not candy.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It’s Okay to Be a Pip

  As Dad used the word, a “pip” is something full of mischief, a nuisance, or a general inconvenience, be it a person, place, or thing. A flat tire might be a pip. An acoustically challenged restaurant, where it’s difficult to be heard without raising your voice, was a pip. The Grants were definite pips.

  Maybe being a pip was part of my father’s winsome charm, on-screen or off. Pips have that little twinkle in their eye, which indicates something fun could happen at any moment. Take Dad and Katharine Hepburn in Bringing Up Baby. Dad and Katharine Hepburn in anything. They liked to outpip each other.