Love, Ellen: A Mother/Daughter Journey (21 page)

After the service, Helen, Audrey, and I went back to Mother’s house and took care of everything we had to do, dividing her things among us and the grandchildren. Then I went to Helen’s for a few quiet days before returning home.

While I was in Pass Christian, I took several walks on the beach by myself. I thought about how short life is, and how precious. Already, I missed Mother terribly—as I do to this day.

It’s so important to appreciate each other while we’re here.

O
NCE AGAIN
, I went through a natural process of grieving. Mother’s death had given me closure on the many chapters of my life that took place in New Orleans and environs. The cord was cut. This was, all at once, liberating yet scary. Where my life was headed, I didn’t know. There was something more I was yearning for, but I wasn’t sure what.

Ever since I had moved to California, without giving it much conscious thought, I had assumed that eventually a man would appear in my life. That had always happened in the past. But now that I was finally ready, it wasn’t happening. Initially, I attended a singles group for people over fifty, but that was so depressing—over seventy was more like it.

Here and there, I dated some nice gentlemen and even had a couple of serious relationships. Both were close calls; both decent men, but definitely not right for me. At moments, the temptation to fall back into a familiar routine was enticing, but I escaped unscathed. The lesson was long in coming but it finally registered with me that latching onto a man just to have a warm body nearby, and to not be alone, isn’t worth it I’ve learned that in these days, with so much going on in my life, it’s much better to luxuriate in my aloneness.

It’s amazing that the same person who less than ten years before was afraid not to have a man to take care of her could be writing this today. Never let it be said that human beings aren’t capable of change.

But if that something that I was yearning for wasn’t a man, what was it? Still unsure, I began to fill what spare time I did have, not simply with interesting hobbies as I had done in the past, but in areas that gave me a sense of meaning in my life. I did volunteer work at Project Angel Food; at the Jewish Family Service, where I helped immigrants fill out their citizenship applications; and at the Jeffrey Goodman AIDS Clinic, where I helped in the office.

My great, joyous pastime, of course, was sharing in all the excitement going on for Ellen. By the end of that first season, her series was a hit.

As Ellen’s unapologetic number one fan, I was not surprised. In fact, it is rare for me to find myself truly surprised by her talent. But on the night of September 19, 1994, when she cohosted the Emmy Awards with Patricia Richardson from
Home Improvement,
I don’t think anyone, including me, was prepared for the splash Ellen made. She was incredible. How much was written and rehearsed, I don’t know; all of her bits were done with so much abandon and lovable mischief-making that they seemed totally spontaneous. At one point, after Bette Midler sang a medley onstage, Ellen grabbed a mike and had a cameraman follow her outside so she could sing Bette’s medley to the people in the bleachers.

Stargazers covet these bleacher seats, but it was blistering hot that day and Ellen said she just felt so bad for those people that if they couldn’t come in to the show, she would bring the show to them. Unheard-of!

Playing the role of roving reporter to the hilt, she headed backstage, catching celebrities off guard, and then she showed up in the director’s trailer where the crew was in the midst of picking shots to send out live over the airwaves.

Elliott and I sat together, and as well as we knew our daughter’s capacity for unpredictable shenanigans, even we were bowled over. The shocker, at least to those of us who know her well, was the sight of Ellen striding elegantly across the stage in a long, low-cut black gown. It was no secret that she hated dresses, and she probably hadn’t worn one since her days working at the law firm in New Orleans.

This was no small matter. In fact, a year later, in her book of humorous musings,
My Point—And I Do Have One
(which debuted at number one on the
New York Times
bestseller list and sold over a half a million copies), Ellen devoted an entire chapter to the subject.

For days before the Emmys she practiced walking just the right way. The joke was that the person who showed her the right way to walk in a form-fitting dress was her hair stylist—a man. Whatever his secret was, it worked. Ellen floated majestically across that stage.

TV is such a powerful medium. In a review of the Emmys, the
Los Angeles Daily News
treated Ellen’s performance as cohost as if it deserved an award: “Indeed, a star was born—or reborn, if you will.” A wildly popular second season followed for her own TV show.

El’s star was rising as never before, in spite of ongoing changes with her show. Originally it was filmed at Sony Studios in Culver City, but it later moved to Disney Studios in Burbank and its name was changed to
Ellen
—an eponymous title. I love that word!

Along the way, there were also cast changes, some that El didn’t agree with—but hers was not the last word. There were almost constant changes in the night and time slot. Normally this would kill a show, but
Ellen’s,
audience was undaunted and the ratings remained strong.

Although the producing and writing staff went through its own changing of the guard, I felt that the quality of the show stayed consistently high. For the entire four and a half years, I rarely missed a shoot. It was the highlight of my life. Ellen really liked having me there, and I think my feedback was important to her. Even before filming she would often have me read the script to tell her what I thought. She knows she can always count on me to be honest; just as I can count on her. In addition to wanting my input on her work, over the years Ellen has even managed to have me
put in
her work. My debut was doing promos with her for the cable network Comedy Central.

My next gig was doing promos with Ellen for
These Friends of Mine
before the series went on the air. After that, I became a virtual “Where’s Waldo” in Ellen’s multimedia world. I did at least three extra parts on
Ellen
, as well as a speaking part in one of her title sequences, and then appeared as an extra in
Mr. Wrong
, the first feature film in which El starred. Great fun! And, although I had no idea that I would later become a national spokesperson and appear frequently on television and radio, these earlier experiences gave me some good preparation.

While I enjoyed my onscreen appearances, I also relished my role as avid fan, audience member, and cheerleader to everyone in the cast and crew. One of the best perks of being a member of the
Ellen
family is my treasured friendship with Ellen’s TV mom—the warm, outgoing Alice Hirson—and her charming husband, the actor Steve Elliott. Alice, a gourmet cook, and Steve, a marvelous host, entertain often and have had me over for wonderful evenings with their longtime friends from show business. At first, it was daunting to walk in and meet people I had seen for years on TV or in the movies. But fortunately, as time has gone on, I have outgrown being starstruck and am just happy to be in the company of interesting, down-to-earth, good people. There is nothing quite so energizing as an evening of stimulating conversation.

I recall one evening at home alone, when I got to thinking and had what must have been a prophetic thought about what I was still looking for in my life. I noted it in my journal:

I had no idea what reservoir would be right, but this realization was a breakthrough, the discovery that in spite of hard times, life had given me some commonsense wisdom I wanted to share. And out of that grew new dreams and hopes for the future. I still wasn’t sure where, specifically, my path would take me, but at the young age of sixty-five I recognized that I was indeed on a path.

A short while later, during a bout of unusually wet L.A. weather, I made another entry in my journal:

My life became a study in contrasts: Then versus Now. As a child, then five-year-old Betty Jane wept bitterly at having to leave home for kindergarten. As a coed, then twenty-year-old Betty wasn’t too upset when her first marriage didn’t work—because it meant going home. In my twenties, I dreamed and even wrote about traveling but never got around to it—why leave home? Home was everything to me. I won awards for writing about home improvements, and during my marriage to B., I put all my learning to good use. Home was such a priority that through my thirties, forties, and fifties, I put up with that unhealthy marriage—because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving home.

The Now Betty was a different creature altogether. Such were my thoughts in March of 1996 as I set off for a vacation—a group tour of Italy. This was a lifelong dream come true. In the past such trips had been impossible. Elliott and I couldn’t afford it, and B. got airsick, seasick, and carsick.

Well, I was about to make up for lost time. The trip to Italy was a gift from Ellen The Generous—in honor of Mother’s Day, my birthday, retirement, and I don’t know what all. Sitting there on the plane on the first leg of the trip, for the first destination—Rome—I contemplated my retirement, wondering what I would do with my extra time.

I really wasn’t ready to retire. But when Cedars began drastic cutbacks in its staff and offered incentives for early retirement, I took the bait. My working days were far from over, however, since I was able to continue as a per diem therapist at Cedars and two other hospitals, as well as doing at-home therapy through Cedars Home Health. Financially, I was better off than before. And, I reminded myself, I could use the extra time for golf.

My Italian vacation was a feast for the senses. I adored it all—Rome, Assisi, Siena, San Gimignano, Florence, and Venice; the museums, the architecture, the age-old historical places, and, yes, the food.

I hadn’t known anyone in my group before we left for the trip. But this was a congenial group, and after a week or so we all became quite friendly. I hadn’t planned to travel incognito, but we all went by our first names only, so the fact that I had a famous daughter didn’t come up until our next to last stop, in Florence.

It was one of those typical things. We were sitting over lunch one afternoon and people were talking about their successful kids—doctors, lawyers, accountants. I’m sure I wasn’t the only parent with children in the arts but when someone asked me, “How about you, Betty; do you have any children?” the group became suddenly very quiet.

“Yes, I have two,” I began with a proud smile. “A son, Vance, who writes for television and the movies …”

“Anything we might have seen?”

“Right now, he’s working on
Ellen
, the TV show,” I said.

A chorus of impressed comments followed: “Oh, I love that show.” “I never miss it!” “She’s terrific, that Ellen, as good as
I Love Lucy.”

Then someone said, “You’re lucky to have such a successful son. And what about your other kid?”

“Oh,” I laughed, “she’s Ellen.”

You can imagine how big a revelation this was. Everyone in the group, it seemed, was a major fan of Ellen’s.

When I returned to L.A., Ellen was tickled by this story. Seeing how thrilled I was by travel, she offered me another trip—courtesy of her abundant frequent-flyer miles. “Wherever you want to go, Mom,” she said. “And fly first class.”

I had flown first class only once before—a few years earlier, when I accompanied her to Chicago, where she appeared on the Oprah Winfrey show.

“Well,” I said, thinking aloud, “if I’m going to fly first class, I want as long a flight as possible.”

El grinned.

And so, since I had never been there, I chose Washington, D.C. I was very lucky—I arrived one week before the Republicans shut the government down. It was quite cold, but I’d brought along my trusty long silk underwear, and from my hotel near the White House I managed to walk everywhere—the Vietnam Memorial, the Lincoln Memorial, the National Gallery (where I could have spent weeks), and the Renwick Gallery, a wonderful museum of American arts and crafts. Thanks to ABC, a VIP tour of the White House was arranged for me. Talk about traveling in style.

The more I saw of Washington, the more I regretted that we hadn’t taken Vance and Ellen there when they were in school. Our capital is so impressive, and it’s a place that every girl and boy should see. Its sites and its history are a reminder of the spirit of freedom and democracy upon which this great nation was built.

I left wishing I had more time to see everything. Little did I know that I would be back; in fact, within a year, I would be back four more times.

“W
HAT DO YOU
think?” Ellen asked. It was late spring of 1996. She had just told me about a monumental decision. She, Ellen DeGeneres, was going to come out publicly as a lesbian. It was time, she said. But not only that: if she could get a green light from the network and the studio, her idea was to have Ellen Morgan come out in the series at the same time.

I was stunned. This wasn’t an overnight decision—Ellen had been mulling it over for some time—but this was the first I had heard of it. As she explained to me, since she had begun therapy recently, she realized that all this hiding had given her a sense of shame, and she didn’t want to live like that anymore.