A memoir of Culture

I was born on a Lakota reservation in South Dakota. My blonde, blue-eyed mother was a South Dakota farm girl who taught there and my father, a brand new physician, raised in a New York Jewish orthodox orphanage was lucky to find a job during the Great Depression – well, he actually had an uncle who was a friend of President Roosevelt, who intervened on his behalf. He was my age when he died and my mother, although senile and on palliative care by my baby brother’s wife, is 92 or 93 years of age. She is from hardy UK-Scandinavian stock.

We moved from South Dakota to Shiprock, New Mexico to the Navajo reservation where my father, in the Indian Service, was Chief of medical services – I suspect he was the only one in medical services. I remember none of it but when I go to the reservation, it feels very familiar and comfortable so my hippo campus memory must be kicking in at that time.

My dad, who for political reasons kept his original surname (and mine) and religion a secret, accepted an appointment in the Navy and I was primarily raised in San Diego – one mile from the Naval Hospital and from Balboa Park. I’d go to sleep at night listening to the peacocks calling out.

My playground was primarily The Old Globe Theatre where I was trained as an actress and, concomitantly, as a member of the theatre culture. I learned how important it was to be a member of a team, individual and collective responsibility, how everyone – regardless of their sexuality, age or any other history – were judged solely upon their input to make the scenario work for the benefit of all and, ultimately the audience.

Oh. And I learned to take orders while working creatively with respectful directors for the overall benefit of the productions. I was a radio actress, beginning at age 8, but that culture emphasized individual achievement and it wasn’t very supportive. My first role, in Albuquerque, New Mexico, was as a moth who was scathingly alarmed – and died – because a person took the clothes to Joe’s dry cleaner. I was hooked. I think I must have used the “method” approach, needing to improvise; so, ask me what a terrified moth feels like just before they die. I still remember.

I always expected to get “discovered” one day and have many stories of almost doing that. The gods decided I should not be a concert pianist as my parents were planning for me; nor, should I go any farther than barely missing major acting opportunities while having incredible adventures. One that stands out is my being hired for Queen for a Day and I was going to open refrigerator doors and smile happily for each day’s winner – a Vanna White before her time. I got a call in the morning as I was ready to go to the studio, telling me the show, which had run forever, was canceled. I didn’t know enough to have anticipated that they would cancel TV shows! Why do we always think that a call we do not want has got to be a joke? But, we do. I was a regular, however, on the first TV talk show and had fun being a perky, bratty, cutsie, outspoken young mom, demonstrating, no doubt, some sort of culture.