I Love the Illusion: The Life and Career of Agnes Moorehead (2 page)

Additionally, I would like to thank Allison Mack, for her friendship and
guidance throughout this journey; Melanie Parker and the good folks at the
website Harpies Bizarre; Judy Jackson, for her patience and support when I
read various chapters to her; my friends at Meriter Hospital for their
encouragement; my sister, Deb Tranberg; and my friend, Nancy Markowitz.

Finally, I would like to thank Ben Ohmart and BearManor Media for
taking a chance on a first time writer and the support they have given me.
They are a fine publishing house and I’m proud to be associated with them.

C
HARLES
T
RANBERG
M
ADISON
, W
ISCONSIN
J
ANUARY
2005

Agnes was more than tired — she was exhausted. It was so unlike her. For
years she had traveled the country with her justly acclaimed one-woman
show, traveling from town to town for weeks, even months, only to come
out of the experience rejuvenated in body and spirit. But now she couldn’t
shake her weariness.

Part of the weariness wasn’t physical but mental. She had a genuine
concern that her latest Broadway show,
Gigi
, wasn’t up to par. Her own
reviews were as good as ever;
The Nation
praised her performance as Aunt
Alicia by stating that her “expertise gives her poise.” But the show itself was
described as, “ . . . a gorgeous flower without fragrance.” The New York
critics seemed equally unimpressed. But it was more than the show that was
bothering her and deep down she realized it. She was increasingly in pain.
Not only from her worsening arthritis, but a pain she felt in the pit of her
stomach and the stiffness she had in her neck and upper back, yet nothing,
not even the pain drugs injected into her system by a sympathetic
nurse/traveling companion relieved the pain for very long.

Gigi
opened at the Uris Theatre in New York City on November 13,
1973. Prior to the New York opening Agnes had toured twenty-five weeks
across country. That should have been nothing for her since she loved touring
and was used to the rigors of taking a show on the road. But now as she was
approaching her seventy-third birthday — perhaps she thought she was
finally feeling her age. Perhaps she was feeling that the cross-country tour
had been a mistake. Why hadn’t they just previewed the show in a few select
cities to work the bugs out — Boston, Pittsburgh and then on to New York?
The most taxing part of the tour had come in her hometown of St. Louis
where the cast performed outdoors in pouring rain. Agnes was a trouper,
but the two hours in the rain did her arthritis no good.

Gigi
was her second theatrical production in two years. In 1972 she had
toured in a revival of
Don Juan in Hell
, the very same show that had
revolutionized the theatre with Charles Laughton, Charles Boyer, Sir
Cedric Hardwicke and Agnes in the 1950’s. Most of 1973 had been devoted
to
Gigi
. She needed to work to help maintain the lifestyle she had become
accustomed to as one of the most
celebrated character stars in the
industry. She was supporting a
home in Beverly Hills, a farm in
Ohio and her elderly mother in
Wisconsin. She had a devoted staff
whose salaries she was responsible
for. She was building her dream
house on the property in Ohio
which had been in her family for
140 years. Yet, the residuals she was
receiving for
Bewitched
and an
occasional television or movie role,
along with some select appearances
in her one-woman show, should
have been enough to keep her and
her dependents financially solvent.
The truth is that she needed to work
to feel alive and challenged — and
there is no greater challenge than

taking a play to Broadway.

She was not the first choice to play Aunt Alicia. This was a pivotal role
and the producers were looking for an actress who was “old enough to have
Alicia’s authority and yet glamorous enough to be believable as an aging
courtesan.” Some of the aging actresses considered “still saw themselves as
younger leading women,” no doubt ready to compete with young Karin
Wolfe, who had the title role, for the attentions of her young suitor Gaston.
Edwin Lester wrote to Agnes earlier in the year: “Our situation has not
changed . . . I am in the unusual position of having a lot of people to please
besides myself. Were I operating as I normally do, I would be busy wooing
you to play Alicia in
Gigi
. At this point none of us are in agreement about
anybody . . . You are still my first choice and I hope that if my associates
come my way, you will still be available and interested.” The producers
finally, sensibly, approached Agnes.

The cast chosen to play with her was stellar. Along with Karin Wolfe,
producers Arnold Saint-Subber and Edwin Lester had selected the venerable
Broadway veteran Alfred Drake to play Honor Lachailles (the same role
Maurice Chevalier had played in the famous 1958 film). Daniel Massey was
cast as the romantic lead — Gaston Lachailles, Maria Karnilova as Inez
Alvarez and Sandahl Bergman as Liane d’Exelmans. The cast was gathered
when Agnes made her first rehearsal appearance:

“. . . The principles are gathered, all but Miss Moorehead, who has been
at Western Costume Company for fittings and will be making her first
rehearsal appearance today. She enters. Acknowledges introductions cooly
and sits down, her mind seemingly a thousand miles away. A few of the
others wonder . . . is this lady not going to try to have fun in the show? That
mystery is quickly settled. In a quick run through of both acts, she knows
the whole script virtually cold and does a real Agnes Moorehead number
with her lines: potato chip of the mouth, nostrils dilated with offended
good taste, one eyebrow level with disdain, the other semi-circular with
disbelief. She spits out Alicia’s words as if they are objects of disgust. At the
end the others burst into spontaneous applause for Miss Moorehead’s
rehearsal debut. Not to worry.”

As always, she was a professional, and an example to the younger players.
Prior to leaving on tour, she had hip surgery. The procedure went well
and her mobility was not affected in any noticeable way. She was recovering
nicely, but her arthritis, along with being in a production which required
thirteen set changes twenty-six times in the course of each performance,
exasperated the pain. But she didn’t grumble. To be a pro means to live with
life’s little difficulties and not advertise them. To a close friend, such as
Cesar Romero, Agnes could let her guard down just a little. He asked her
how she felt. “I’m tired into the future,” was the surprising reply he received
from his usually indefatigable friend.

Agnes was relieved to be in New York. She was staying in the comfortable
and spacious Manhattan apartment of her good friend, Mary Roebling, the
wealthy head of the Trenton Trust Company. Furthermore, another good
friend, Debbie Reynolds, was also in New York appearing in
Irene
.
Reynolds picked Agnes up at the Uris Theatre every Sunday after a matinee
and together they would go to Debbie’s townhouse for dinner. While
Debbie would prepare a full-course meal, she noticed that Agnes would
only eat mashed potatoes. When Debbie asked her why, Agnes would reveal
nothing more than she had an upset stomach. Yet Debbie never fully
suspected just how ill she was because Agnes continued to eat her favorite
chocolates with great ferocity.

The holidays were always Agnes’ favorite time of the year. For the second
year in a row she would not be hosting her elegant and well-attended
combination birthday and Christmas party at her home in Beverly Hills.
Her holiday party was always one of the Hollywood community’s perennial
events and usually the lead off to the holiday season. She missed it. Instead
Christmas, 1973 — her last — she took the train to the Trenton, New
Jersey home of Mary Roebling and spent the day with Miss Roebling’s
family. Mary was concerned by how tired her friend was and how weak she
appeared. Miss Roebling’s grandchildren were visiting and no matter how
weak Agnes was she put considerable energy toward entertaining the
children. The children were fans of
Bewitched
and to their young minds she
was Endora and they pleaded with her to perform magic as she did on the
show. “I left my magic at home,” she apologetically told them. But in true
Moorehead style she won the children over and they ended up embracing
her. At Christmas dinner Agnes ate little and retired early.

Her family farm in Ohio was cared for by a family named the Stovers.
They were dedicated to Agnes and always looked forward to her visits. She
usually visited three to four times per year or as her schedule allowed. While
Agnes was in New York, Christmas packages from famous friends and fans
were constantly delivered to the farm. Margery Stover asked Agnes what she
wanted done with the packages. Agnes told her to keep them unopened
until she was able to come herself. She loved opening up Christmas
packages — with care — no tearing them open for her. She savored the
moment.

As usual at the holidays, Agnes sent out and received many Christmas
cards and letters. Telegrams came wishing her a “Merry Christmas and a
Happy New Year.” One greeting Agnes neither sent nor received was from
her now twenty-four-year-old foster son, Sean. The divisions and hurt
between the two were so great that even a Christmas greeting was sacrificed.

On New Year’s Eve Agnes and Debbie Reynolds hosted a combined party
for the cast and crews of
Gigi
and
Irene
. Debbie remembers the evening as
“great fun” and Agnes having a “grand time.” It would be the last party
Agnes would ever attend. Shortly after the New Year, Debbie left the cast of
Irene
and returned to California where she stayed at Agnes’ Beverly Hills
home due to stress in her marriage to shoe tycoon, Harry Karl. Agnes felt
for her friend, despite her fondness for Harry Karl, because it was clear that
Debbie was under great stress. Debbie, for her part, was concerned about
Agnes’ health. Most of all Agnes was sad that Debbie was leaving New York.

Another old friend of Agnes’ came to New York in early January. Paul
Gregory was responsible (along with Charles Laughton) for
Don Juan in
Hell
and later produced such Moorehead plays as
The Rivalry
and
Lord
Pengo
. Gregory arranged to have dinner with Agnes at “21,” her favorite
restaurant in Manhattan. The evening was pleasant, but a bit subdued.
Agnes, as always, enjoyed seeing her friend. Gregory noticed, too, how
little Agnes ate. After dinner, Agnes suggested to Gregory that they take a
stroll up Fifth Avenue rather than take a cab. It was a chilly evening and the
request struck him as odd. Agnes needed to tell him something and it was
best said in the open rather than inside a cab. As they strolled up Fifth
Avenue, Agnes turned to Gregory and said, “Paul, I’m never going to see
you again.” Gregory asked what was wrong. Agnes shook her head indicating
she didn’t know. Gregory told her she had to live each day for itself and not
worry about the future. He asked if she was in much pain. “Religion softens
the edges,” was Agnes’ reply. As it turned out, Agnes was correct, she never
did see Paul Gregory again.

A few days later, Debbie Reynolds received a call from a mutual friend,
set designer Jerry Wunderlich. He called to say that he had just taken Agnes
to the train station. She was leaving
Gigi
and going to the Mayo Clinic in
Rochester, Minnesota for tests. Debbie told Wunderlich that maybe she
should go and be with Agnes. “No, she didn’t even want me to tell you,”
Wunderlich said.