The Garner Files: A Memoir (31 page)

—KIMBERLY GARNER

T
he most frequently asked question during the course of my life has always been, “What was it like growing up with him?” My answer has always been the same: “He was just my dad, and like most kids, I was not paying that much attention to the fact that he was all that different.”

However, I did notice that we never made it through a meal in public without tons of people coming over to ask for an autograph. He was always very gracious, but occasionally I needed an attitude adjustment because I didn’t really understand it. I was always naturally protective of him and still am. I remember one incident when we were in England trying to do some normal family
sightseeing at the Tower of London and we were literally mobbed by hundreds of fans running toward us. We barely escaped without being crushed.

Like many other fathers, he was gone quite a bit and often worked odd hours. It didn’t seem that different from most of my friends’ fathers, except that my dad usually came home with makeup on!

He really made a concentrated effort to stay connected to me, no matter where he was or what he was doing. Any time I ever needed to talk to him, he was accessible. If he was going to be away for a long time, we would meet him on location to break it up a bit. He worked in some of the most beautiful places in the world. I remember on one trip in particular, he bought “me” a slot car racetrack and set up this elaborate obstacle course, winding under and around all the furniture in our gigantic sitting room in our hotel suite. I don’t think the poor hotel staff were thrilled with our crazy indoor mini Grand Prix, but we both loved every second of it! We had to keep going back to the toy store to buy more cars because we kept wearing them out!

My dad was always the kind of parent who would get down on the floor and play with the kids. He never met a child he could resist. If he saw a baby, he had to say hi no matter where he was or what he was in the middle of doing.

He was always very hands-on, completely present and totally involved. All my friends adored him, too, and not because he was some big “Hollywood star,” but because I had the most fun dad! If we wanted to jump off the balcony into the pool, he would do it first just to make sure it was safe enough for us to try.

I am blessed in many ways to have a father like him, but, unfortunately, I was often too young to fully appreciate some of the wonderful privileges I enjoyed because of him. I can remember flying in the Goodyear blimp while my dad was piloting it, riding around the racetrack at Brands Hatch in the Formula One car he drove in
Grand Prix,
riding a horse
inside
a sound stage, going to the Academy
Awards, sitting in the front row of a Beatles concert in Italy, flying on a private studio jet full of celebrities, walking through the pits before the Indy 500, staying on the Matterhorn at Disneyland twelve times in a row, being flown into the center of a racetrack by helicopter, meeting the president in the Oval Office, dining with royalty, et cetera. What a lucky kid!

All fathers are special, but as a child, I just did not realize how special mine was, but I certainly do now!

My dad would always take me to work with him whenever it was possible. He would usually leave the house while it was still dark. I remember thinking that the only people who were up before the crack of dawn were people who worked in the movie industry and milkmen.

I’ll never forget the morning of the Sylmar earthquake [in 1971]. My dad happened to be in the shower when the house started shaking so violently that he was literally thrown out of it. Since I was going to work with him that day, I was already awake and was paralyzed with fear, watching the books fly off the shelves. But as soon as I heard him running down the hallway to my room, I knew everything would be all right. My dad was there to rescue me, as he went on to do many times throughout my life.

Since my dad was always the consummate professional, he was going to work that day come hell or high water. He was always overprepared and extra early. He
never
wanted to make anyone wait for him. So we started out for the Disney Ranch, which happened to be near the epicenter of the quake. The few cars left on the freeway when the quake struck had all pulled over, and sure enough, there were some cast and crew members on the side of the road trying to decide what to do next and where to go. My dad said, “Hey, let’s go to work!” He was their fearless leader and they all followed him just as they usually did.

My dad is not a wishy-washy, “I-don’t-want-to-get-my-hands-dirty” type. He is definitely the kind of guy you want around in an
emergency. In 1961 we lived in Bel Air and our next-door neighbors were an elderly couple who had recently adopted a baby.

The Bel Air fire was one of the worst on record and everyone in the surrounding area was evacuated, but my father stayed and hosed down our roof and our next-door neighbors’ roof until the danger had passed. Our neighbors were stunned to find their house still standing. Almost every house on our street had burned to the ground, and the only things left standing were their brick fireplaces.

It took great courage for my dad to risk his life that way, and I have always been proud of him for being that kind of person. He is one of these rare people who actually lives by the golden rule, who stands up for the underdog and believes wholeheartedly in the principle of the matter.

Over the years, I have heard countless stories about his absolute professionalism, his many acts of kindness, his immense generosity, all the while remaining completely humble and never seeking anything in return. It is mystifying that any actor could create this kind of longevity in Hollywood, construct a lifetime of classic work, and never have a bad word said against him.

My father has never let any of this “Hollywood” hype go to his head. He has never forgotten where he came from. It does not matter to him if you are the head of the network or you are a grip, he is going to treat everyone with the same amount of respect and kindness. Actually, truth be told, he would probably treat the grip a little better. ; )

— GIGI GARNER

J
im and I were driving on Interstate 10 out to a golf course somewhere. Jim was in the fast lane, but he wasn’t speeding. Some guy got on Jim’s tail, and he was gonna show him how
he
could drive. He really got close and was tailgating Jim. So Jim stomped on it and got ahead of the guy and let him go by. Then Jim slipped back in
behind the guy and just laid on his rear bumper. He kept tapping his bumper—this was at 65 miles an hour—and then he pushed him! That guy lost his nerve real fast. Jim scared the hell out him. Scared the hell out of me, too.

—JACK GARNER

O
ur high school basketball team was in overtime against Capitol Hill from Oklahoma City. We were one point down and Jim was fouled with one second left on the clock. He had two free throws but missed both of them, costing us the Mid-State Conference championship. “Bird Dog” Coleman never misses an opportunity to jab Jim about that. The last time Jim was in Norman, Bird Dog said, “Hey, Jim, remember when you missed those two free throws?” Jim said, “Bird Dog, if you ever, ever say that to me again, I’m gonna hit you right in the face!”

—ROY HAMILTON

J
im and I met through mutual friends in the early 1950s. Our senses of humor melded right away; we both saw the ridiculousness of everything, and we laughed like crazy.

We were an unlikely pair of buddies, but fun was always easy for us. We put on little shows at parties and played a game called In Plain Sight, where you had to look for camouflaged items that people planted around. I remember us switching jackets at a party once. And we always had good dinners at our mutual homes.

And then I played Billy the Kid on
Maverick
. It was even more fun working with him. Everybody loved him at the studio because he made their lives easier. All the actors I know who’ve ever worked with Jim adore him. He’s very generous on the set, and smart.

Jim is one of the most intuitive people I know, but he’s complicated. I think he always seemed happiest when working. I’m
not sure why, but I suspect it’s something deep. Although he’s very private, we have had, I guess you could say, an
intimate
relationship over the years, sharing very confidential and personal things. But I’m not so sure that’s his usual way.

I know Jim was thrilled with his success in television (I always thought he could have become a serious movie star, too), but he never gave himself enough credit as an actor and an artist, and he is both of those things for sure. There’s an enigmatic aspect to him that most people never see. They accept the image he wants to portray. But I think he has his secrets. Maybe something like the cat who ate the canary? . . . but always with a big smile to go with it.

—JOEL GREY

W
hen Jim and Steve worked together on
The Great Escape,
it was a tenuous relationship. They liked each other—at least Steve liked Jim—but Steve was wary of him, I think because Jim was so incredibly good looking. Of course, so was Steve in his own way, but he just felt that Jim was tall, dark, and handsome, while Steve was more of the rough-and-tumble kind of guy.

In 1963, just before Steve and I went to Taiwan to film
The Sand Pebbles,
Paul Newman, James Garner, Steve, and I went to the car races at Riverside. On our way home, the men got annoyed because I insisted on stopping at the next service station restroom. When they did stop, I discovered to my dismay that there was a long line of women ahead of me. I couldn’t stand the delay any longer, and I knew the men were probably getting angrier by the minute, so I came up with a brilliant idea. I said to the girls standing there, “Hey, do you know there’s a car full of movie stars around the bend?”

“Who?” they cried in unison.

“Why, there’s Steve McQueen, there’s Paul Newman, and there’s James Garner!”

The girls looked at each other and ran like crazy, leaving me in
sole possession of the facilities. I never did tell the fellas how a swarm of females suddenly discovered them!

—NEILE McQUEEN TOFFEL

A
ugust 28, 1963, was an exhilarating day. Those of us from the West Coast who came to the March on Washington were grateful to be there and thrilled to be united in such an important common cause. We understood there was possible danger but we put our fears aside.

I was the only woman in the group, and that day I received brotherly attention from some of the most beautiful men in the world. Especially James, who was always chivalrous and caring about women.

Later, when I came to town to do my own television series, he was the first to welcome me to the community. I have a vivid memory of a car pulling into the driveway and Jim getting out and saying, “Welcome. This is a crazy town, there’s lots of good and lots of bad.” It was just the advice one needed coming to a strange land. “I’m a big brother,” he said, “if you need anything, call me, I’m not far away.”

Soon after that, I was on a tennis court with Jim, Sidney Poitier, and Dennis Weaver. Naturally, I was wearing my most provocative little white shorts. A bee flew into the shorts and I panicked. I was screaming and yelling, all the while thinking, on the one hand, I should take the shorts off to allow the bee to escape, but on the other hand wanting to preserve my modesty. The men were trying to distract me from being terrified by this little bee, especially Jim, who was so sweet and so funny. He said things like, “I don’t know, that bee might never come out of there” and “I think that’s the happiest bee in town.” When the bee suddenly fell onto the ground of its own accord and sort of hopped around in circles, Jim flashed that famous grin and said, “Look, he’s drunk!”

—DIAHANN CARROLL

J
im and I worked together only twice, in
Move Over, Darling
and
The Thrill of It All
. He’s so good at what he does . . . I felt married. We didn’t see each other much over the following years, but we’ve stayed friends because we talk on the phone regularly. I don’t know how, because Jim
hates
the telephone.
I
usually have to call
him
. “Can’t you pick up a phone?” I say, but he just grumbles.

We had fun. He’s a marvelous actor. He’s very real when he talks to you. He’s so funny and so nice, I just love him. Even though he broke two of my ribs.
Jim, if we don’t speak for a while, I forgive you for breaking my ribs. Both of them. Don’t give it another thought.

—DORIS DAY

T
alk to anyone who has ever worked with Jim, and the word “family” will emerge almost immediately. In many cases, their association with Jim lasted several decades. No wonder they consider him, and he considers them, like family.

Roy Huggins was never part of that extended family—which seems odd at first, considering how integral Roy was to Jim’s two greatest successes. Roy cast Jim as Bret Maverick, a character he created in 1956 when he was under contract as a producer at Warner Bros. Television. The success of
Maverick
made Jim a huge star, enabling him to make the leap to feature motion pictures in the 1960s.

Jim and Roy shared many traits, but they were also wired differently. Roy was a writer first and foremost, so he was often reclusive by choice—a mentality that, in many ways, reflected his approach as a television producer, particularly during his eighteen years at Universal. Though he oversaw the entire production of
Rockford
during the show’s first season (as he did on every TV project for which he was “show runner”), Roy devoted most of his energy to two specific areas: the development of stories and scripts, and the
editing of the film. All other aspects of day-to-day production, he entrusted to the likes of such capable lieutenants as Jo Swerling and Stephen J. Cannell. With regard to story and character development, Roy’s focus was so singular that he would often isolate himself for days at a time—usually in the form of one of his patented “story drives,” where he would embark on a long drive in his car, accompanied only by his tape recorder, and dictate several full-length stories for his shows. (On one such excursion, he dictated a sixteen-page single-spaced story that served as the basis for the
Rockford Files
pilot.)