You Have No Idea: A Famous Daughter, Her No-Nonsense Mother, and How They Survived Pageants, Hollywood, Love, Loss (17 page)

Somehow through the jobs, the music, the schoolwork, we fell in love. In my senior year, a package arrived at my dorm—it was from Milton, who was living in Queens while studying for his master’s in education at Columbia University. It was a 45 rpm record of Sam Cooke singing “You Send Me.” I had heard the song about infatuation turned into love many times before, but I’d never really listened closely to the lyrics. In the middle of the song, Sam Cooke sings about wanting to marry his love.

Wait a minute! Did Milton just propose?

A few minutes later, Milton called to see if I received the package.

“Did you know I just proposed to you?” he asked.

Without hesitation, I said, “
Yes!
” After all, it was a long-distance phone call and it cost money!

I graduated in June 1960 and we married on August 20. We were together for almost forty-six years until his sudden death of pancreatitis on January 17, 2006.

I think our marriage worked because we trusted each other completely. We had such mutual respect and similar goals on what we wanted for our family, our life. We shared the same philosophy on raising kids. Did we agree on everything? Of course not! But the children never saw us in conflict—although behind the scenes we’d have disagreements and discussions. Who doesn’t?

Milton was a special, special man. There was no one else like him. We had a good life.

My husband, Milton Williams, with a fellow classmate at a SUNY Fredonia dance. From dancing feet to Latin rhythm to shaking his groove thing, Milton was a great dancer!

Here comes the bride! Debbie and Gretta getting me ready for the walk down the aisle

CHAPTER

12

The problem with Vanessa and men is that her father set such a high standard. He was so loving, so trusting, so open-minded, and so smart. He was not a person who could be easily duplicated. I think Vanessa has been searching for a man like her father most of her life.

—HELEN WILLIAMS

A
fter Mom caught Bruce and me on the pullout sofa, she didn’t speak to me for weeks. She was so furious. When she finally did talk, she’d say I was ruining my life. She was afraid I wouldn’t graduate from high school.

Why would she worry? So I was rebellious and a risk taker. But I was a good student. There was no reason to worry.

And then…

I was a senior in high school when I realized I hadn’t gotten my period in more than a month. One January day after school, while my parents were still at work, I snuck into their bedroom and pulled a woman’s health book from the bookshelf behind their bed. I flipped through it until I found the chapter on pregnancy. I discovered with horror that I had all the symptoms. I was tired. My breasts were sore and swelling. I had been feeling a little queasy.

YIKES!

I called Bruce and told him that I thought I was pregnant.

“Don’t worry. We’ll handle this together,” he said.

But of course I was worried! And scared. I tried to keep it together. I went to my job at Discovery in Fashion. I went to school. I went to band, orchestra, chorus, and acting rehearsals. The regular routine.

Bruce got the pregnancy test. It was positive.

Shit!

Bruce made an appointment through Planned Parenthood with a doctor in White Plains to “take care of it.” Bruce and I didn’t think about options. We felt there wasn’t a decision to make. We were madly in love, but we were not prepared to be parents or get married. It was all so scary to me. If we had been brave, we would have gotten married and had the child. But we weren’t even brave enough to tell my parents. The tragic twist was that we had always talked about marriage and kids. But not in high school!

This was the only alternative. There was nothing else I thought we could do.

I told my mother I had a rehearsal for a show at school. Then I confessed to my acting teacher and asked if he would cover for me while I became a grown-up.

Bruce drove in from New York University (he transferred there his sophomore year to be closer to me). We met in the Greeley parking lot on a cold January afternoon. Then we drove fifteen minutes south to the doctor’s office in White Plains. (This Catholic girl was walking into a clinic on Church Street to commit a sin. Major guilt!)

Bruce held my hand as we walked in as a couple. We sat in the waiting room. Then they called my name (I forget which name I used). I stood, let go of Bruce’s hand, and a nurse walked me into a small room where I had my procedure—anesthesia, cramping, the
sound of the suction machine. Then the life we had talked about was gone. It was awful, terrifying, and just plain sad. It takes a lot of courage to make the other choice. Bruce came in the room to walk me out. Our bond was stronger than ever.

A few years later, when I was Miss America, I said I was pro-choice. “A woman should have the right to make decisions regarding
her
body,” I said.

When I was eight weeks pregnant with Melanie, my oldest, I had my first ultrasound. It was a new thing in 1986. I was in awe as I watched this tiny image flicker on the screen. The doctor pointed to what looked like a pulsating grain of rice.

“That’s her heart.”

I watched the image and listened to the
swish-swish
sound of my baby’s heartbeat. I could see life at eight weeks. It was clear—in black and white—that this would be my child. Thank God, he gave me another chance!

I’m still pro-choice—every woman should have the right to choose what she wants to do with her body. I’m still a practicing Catholic. Yes, I did confess, and I’m grateful for the opportunity of forgiveness. I go to church almost every Sunday and pray before I go to bed every night (like my dad taught me). I even have loving priest friends who have guided and helped me through many struggles in life.

But each time I go by that building on Church Street in White Plains, it always takes me back to that cold January day years and years ago. I still get a twinge in the pit of my stomach.

I never directly told Mom about my abortion, but I had a sense she somehow knew. She seemed so disappointed with me, so sad. I often wondered if she went to school that day and found out that there was no rehearsal. If she did, she never said anything to me.

But I believe she knew in her heart. It’s a mother’s intuition.

HELEN ON HER SUSPICIONS

Until I read these pages, I didn’t know this had happened. I always had my suspicions and I always thought it may have happened, but I didn’t know for sure until now. If I think about it hard, I can probably figure out exactly when this happened. As I mentioned, those years had been extremely difficult. But as I read these pages, I realize that the book title can apply to me because in many cases, I had no idea!

Bruce proposed while I was a freshman in college. We’d been through so much together and it just seemed like the right thing at the time. We didn’t set a wedding date but dreamed of eloping to Europe. We were ready to start our life together. We were both at Syracuse University. (He had again transferred to be close to me for his junior year—and my parents were furious about this!) He gave me a diamond ring that he had saved up for all summer.

I wore the ring to the kitchen table during my first visit home from Syracuse.

Of course Mom noticed. She notices
everything
. Mom freaked out, but she tried not to show it.

“So, are you planning on getting married now?” she asked with an edge to her voice.

“Not anytime soon.”

Mom couldn’t hide her disgust and anger. I could practically see the smoke coming out of her ears. She banged around the kitchen and didn’t say anything more about it, but I knew she thought I was throwing my life away. She believed I had talent and a great career ahead of me—and I was sacrificing it all for Bruce.

Bruce and I were madly in love. We had such a deep, deep connection—one of those things that only seems possible with your first love. But sometimes I felt like I was suffocating. We took a break the following summer (that summer of the scandalous photos). The break didn’t last long. We were a couple again for my sophomore year at Syracuse, where we lived together in a railroad apartment.

Bruce supported everything I did—always sitting as close to the stage as possible—whether it was a play, a dance recital, or my trio of pageants. When I traveled for Miss America, I wasn’t supposed to have visits from my boyfriend. But Bruce would sometimes drive nine hours from Syracuse to wherever I was, just to sneak into my room for a few minutes when my chaperones weren’t looking. We’d only spend a little time together before I was off to another engagement.

After the news of the photos broke, Bruce was there for me, too. But then I was sequestered at Dennis’s house, plotting strategies with Ramon.

We didn’t break up in some dramatic way—compared with all the drama in my life at the time. There were no fights or angry words or tears. But I was consumed with the scandal, in seclusion, and figuring out the next phase of my life. Bruce was in school at Syracuse. I couldn’t go back there. So he went away. And Ramon and I got closer.

Bruce was my first love and will always have a special place in my heart.

But it was time to move on.

Bruce and I dining at Maxwell’s Plum in New York City, but now as Miss America

Crazy in love!