Eighty Is Not Enough: One Actor's Journey Through American Entertainment (24 page)

Through the years, I’ve also learned that being a father is a marathon, not a sprint. Learning the job is not a magic trick you perform once or twice and then think you’ve got the hang of it. In fact, every single day, there’s some new and often unexpected challenge—and they just keep you guessing. And no matter how old your kids get, they are always still your kids, and the concern you felt for their well-being on the day they were born continues until the day you die.

I was like my own father in that I wanted to be a part of my children’s world—in fact, maybe too much so. Sometimes they jokingly remind me how the kids in the neighborhood would come by and ask Pat if Mr. Van Patten could come out and play! And there were many times when I piled the whole neighborhood into our old yellow Oldsmobile—including some who stuffed themselves in the trunk—and headed off for a day at Jones Beach.

As a father, I came to cherish the wonder in a child’s eyes. That’s not just a platitude, all parents know what it’s like to see their children marvel at things that seem to them so mysterious and awesome. For years I told the boys there was a special “money tree” up at Alley Pond Park. At night I would go alone and tie dollars to the branches and place coins by the trunk. The next day, I’d get the whole gang together, drive to the park and watch as the kids ran like crazy to that special place. I still recall the amazement and delight on their faces as they discovered the coins and dollars I had left the night before.

All our kids were athletic, and I encouraged them to play tennis and other sports. Nels and Vincent loved the more traditional games, while Jimmy preferred doing acrobatic stunts on the horizontal bars and juggling tennis balls. As a child, Jimmy also shared my love of magic, and even today he can make silverware disappear at the dinner table. Later he became an exceptional swimmer and surfer—and loved to bring my grandchildren Duke and Vincent, the children of Vincent and the wonderful actress Betsy Russell, surfing in the Pacific. Today Duke rides the big waves at Malibu while young Vincent heats up the local golf courses.

Like my father, I believed in the old adage, “healthy body, healthy mind”—especially when it involved physical exercise in the great outdoors. Often in the middle of winter, I would round the kids up, and we’d head off to Forrest Park for a workout. That meant shoveling the snow off the three-wall handball court and playing a brisk game until we were all sweating in the freezing cold.

My love for cold weather exercise later developed into a family tradition on the West Coast. Every New Year’s Day for many years now, our family and friends gather together and head out for a dip with the Venice Beach Penguin Swim Club. In 2007, I had the honor of being named King Penguin of the Year, which meant a photo op with my personal hero, Norky, the seven-foot penguin. Since we began, we’ve had quite an array of notables joining us to inaugurate the New Year with a brisk swim in the freezing Pacific, including Farrah Fawcett, Christopher Atkins, Debbie Gibson and Jerry Paris.

I always loved the competition of one-on-one sports and so I introduced the kids to the most competitive of all them all, boxing. Nels, who was the most interested in all forms of athletics, recalls the many Friday nights we spent down at Sunnyside Gardens watching the up-and-comers in the Golden Gloves. He still talks about a devastating young man we watched named George Foreman in his first professional fight. It was particularly memorable as it came just after the 1968 Olympics when Foreman stunned the world with his show of patriotism, walking around the ring with an American flag after winning the Gold. Later in his life, Big George would strike a blow for all of us senior citizens when he accomplished the seemingly impossible task of winning the heavyweight championship at age 45!

Nels speaks fondly of those Friday-night fights, not just because we had such a good time out together, but because there were lessons to be learned from those fierce competitors in the ring. “I learned about hard work,” Nels recalls, “because most of these fighters came from nowhere.” I think my son may have understood just how true that was even before I did. Nearly every one of those guys in the ring were fighting their way out of difficult circumstances. For many, they had only one path out: hard work. Some made it, and others didn’t, but, as Nels recognized, there were no slackers in those rings. Everyone was working hard in pursuit of some dream. I think Nels took the lessons he learned from those fighters and has passed them on to the thousands of people he’s coached in thirty years as one of the finest teaching professionals in the tennis world.

Casey, of course, brought his own unique personality to the mix. Even as a child, Casey, like his mother Joyce, was thoughtful and curious about the world, always with a book in his hands. I recall when he was just six, he went on a big trip to the 1960 Summer Olympics in Rome with Joyce and her husband, the actor Martin Balsam. On returning, he told me about a young fighter he saw named Cassius Clay, who would, of course, go on to greatness as Muhammad Ali. I always loved Ali. Years later, I was at a fight in Las Vegas when I noticed him sitting in the first row and thought it was strange that he kept turning his head and looking ominously back at me. When the fight ended, I was even more concerned as he got up from his seat and headed straight for mine. So I just stood there not knowing what to expect, when the Champ put his tremendous hand on my shoulder, leaned over and whispered in my ear: “I’ve been watching you a long time.” I was thrilled!

Nels, Jimmy, Vincent and Casey have now grown into wonderful, sensitive and accomplished adults. They are also my closest friends. I feel so very fortunate to have all of them still living nearby so we can continue to share this amazing journey. In recent years I’ve felt their presence more than ever. I think it’s probably fair to say they are all more concerned about my health than I am. Nels and his beautiful wife Nancy Valen, a former
Baywatch
actress, who for twenty years has been like a daughter to Pat and me, are a constant support since my two strokes and open heart surgery. Vincent and his lovely wife, Eileen Davidson, a legendary soap opera star—and their newest arrival, Jesse, who, at age two reminds me just how wondrous this life can be—are also a constant source of joy. And Casey, Pat King and their two children, Bridgit and Christopher have always been a treasured part of our family.

And Jimmy, an eligible bachelor, has been there with me during some of my most memorable moments. A few years ago, we had the great fortune of sharing the stage lights. Together with the great Frank Gorshin, Jimmy and I toured over a hundred cities across America in Neil Simon’s
The Sunshine Boys
. In a difficult role, Jimmy showed his marvelous acting skills. But more important to me, we had the time to really get to know each other as we made our way through a million motels and pit-stops all across this wonderful country. It was a special time for both of us that created memories I will always cherish.

*  *  *

While working as a real estate agent I continued looking for roles. One of the advantages of real estate is that the schedule is flexible. I always had time to audition or even take a part, from time to time. There was no clock to punch and no boss checking to see that I put in a certain number of hours. I worked on commission, and if I sold a house, it gave me time to try my hand at another audition.

I was hoping that things might turn around in December of 1963 when I landed a role in a comedy,
Have I Got a Girl for You
. It was a humorous story of a Jewish family torn by the familiar conflict between getting ahead financially and maintaining their high principles. Before the show even started, I had a nice piece written by William Raidy in the
Long Island Press
in which Raidy reviewed my thirty years in the theater. But the show, which played at the Music Box, didn’t last long or open any substantial doors.

The same year, I also took a part in a ninety-minute special,
Men in White
produced by David Susskind, which aired live on ABC. I seemed to always have problems with doctor skits. I did one with Lee J. Cobb and Richard Carlson that was a disaster. We were playing surgeons, and at one point Cobb says: “We must operate.” Because it was filmed live, we had to run off the set and put on rubber gloves and then get back for the next scene. When the camera turned to us again, we were all standing there with our hands, now covered with rubber gloves, held up in the air like we were about to begin the operation.

But when Carlson, Cobb and I rushed over to the table for the rubber gloves, I couldn’t get mine on. It was hot, and I kept trying to put my fingers in and they kept slipping out. Time was running out, so I just ran back for the scene with the gloves only half on. So as we were all standing like doctors about to perform surgery the camera moved from Lee J. Cobb to Richard Carlson, and then to me. And I’m standing there with my hands held up in the air like I’m about to operate, but the white-gloved fingers were drooping down on my hands. It looked absurd.

Afterwards David Susskind said to me, “What the hell happened there? This is ridiculous. Can’t you get the gloves on?”

I said, “No.” So David, who was pretty piqued at this, realized what was wrong. He pointed to a bottle on the table I hadn’t seen and said to me, “Put the damn talcum powder on your hands.”

Worse was an episode of
As the World Turns
where I also played a doctor. The moment came when I was supposed to listen to the patient’s heart with my stethoscope. I had it around my neck, but forgot to put it in my ears. So I placed the stethoscope on the patient’s chest and started listening intently—without anything in my ears. The other actor, Mark Rydell, who went on to be a big director, was looking at me funny. Then he just started laughing and shaking his head while I’m telling the patient, “Your heartbeat sounds very good. Yes, it sounds very good.” I remember wondering why the heck Mark was laughing.

In 1968, I landed a small role in a film,
Charly
, a moving drama about a mentally handicapped man who becomes highly intelligent after an operation. The results, however, are temporary, and he discovers that he will soon regress to his former condition.

I suppose the psychological torment he endures must be similar to what happens in the early stages of Alzheimer’s, when a patient knows that he will, in time, begin to lose his way. I think all Americans were brought closer to those feelings as we admired the way President Reagan confronted the onset of his illness. Nothing was more courageous than the beautiful farewell letter he wrote to the country in which he recognized that he was slowly slipping away.

That was the dilemma of Charly Gordon, marvelously played by Cliff Robertson. I had known Cliff years before when he was my understudy on
Mister Roberts
, and now he had developed into a powerful performer and deservedly won the Academy Award for his portrayal of Charly Gordon. While my own role as one of the doctors was very minor, it was, at the time, a welcome opportunity to get back into entertainment. It was also my first film. With all of the work I had done on television, radio and the stage, I had never had a part in a movie.

Shortly after filming
Charly
, I landed a role in a Broadway play by two authors named Renee Taylor and Joseph Bologna called
Lovers and Other Strangers
. It was a well-conceived and written comedy involving a series of storylines centering around an upcoming wedding.

The play, which opened at the Brooks Atkinson in September of 1969, was very much reflective of the changing times. As the legitimacy of marriage as an institution was being increasingly questioned,
Lovers and Other Strangers
highlighted what was both good and bad about marriage. The strongest performance was by the veteran character actor, Richard Castellano, who played the groom’s father.

At the wedding of one of Castellano’s sons, it becomes known that his other son is in the process of getting a divorce. Castellano’s character, Frank, spends more time obsessing on how this could have occurred. Throughout the play he continuously interrogates his son: “Okay, what happened?” His questions assume there must have been some precipitating incident. He believes that once it was revealed, he could then help resolve it—even to the point of suggesting that his son consider taking a mistress.

But hearing only vague responses from his son about how the enjoyment or “fun” of his marriage had been lost, he becomes utterly confused—unable to understand that for many in the younger generation of the 1960s, a marriage had to be about more than just getting by for the sake of convention. The divide between Frank and his son reflected what became known as the “generation gap”—a phenomenon that played such a powerful role in the social turbulence of the 1960s.

My character, Hal, the father of the bride, is more flexible—although not in a particularly attractive way. Hal tries desperately to strike a balance between his own marriage of thirty years and his relationship with his long-term mistress. His inability to take action, either breaking up his failed marriage or cutting off his affair, represented the hypocrisy so prevalent in many relationships when they begin to stagnate and men—at least, typically men—begin looking outside the marriage for ways to find fulfillment.

But
Lovers
was not a wholesale attack on marriage. For that reason, I believe, it became a success—although not so much as a play. We closed after just seventy performances, but the next year it was made into a motion picture in which Castellano starred, along with Diane Keaton and Cloris Leachman. Gig Young, who had just won the Academy Award for his supporting role in
They Shoot Horses Don’t They
, took my role as Hal. The movie did much better than the play, and the song played during the wedding scene,
For All We Know
, became a classic, winning the Academy Award and prompting
The Carpenters
to sing a version that became a best-selling record.