We've All Done It-- And It Needs To Stop

Tonight I viewed the repeat broadcast of Oprah's program that featured the most horrific real life experiences. The first was a story about a Long Island family-- The Flynn's-- returning from a joyous wedding. It's honestly the most heart wrenching story I've ever heard. The limousine in which the parents, grandparents and two children were passengers as well as the chauffeur was hit head-on by a drunk driver speeding on the freeway-- in the wrong direction. The limousine looked as though it was bombed-- just destroyed. The driver-- Stanley Rabinowitz-- was killed instantly-- the loving father of 2 grown boys. The Flynn's were thrown violently, smashing into one another. Their beautiful daughter Katie was asleep in a seat, secured by a seat belt. However the belt, meant to keep her safe, (this is so difficult, so painful to write) severed her head. Her mother who survived the crash and was conscious, picked up her 7 year old daughter Katie's head. Mrs. Flynn left the twisted, crushed passenger compartment and sat at the side of the road, holding her daughter, cradling her head. As she shared on Oprah, "they" watched-- both she and Katie as emergency vehicles arrived and the chaos of the accident was unraveled by the police. Mrs. Flynn sat there for nearly an hour. The strength of this women and the love for her daughter -- to hold what she could-- the only remnants of Katie's physical being that remained, protecting her daughter even in death. The admiration I have for this mother, a person I've never met, is so powerful I wish her the spiritual power to continue living for her family that is still on this earth. This story is about the most powerful love I've ever witnessed. The horror, heartbreak, numbness--- there just are not words that can even begin to convey the look on this women's face as she answered questions not yet 2 years after this family's personal 9-11 occurred. A mother obviously still in shock. Their lives forever held hostage by that moment in time when someone drank 14 cocktails, got into his car and murdered two people. Katie's family now only goes through the motions of life because-- how on earth can someone even begin to pick up the pieces?

I haven't cried this much in a long time. I just wanted to reach out and embrace these people and somehow take their pain away. An impossible task-- their pain will last the rest of their lives. What I could do however, is share this story with those of you who may not have seen it. And urge you never to drink and drive-- even after only one drink-- EVER again. Many of us have driven when we shouldn't have. Sure, most people don't become reckless and irresponsible after a drink or two. God knows I become more paranoid than usual and drive at the speed limit and watch the center line to make sure I don't swerve. But guess what? Who knows how alcohol can effect us from time to time? Even if you're as careful as I've been, what if we just pass out? Not driving recklessly, speeding in the wrong direction, but simply fall asleep because perhaps we didn't remember that we took a cold tablet and the interaction caused us to drift off to sleep-- and drift off into the other lane? As innocent as that sounds, I would be just as negligent, irresponsible and murderous as the drunk driving the wrong way. It's a simple solution for me. I just won't ever drive again even after one drink. I can't. Not after seeing the pictures of that beautiful little girl hours earlier at the wedding in which she was the flower girl. The beautiful, smiling, joyous face. Only hours later, her mother cradled her daughter's beautiful head in her arms. Only her head. Because someone did not think the consequences through. Someone didn't take responsibility for themselves.

The drunk driver was convicted and sentenced to 18 years in prison. A sentence that he's now appealing. Can you imagine? Appealing. How can he think of living after what he's done??? THINK, dear friends-- THINK the next time you attend a function where you may have a drink. Just don't do it. Don't do it for little Katie as well as Stanley. And say a prayer for these families-- so somehow, someway, they set themselves free for Katie who is trying to help them from heaven. Trying to tell them that she is alright and helping God-- and they will all be reunited someday. That day all their pain will vanish and joy will once again fill their hearts.

Just a few years ago I lost a friend to a drunk driver. Dorothy and her sister were on their way to the airport to embark on their annual vacation to Hawaii. Much like the Flynn's and Mr. Ribinowitz's crash, they were hit head on my a drunk driver, killing my friend Dorothy, permanently injuring her sister, now confined to a rehabilitation facility for the rest of her life and killing their chauffeur as well. There are only a precious few left in our society who have not been touched by drunk driving tragedy. At this rate it's only a matter of time.

The sheriff of Maricopa County Arizona should be appointed Sheriff of the United States as far as I'm concerned. Sheriff Joe Arpaio has designed and implemented the toughest drunk driving laws in the country. When you're caught driving drunk-- even if it's the first offense-- you're the recipient of: a mandatory 10 day jail sentence, mandatory installation of the device in your vehicle that requires you to blow into it to start the car and several other penalties that cost both a lot of time and money. That's for a first offense and for blood alcohol levels not considered to be extreme. Subsequent offenses and recklessly high blood alcohol levels mean more prison time-- much more-- as well as license suspension, etc., etc. I say let's get Sheriff Joe on a tour bus so he can implement his life saving laws nationwide.

Things that REALLY matter: Animals

I need to dedicate more time & space to non-humans. That would be animals-- primarily dogs & cats, but including any creature that we've accepted into our homes or backyards-- all creatures, great and small. These beings that we humans both love and abuse. Nurture and nourish, torture and murder. I've done relatively nothing in my entire life to help these magical angels compared to people I've known. An extraordinary lady by the name of Mildred Lucas here in Connecticut has dedicated her entire life to the protection of animals. Spending decades and practically every waking moment establishing a non-profit organization, educating and funding projects to spay and neuter animals and countless hours of community outreach. Spending untold thousands of dollars of her own money on things like purchasing food for feral cats. She learned how to write & legislate-- lobbying on behalf of animal rights and pass legislation that has made a tremendous difference in the lives of animals. Then of course there are the wonderful famous people, from Doris Day and Betty White to Bernadette Peters and Mary Tyler Moore who have used their hard earned fame to reach out to the public to engage we everyday folks into caring about the atrocities that occur regarding practically everything about every kind of animal. June Havoc, a long time Connecticut resident and lover of all animals has been caregiver to every kind of animal from roosters to burros. The many un-sung heroes who staff animal shelters around our country and care for the homeless animals, the sad, sad cases of abuse and neglect that are so painful for me to even know about it makes me sob. The homeless man in Los Angeles that I would see regularly at the intersection of Laurel Canyon & Sunset. So dirty himself but his Chihuahua & Golden Retriever glistened and sparkled in the sun, they were so beautifully cared for. They would watch over him as though he was their king when he would leave them momentarily to come to my car to retrieve a donation. Lastly but certainly not the least, my parents Ann & Barney who made sure that our house was not only full of animals, but full of love, devotion and respect for every hair on their bodies. Who taught me all aspects of proper care from engaging the best veterinary care for our babies to the best nutrition. My parents in their struggling, young family years would spend money they didn't have to care for their own animals and donate to help the plight of others. I have many friends not nearly as lucky as me who grew up in animal-less houses. I write houses instead of homes because as far as I'm concerned a house is not a home without a pet.

It's these people-- from the famous to the unknown-- I believe will be greeted in heaven by the legions of animals they've helped and heralded as the kings and queens of the universe for their selfless dedication to helping those without voices. It's them who make me ashamed for not doing more. Yes, I've marched in New York on Fur Free Friday hoping that a rich husband would buy jewelry at Van Kleef and Arpels instead of a fur at Fred The Furrier. Yes, I've given money to all humane societies and continue to do so, during good and not-so-good financial times. Yes, I slam on the brakes for every squirrel, raccoon, fox, deer, dog, cat, opossum, bear, coyote & javelina that dashes in front of my station wagon. Yes, I've adopted strays and picked up canine hitchhikers and driven them around neighborhoods in search of the home from which they escaped. Yes, it's been a dream of mine to build the "St. Jude's" hospital & shelter for animals somewhere in the middle of this huge country where every animal without a family could come and live a Disney-like existence. But as my father would say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I haven't done nearly enough to help the only creatures in life who have given me a moment of genuine joy. Let's all try and do something for an animal TODAY. The best scenario? Adopt an unwanted pet from your local shelter. The recent foreclosure crisis has flooded shelters across the country with cherished pets abandoned by folks evicted from their homes and forced to move into rentals that don't accept pets. I would like to think I would live in a refrigerator box with my dog if forced to, rather than abandon them. However I don't have a family to worry about, I'm still healthy and not elderly, so I cannot pass judgement on these people who have had their lives turned upside down and more than likely are at the end of their financial rope. If you can't adopt an animal, send a couple of dollars to any one of the humane societies that I'll link to below. Become involved if you can, volunteer to walk dogs at your local shelter. Perhaps help an elderly friend or neighbor with their cherished dog and walk them for them. Good exercise for you AND the dog! Do something!!! Just caring for those animals we already have isn't enough anymore.

I somehow joked after the greatest loss in my life-- after the devastating illness took my favorite angel of all time. If a parent of multiple children says they have no favorite child, they're a charming liar. That favorite was Trixie Brewster Bagley, our 7 year old Boston Terrier. We lost Trixie to an inoperable brain tumor 4 years ago this coming June 4. Through the profusion of endless tears, I told someone that Trixie was the new hostess in heaven, greeting all the new arrivals. Some animals greatly loved & cared for like she, but most not. All animals, those tortured and killed for food, most just neglected. I joked that Trixie sits at the right hand of God-- just as mischievous as when she was here on earth-- and says under her breath to each new arrival: "You know, it's too bad for you that your life on earth wasn't really groovy because they treated me like a movie star"! She danced through our lives way too briefly, but boy oh boy am I glad she graced us with her presence.

Most animals aren't treated with nearly the degree of love & respect that we give to our canine or feline children at home. Dogs raised to fight-- small dogs stolen to throw in the pen with fighters to shred to pieces to train to kill. Monsters who look like normal people who torture and kill out of thrill or rage. Shall I mention what animals in the food industry endure to get to the dinner table? Baby calves raised motionless to be slaughtered for veal so tender & juicy! Ducks force fed to make their livers fat & flavorful for fois gras. Think of the source of food, PLEASE the next time you make a meal choice. Why not consider eating every-other meal meatless and perhaps eventually leading a meat-free life? Even if it's for selfish healthy reasons. The animal food processing industry suppresses negative data about the ill-effects of consuming animals. It's so much easier to be a vegetarian today than when I became one over 25 years ago. You can even get veggie burgers at Burger King now! Not-Dog hot dogs taste like the real thing after you pile on the mustard, relish & sauerkraut! Imitation ground beef for chili and hamburger recipes. If anyone wants my de-lish "Park & Orchard" Mushroom Stroganoff, just ask! Really folks, eating animals is so disturbingly grotesque. Remember the recent "downer cow" scandal where an obviously ill animal was slaughtered for food? Forget downer cows-- do you think the thousands of "healthy" cows processed daily are run through the "Oprah Scan" by top flight veterinarians to ensure they're cancer free before they're sent through the grinder? PLEASE! Animals-- like humans--can "appear' to be healthy on the outside but can be riddled with disease on the inside. Think of that the next time you're at the Outback Steakhouse or tossing burgers on the grill. Who knows? Maybe that's exactly how we acquire cancer-- by eating it. Something the National Beef Council would rather you not ponder. I'm getting a bit "preach-y, eh? YOU BET!!!

Today I'm going to write a check to my local shelter in honor of all my babies I've loved and lost-- Princess, Ranger, Fritzy, Jiggsy, Orphan Annie, Star-- dear, dear Maggie Millerton Bagley and of course Trixie. Can you do something to help, too???

Founded by Bernadette Peters and Mary Tyler Moore, Broadway Barks is dedicated to helping animals in New York City. You may not think that NYC needs a group like this, but think again. Gulianni was very unconcerned about the plight of unwanted animals in NY and their shelter system is one of the most horrific in the country. http://www.broadwaybarks.com/

North Shore Animal League: The largest no-kill shelter in America, these folks are dedicated to finding good homes for their temporary residents. For those of us concerned about what might happen to our loved ones after we check-out, North Shore has taken the fear out of that equation. If you bequeath a portion of your estate to their organization, North Shore will either find a suitable home for your pet, or take care of it for the rest of its life for you. Truly an awesome organization. http://www.nsalamerica.org/

Actors and Others for Animals was founded by several actors when they discovered the atrocities and a nearby Burbank shelter. They are actors in their finest roles. Did you know that over 30,000 unwanted animals are euthanized in Los Angeles County annually??? It's a holocaust, every day of the year. http://www.actorsandothers.com/

Another great organization in Los Angeles is PAWS LA. Dedicated to all aspects of the protection of animals, with an emphasis on assisting those stricken with terminal illness keep and care for their animals. www.pawsla.org/

Founded by Doris Day, I don't have to tell you what this women has dome on behalf of animals for decades. http://www.ddaf.org/

The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, their name says it all. http://www.aspca.org/site/PageServer

My "local" animal shelters, in New Milford, Connecticut and Scottsdale, Arizona. Local people completely & thoroughly committed to the front lines of the battle. Folks who feed, bathe, treat and love these creatures until they find a suitable human match. And love them forever if they cannot find that perfect home. New Milford Animal Welfare: http://animalwelfaresociety.homestead.com/
Scottsdale Strays:
www.scottsdalestrays.com/

Where the HELL have you BEEN Kathie Lee???

Whoever orchestrated the return of Kathie Lee to morning television should receive a daytime Emmy award, a substantial bonus, a luxury automobile of his choice and a wonderful massage with a happy ending! This women has more joie de vivre, sense of humor, entertainment knowledge and overall knowledge of current events & pop culture than just about anybody I can think of. Her current stylist chooses absolutely perfect threads and her look is vastly improved over her LIVE With the Cranky Old Man days. Although the hair could be shorter-- please see my piece on Age Appropriate-- it's acceptable. Perhaps we'll never know if Kathie Lee's absence from TV was self-imposed or more like being blacklisted, but this is Kathie Lee's time to shine. She's youthful, bright & funny, funny, FUNNY! Hoda & Kathie Lee genuinely seem to be girlfriends and compliment one another beautifully. Here's wishing her a long-run-- as long as she wants-- because I don't even tune into TODAY until 10AM to see Kathie Lee & Hoda. Kathie Lee-- a Connecticut girl makes good!!!

The Summer of Love: The Sandra Bernhard Experience

Every summer since has been a dismal TV entertainment experience in comparison to the summer of 2001. Come along with me as I revisit a tantalizing television treat. My dear friend Joss begins many a charming story by saying: "I was sitting at home minding my own business when suddenly"... the hairs on my forearms tingled as though I was about to be struck by lightning. Zipping through the channels of the cable TV universe with the space commander remote control when, like a super nova, I came upon A & E's contribution to the sophistication starved masses, The Sandra Bernhard Experience.

Without meaning to be, or imitating in any way, the show seemed to have almost a Tom Syder Tomorrow-esque vibe, sans the profuse cigarette smoke and Tom's forced cackle. That's a complement, by the way, because I think Tom was decades ahead of his time and one of the coolest cats with a comb-over that ever graced the tube. That's another story for another time. On this late-night program Sandra seemed to somehow manifest herself in your darkened living room with a pianist and enchant us with her incomparable song stylings and eccentric celebrity interviews. Her hip and edgy interview style and eclectic, to say the least, array of special guest stars made this program live up to it's name because it was an experience extraordinaire.

Although highly and un-justifyingly panned-- really, really panned that is, my personal one and only criticism of the show was the second banana, side-kick who was incongruous to Sandra and the format. I honestly think that's what threw most viewers off. Her presence-- as pleasant as she seemed-- just didn't make any sense whatsoever. The gal was so unmemorable I needed to reference the IMDB to figure out who she was, then Google around to see if I could find more data. Apparently this person-- Sara Switzer-- has been the longtime, live-in love of Ms. Bernhard's. It goes to show you just because you love someone doesn't mean the world will. Not an anomaly in the entertainment business, we all can probably rattle off a list of actors and actresses-- as wonderful as they may have been in many other roles-- who were unfortunately miscast in any number of vehicles. Since most gems have some sort of flaw, let's accept Sara. Embrace her as a lovely flaw, forgive and move on. Sandra's uber-hip sophistication was as refreshing as tabbouleh and a mint julep on a hot summer afternoon. As I sat back with a pack of smokes and a highball, I hunkered down for what was to be a much-to-brief affair with a sexy, provocative, gorgeous, intelligent temptress that made this gay guy fall in love with a women who has more balls than most men. I've always adored Bernhard, but this show made her seem as though she was a mysterious neighbor who might knock at your door at midnight asking to borrow some vermouth, then slip back into the summer fog leaving you to think, oh-- please don't go. I'll buy you all the vermouth you need...no use, she's gone. Until-- hopefully-- the next time she needs an ingredient for her lover's cocktail.

The Experience, unfortunately, was a very limited edition series. I believe it consisted of perhaps only a half dozen episodes, give or take. The last of which guest starred the talent-oozing-from-every-pore, my favorite Knot's Landing resident, Miss Michelle Lee. The ladies performed a duet that, as far as I'm concerned, was one of the most electrifying musical experiences of my life. They sang The Look of Love to each other. Their performance left me tantalizingly, thoroughly and perfectly limp, as one feels after feral, grunting, grinding, sweaty & slippery man sex. All I could do was light a cigarette and smile, sending a cosmic thank you to the ladies of the evening who visited me that night and sang me into their lair. The seductive, velvety, secret club for the admirers of the imitable Ms. Sandra Bernhard.

2001 was perhaps the genesis of the reality show juggernaut. Like Mr. Syder, I believe Bernhard was way ahead of her time and now should consider venturing into the unreal world of reality TV. Although I personally would love to see Bernhard return to the late-night interview/chanteuse format in which I think she shines blindingly, perhaps she needs to reinvent herself. Convince the reality show gods that she should have the opportunity to show the world that Sandra Bernhard can not only hold her own in today's currently favored program format, but own it, rule it and spank it-- like no one but an Amazing-Amazon-Jewess named Sandra Bernhard can!

My Friend Avril: A Memorial Tribute

Sean and Avril-- Thanksgiving Day

Los Angeles, 1999

Today is a sad day-- I lost the physical presence of my dear friend Avril Rose. She passed at her home in Corona del Mar, California after a valiantly fought cancer battle lasting nearly eight years.

Avril and I bonded from the moment we met in the mid 90's-- it seems like a lifetime ago. I was in the human resources group of a large corporation in Danbury, Connecticut and Avril was hired as the executive assistant to our CEO. She arrived on the day of her interview driving a new Miatta convertible, looking like a movie star or, on a more exotic scale, a mysterious spy-- ala Cinnamon Carter on Mission Impossible. Gorgeously dressed, warm and friendly, I knew she would be offered the job. We shared a deep mutual love for animals and our dogs names were quickly familiar to one another. Settling into a busy life in Fairfield County, Avril purchased a beautiful townhouse in a park-like condominium complex in Brookfield and furnished it with a decorator's flair-- a tastefully appointed, elegant home. Brookfield proved to be the perfect choice for Avril to live as she made many wonderful friends at St. Joseph's church. These dear folks-- Alice & Hugh, Steven & Andrew, Bill & Pat, Nancy & Ted, Madeline (God Rest Her Soul) & Fred-- were her St. Joe's family and they remained in touch over the years since Avril relocated to Southern California. They have sent beautiful, supportive and encouraging cards, all of which were read to Avril by her daughter Randi many times over the last several days. They also kept Avril in their prayers through their wonderful prayer circle at St. Joe's. Truly a group of the loveliest, kindest folks. Avril thought so highly of each and every one of them and always kept them close to her heart.

Friends met at work include Mercene, Sandi, Kate, Nancy, myself and many, many others too numerous for me to remember. Bill and Pat-- Avril's boss and lovely wife-- were more like a dear aunt and uncle to her, always there for her. Ever concerned, supportive and generous-- they treated her like family.

My dear friend was wonderful to me in many ways. I decided to leave our company and move to Los Angeles for a career change. It was then that I realized Avril was even a better friend than I could ever imagine. Avril not only helped to calm and soothe nerves during a difficult time for me, but physically helped as well when I needed to move from a temporary apartment to my permanent place. I remember laughing to myself as we navigated through Los Angeles, Avril with her Subaru station wagon-- still with Connecticut licence plates-- and me in my VW also still with my Connecticut plates-- the Connecticut Caravan through LA. My first Thanksgiving away from Connecticut and my family was not something I was looking forward to. Avril knew this and invited me to dinner with she & John. We enjoyed a lovely time at Mimi's, as pictured above. We had fun while I was in LA too-- one day sneaking into Doris Day's house in Beverly Hills where we were given a tour by Doris' son Terry. We felt like Lucy and Ethel in an old I Love Lucy episode. We enjoyed a serene and almost spiritual lunch one other day, at The Inn of the Seventh Ray in Topanga Canyon. These are cherished memories I've always remembered as wonderful moments with a wonderful friend. Thinking of Avril as I have so much during these last many days, I've been continually reminded of her kindness to me. Selfless gifts from her that helped me immeasurably-- that helped me survive very tenuous, scary times alone in my life. Avril's generosity was limitless-- she was a true friend on whom I could depend for anything. Although in my heart of hearts I know she's now where she should be, it's difficult to let go of someone so wonderful, so kind, so funny and so young. Thank you Avril, thank you so much for being my friend.

Avril's former husband John-- a friend since childhood-- proved to be a friend to the end, taking care of life's details that are impossible tasks for the fragile and ill.

Now Avril is with all the people she loved and lost, and all her doggies, too. Pepper has already met her at Rainbow Bridge. Her young Miniature Schnauzer Baron, her companion, sentry and friend who was at her side throughout her illness, survives her. Shortly he'll be on his way to live with Avril's niece in Nevada. I'm sure he knows Avril didn't leave him because she wanted to-- she had little choice in the end and loves him dearly and forever.

God Bless you, Avril. So long for now. Until we meet again, dear heart. Until we meet again.

Contributions in memory of Avril can be made to The Humane Society of the United States by clicking on the following link: http://www.hsus.org/

or you may contribute to the animal welfare organization of your choice.

Beautiful Thoughts

Please read on . . . Contributions Shared By Friends of Avril

Dear Avril,

May you always walk in sunshine. May God's love around you flow for the happiness you gave us no one will ever know.
It broke our hearts to loose you, but you did not go alone for part of us went with you the day God called you home.
A million times we needed you, a million times we cried, if love could only have saved you, you never would have died.

Fondly,
Bill and Pat Font
Brookfield, CT

Must See Vintage Cinema: Valley of the Dolls

As I discover new blogs, they sometimes serve to inspire me to write entries of my own. Today's discovery-- The Tomb of the Unknown Fangirl-- was compelled to give a brief review of her recent read, Valley of the Dolls. Allow me to to elaborate on Miss Susann's ultra-fab-novel by explaining my love for the film version of the best-selling book. To say that Jacqueline Susann's Valley of the Dolls isn't the quintessential, much beloved, original meaning of FABULOUS, over-the-top 1960's novel & film, would be sacrilege to the legions of gay fans who have have made it their #1 all-time favorite in the unofficial Gay Cinema Hall of Fame. Everything from the wardrobe, make-up & hair to the countless back stories that involved practically everyone in Hollywood, including the queen of gay Hollywood icons, Miss Judy Garland is wrought with high drama. It's a pop-culture cinematic work of art that should be played on a continuous loop in The Smithsonian. It's been immortalized via stage plays in which the dialogue was recited virtually word-for-word from the original film script in a turn-up-the-camp-dial-style that has only served to further endear Ms. Susann and her writing in the heart of any red-blooded gay dude with a love & devotion to glamor, glamor & more glamor.

The beautiful girl factor-- which must be a psychological conundrum for any straight psychotherapist when analyzing interests of homosexual men-- is an element of the film which cannot go unnoticed. Patty Duke, here-to-fore the lovable & pretty girl(s) from her very own successful TV program, The Patty Duke Show, was transformed into a snarling beauty with a few dozen different hair falls, gallons of liquid eye liner, yards of false lashes and fabulous costumes by Travilla. Barbara Parkins, fresh from the 20th Century Fox back lot where she starred on the highly successful TV serial of the Grace Metallious novel and film of the same name, Peyton Place. Her dark, sophisticated vibe lent itself beautifully to a Wellesley-girl of the 1960's look. Patty's line as Neely O'Hara about Barbara's Anne Welle's "classy good looks" rang completely true. Perkins elegantly and effortlessy glided through the film like a debutant at a country club cotillion after a few Dubonette-on-the-rocks. Last but certainly not the least gorgeous, there's Miss Sharon Tate. Without a doubt one of the top 10 most gorgeous creatures that ever lived, Sharon's Jennifer North not only captured the text book 1960's look, she also evoked the future with her fashion-forward hair, make-up & costumes & realistic life perspective. Jennifer was the gal who knew the necessity of reinvention as a means of survival. Tragically, we all know how Sharon's real-life story ended. I refuse to go into much detail and further romanticize the maniacs that not only took her life, also that of her unborn child as well as several others and shook Hollywood's sense of personal safety forever.

The film begins with a still photo montage of Anne Welles' pre-doll, New England existance. A scrapbook of the life and events that compelled her to get out of Dodge. These sequences, filmed on location in Fairfield County, Connecticut and Westchester County, New York perfectly set the tone for the second portion of one of the best opening film sequences ever. Barbara Parkins as Anne Welles riding the train into New York City from her hometown of Lawrenceville as none-other than Dione Warwick sings the title song of the movie's soundtrack, known as the theme from Valley of the Dolls. Words and lyrics by Andre and Dory Previn, it's the anthem of the 60's as it schizophrenically asks as well as tells the audience what needs to happen in life:

"Gotta get off, gonna get have to get off from this ride-- Gotta get hold, gonna get need to get hold of my pride-- When did I get, where did I how was I caught in this game? When will I know, where will I, how will I think of my name? When did I stop feeling sure, feeling safe and start wondering why, wondering why? Is this a dream, am I here, where are you what's in back of the sky, why do we cry? Gotta get off, gonna get off of this merry-go-round-- Gotta get off, gonna get need to get on where I'm bound. When did I get, where did I why am I lost as a lamb? When will I know, where will I be, how will I learn who I am? Is this a dream, am I here, where are you? Tell me-- when will I know, how will I know when will I know why???"

The song not only embodies the 1960's confused psychedelic culture, but also its quickly emerging narcissistic tendencies of how the presumptuous world interrupted its most important and beautiful lives filled with free love, experimental drugs and for some, lots of Pucci clothes.

Arriving in New York, Anne checks into The Martha Washington Hotel for Women-- an actual place where men were only allowed to visit the lobby-- probably only during chaperoned hours. The dated and now bizarre concept must not even register in the minds of today's women under 30. Quickly landing a job in a top entertainment attorney's office, Anne was immediately assigned the task of taking contracts to battle ax client, Helen Lawson. One of Broadway's most beloved stars, Miss Lawson (played by the fabulous Susan Hayward) barks and smokes as she tears up the delivered contracts in protest of the younger and more energetically talented Neely O'Hara's existence in the show. Helen insists that Neely's songs be cut because, "The only hit that comes out of a Helen Lawson show is Helen Lawson, and that's ME, baby, remember?" The innumerable factoids and notable quotes from this film are actually listed in the International Movie Database and should be studied, memorized and used liberally in your every day speech. One of the many back stories involves both the casting and the apparent inspiration of certain roles. Judy Garland was originally cast in the Helen Lawson role which was allegedly inspired by Ethel Merman. Ms. Susann allegedly enjoyed a real-life, tumultuous lesbian affair with Merman and seized the opportunity to cast a less than positive light on the blatantly obvious (at least to Merman) ode to Ethel. Garland was canned early on in the production due to her typically less than professional behavior that she increasingly exhibited as she grew closer to the end of her life. Apparently the only film footage that exists of Garland on the Valley of the Dolls set is that of her extensive wardrobe tests. This must have been where Garland fell in love with the stunning Travilla threads worth thousands of dollars, as she kept them all when she left the back lot. Barbara Parkins has publicly lamented the firing of Judy Garland, saying that Miss Hayward was a pale imitation of what Garland could have made of the role. Sorry, Barbara-- as much as I adore Judy, Hayward is the only Helen Lawson I know. Unless it's a stage version with a female impersonator playing Susan-playing-Helen, she's the only Helen I want to know. The role of Neely O'Hara was apparently inspired by Miss Garland's life and her infamous pill-popping behavior that somehow did not diminish the performer's larger-than-life talent, but in the end, did diminish her short life.

The film progresses through the discovery of Anne's beauty which leads her to a lucrative career as the Gillian Girl. The celebrity representative of glamorous Gillian Cosmetics balanced her busy work schedule with her on-again, off-again love affair with Lyon Burke (her former employers' handsome playboy nephew) and an affair with the president of the cosmetics company. Whew-- she was a busy gal. Of course, the abuse of prescription drugs is the most common thread throughout the film. Perhaps this was Miss Susann's visionary warning decades ahead of her time and the emergence of life wrecking pills like OxyContin? Even staid & waspy Anne takes a spin on the Gelatin Capsule Carousel at the Psychotropic Carnival, but Neely is by far the top abuser. She utilizes pills prescribed by the studio doctor to calm her down, pep her up, go to sleep, wake up and spirit her through busy shooting days at the studio because she's told she must "Sparkle, Neely, SPARKLE"! Jennifer North (Sharon's character) parlays her show-girl good looks into a shadowy European art film career that helps fund her husband's expensive private convalescence. Tony Polar's mysterious, probably neurologicaly-related disorder halted his successful singing career and short-lived stint as a leading man in feature films. Tony's career was carefully micro-managed by his humorless sister Miriam, played by the previously blacklisted & beautiful Lee Grant. It wasn't until his illness reared its ugly head that Miriam was compelled to share the family secret with Jennifer as well as admitting his inevitable illness was her reason for her years of frugality-- to pay for Tony's future hospitalization. Unbelievably enough, not a single oxygen tent was used in the making of this film! Equally unbelievably, the simultaneously institutionalized Neely discovered that she and Tony were being warehoused in the very same sanitarium. Hospitalized for substance abuse-- not for a mystery illness like Tony-- their surprise meeting led to a bizarre, way-off-key duet in the patient lounge as they slurred a few bars of one of Tony's smash hits, Come Live With Me and Be My Love. If it seemed as though things couldn't get worse for poor, beautiful Jennifer with her now increasingly vegetative husband under lock & key, the discovery of a lump in her breast lead her to the conclusion that life wasn't worth living without both breasts. More than likely the decision was a result of her mother's negative comments, which often included her opinion that her daughter's breasts were really the only thing Jennifer had going for her. Again, heavy reliance on the doll factor was how Jennifer decided to permanently check-out of the Bel-Air Hotel. We're then treated to a stellar cameo performance by Miss Susann as one of the several reporters there to cover the tragic Hollywood suicide. Neely trashes her promising career--again and again, via prescription drug abuse and a vulgar disregard for the people and close friends who supported her on the way up the career ladder as well as on the way down. Anne leaves Malibu and her brief but successful career for the safety of Lawrenceville and vintage colonial home from which she emerged as the innocent, wool coat wearing good-girl from New England. The movie's ending sequence takes us down a snowy, country road in Connecticut as the (GASP!) fur wearing Anne picks up a tree branch and walks away to the film's fabulous theme song. To live in the quiet countryside, apparently, forever.

Valley of the Dolls was premiered on a yacht in the Mediterranean and oddly enough, panned by the book's author as a piece of shit. However that's where I disagree with one of my favorite authors. I've always thought the film was the ultimate tribute to the ultimate novel, which is still listed in The Guinness Book of World Records as one of the top ten best sellers of all time. You've got to climb Mt. Everest to reach The Valley of the Dolls! Here's to you, dear Jackie-- we all still adore you!

If you somehow haven't ever seen Valley, check out the trailer on Direct2Drive: http://www.direct2drive.com/138/3814/product/Buy-Valley-Of-The-Dolls-Download
The entire film can be purchased and viewed on Direct2Drive, as well as on DVD from 20th Century Fox:
http://www.foxclassics.com/synopsis.php?id=valleyofthedolls

Cannes-- It's That Time of Year

Thanks to my dear friend Jocelyn, a little over 20 years ago I was treated to an experience that has yet to be surpassed as the groovy party extraordinaire. A group of Joss's friends, which included myself, accompanied her to the Cannes Film Festival for the purpose of publicizing her recent independent film. Cannes (pronounced can-- like a can-of-soup, NEVER "Cahn" or the worst "CANS") which is much more fabulous than our Academy Awards and lasts about 10 days, is without a doubt the most intense schmoozing experience of my life. Although Spring in the South of France would be a fabulous experience even without the festival, Cannes is the grand-daddy of all film fests-- hands down-- and the combination of place & activities is thoroughly intoxicating. A mere 20-something and fresh from the express register at Waldbaum's where I saved the money for airfare, this was more than even I expected. From cocktails on the terrace of the Carlton to parties where I got close enough to jet-set-glitterati like Marissa Berenson just long enough to have a pal snap our picture that looks like we're actually talking, I think I still get a high this time of year whenever I think back to our incredible trip. A friend grabbed Sting's rear-end as I unknowingly stood alongside him in line. He turned to me and gave me the squint thinking it was I who helped myself to a handful of rock star glute-- I wish I had! A perennial starlet-- the gorgeous Eydie Williams, topless and humping a fountain as the European photogs chanted "EEEDEEE! EEEDEEE! OVER HERE! LET ME SEE YOUR GORGEOUS BREASTS! EEEDEEE!

Our most anticipated events of the festival were the evening screenings which are actually like every-night premieres. Entering and exiting via the red carpeted stairs of the Palais du Festival, these events were blinding. The paparazzi snapped pictures of anyone who looked like even the remotest celebrity. The photos sometimes showed up in the daily magazine published by one of the sponsoring film commissions, but all photos were sold along La Croisette by the photographers to tourists seeking shots of their favorite celebs. Of course my favorite past time was scanning every photo for even the slightest glimmer of my image. Any "Sean shot" was snapped up by myself as though it was the most valuable souvenir in the world.

It was the year The Color Purple made its debut and I purposely waited months to see it at Cannes. In my opinion it was one of the best books-adapted-to-film I've ever seen. It was a patriotic thrill to see a film from the US so well received by the European film community-- the standing ovation lasted minutes and brought tears to my eyes.

For anyone who has the opportunity to go to the festival, GO! It's the best people watching you'll ever experience even if you can't get into the screenings as a tourist. We obtained tickets for the screenings we desired because of Jocelyn's affiliation with a production company, which provided the necessary press passes that got us places the general public wasn't permitted to go. If you're not lucky enough to have a groovy friend like Joss & would like to go and see the never-ending show yourself, you can watch from the other side of the red velvet ropes and still have a great time. If you go, imagine how thrilled I was to abandon my cash register at Waldbaum's one day and pretend to be a movie star the next. I still have that photo pass...

Sean Bagley, Child Star! His Prolifc (Albeit Ficticious) Career

It seems it's confession week, folks and today's is that I've always wanted to be a has-been. Someone whose Hollywood career has long past its prime and jobs are now limited to commercials for ambulance chasing lawyers on the low end, to any incontinence related product on the higher end-- and that's the best case scenario. You know the type of celebrity-- not necessarily an A list star to begin with-- an actor or actress who may be immediately recognizable but the name completely escapes you. Like the time I saw the Figurines Lady at the Elizabeth Montgomery estate sale in Patterson, New York. You remember that 70's ad campaign for the Figurines diet bar. This gorgeous brunette-- now I know her name, Carla Borelli-- danced to the tune of Tangerine in a halter-top red dress. Oh to be one of the lucky people who rode the 1970's Special Guest Star wave as long as the surf would hold them up!

If I could turn back the clock to be one of those prolific guest stars on any one of the legendary, pop-culture-iconic TV shows-- Love American Style, The Love Boat, Hawaii 5-0, Mannix, or, dare I dream, the imitable Barnaby Jones-- I'd do it in a blink. To be chased by the TV psycho killer du jour through a dusty canyon in my very own-- at least for that episode-- top-of-the-line, (special credit: Provided by The Ford Motor Company) brand new Country Squire station wagon. That burnished copper color with of course the imitation wood grain panelling. The episode plot would be something like: an obsessed fan (played by a perannial, excellent at playing wild-eyed crazy-- like actress Christine Belford) saw me at the Laurel Canyon market one morning in my tight bell bottoms as I grabbed a coffee & pack of smokes on my way to the studio in the valley. Where I was the star of my very own detective show-- the play-within-the-play concept. Barnaby Jones was immediately summoned after the very first weird written note (the cut-out-letters-from-the-newspaper kind) was received, because, of course, Barnaby was hired as a creative consultant on my fictitious prime time detective show, The Topanga Canyon Murders. The notes from that crazy Christine Belford just got weirder & weirder-- much scarier than anything on Play Misty For Me. Things like (in that scary, Helter-Skelter, newspaper-letter-pasted format, don't forget) "Love Me, Kill You!" and "Marry Me, My Cat's Talking About Us" and perhaps the scariest of all which compelled me to run to my next door neighbor (played by Very Special Guest Star, Miss Beverly Garland) "You're So Handsome I Want To Wear your Face Like A Mask"! This episode was wrought with car chases, an elegant party that was a surprise presentation of some very important humanitarian award to me-- crashed by that crazy Christine Belford, Christine Belford ransacking my pristine & impeccably decorated Mediterranean style home-- which was really the Brady bunch set being used while the Brady's were on hiatus and finally, an obvious rip-off of a 1972 Columbo starring none other than Miss Anne Baxter. That crazy Christine Belford pours gasoline around my carport to kill me in a blaze because I've thwarted her advances just too long & she's going to kill me so no one else can ever have me. But my long-time, beloved housekeeper (played by my dear personal friend, the fabulous Miss Esther Role) is returning in my station wagon from the grocery store and that crazy Christine Belford thinks it's me, but kills Esther's character instead. This throws me over the prime-time-1970's-show psychological edge in a very emotional scene. Requiring Barnaby's assistant-- played of course by former Miss America, the ever lovely Miss Lee Merriwether-- to help me to my luxurious white velvet sectional sofa and pour me a drink from the chrome and glass tea cart that I cleverly use as a portable bar. My realistic performance was the talk of the town and I was nominated for a Special Guest Star Emmy Award.

The phone wouldn't stop ringing. I finally had to borrow my gal-pal Ruta Lee's personal assistant to help answer my multi-line office phone with light-up buttons and red hold button. Ruta never completely forgave me after I not only stole the very handsome, swarthy & well endowed Carlos (rumored to have been Alejandro Rey's illegitimate son) and hired him as my much needed assistant, we were secretly married in a Mexican ceremony. Television's beloved Rose Marie was our flower girl and Hope Lange our maid of honor at Jack Cassidy's sprawling seaside Baja California compound. Hedda Hopper called it the most fabulous union she'd ever witnessed, although she had to change Carlos' name to Carlotta in her gossip column-- it was only the early 70's, you know. Jack sang most of the songs with the Mariachi band, the first being an odd rendition of Girl Talk. However I lost the Special Guest Star Emmy to-- you guessed it-- that crazy Christine Belford and all the hoopla quickly cooled. As did my brief (9 day) marriage to Carlos Alejandro Rey, when he left me for (I'm still not completely over the shock) Jack Cassidy and our brief, illegal union ended with a quickie divorce in Juarez. The fortunate outcome that occurred post-divorce was that Ruta and I buried the hatchet. She confessed that she knew of Carlos' bi-sexuality and she always feared losing him to any one of television's secretly gay, dashing leading men like myself the moment her back was turned. More than stealing Carlos away and marrying him, apparently Ruta was extremely hurt that I picked Rose Marie as the flower girl over herself. I made up for this years later when I had a momentary laps of homosexuality and married the lovely Vicki Carr in a Reno chapel ceremony where Ruta was finally not only flower girl but maid of honor as well. Vicki sang It Must be Him to me, however the justice of the peace was extremely handsome and blatantly flirting with me which contributed to my even shorter marriage (4 days) to Miss Carr. Unfortunately, that non-existent Barnaby Jones episode doesn't appear on my IMDB profile because, of course, it never happened.

There are, however, a couple of obscure entries that may or may not qualify me to appear at one of those Hollywood collector & autograph conventions, but more than likely, not. If I was an extra on Star Trek, that would DEFINITELY qualify me to appear at one of those shows because those Trekkie weirdos not only know exactly who was on what episode, they could tell you when Shattner sneaked out a fart while the cameras were rolling. There is a place where I must explore the level of my possible has-been-dom someday-- Japan. Several years ago I played 2 roles in different episodes of ASTONISHING NEWS! One as a physician and the other as a car-jack victim. The premise of the show is that items from US newspapers are poorly re-enacted and Japanese celebrities watch in a split screen format. The celebrities overly exaggerate their reactions to what they're watching in that Godzilla-esque, bad Japanese acting style and their fans at home are thrilled that their favorite celebrities are watching the same thing they're watching too. That could be why I may be a larger-than-life TV star in Japan and not know it. I'm pretty sure that my acting-- although my dialouge was dubbed over in Japanese-- is fairly bad, but complimantary to the Godzilla-inspired style the Japanese so warmly embrace. As you watch the celebrities watch the re-enactment, you can easily identify their US counterparts that they're obviously emulating. The Japanese Donna Mills is particularly disturbing. She must have purchased Donna's very successful do-it-yourself 1992 eye make-up video, The Eyes Have It. However the technique does not translate very well to Asian eyes and she looked like an Asian Donna Mills with Downs Syndrome. Her bleached blond hair didn't help matters either. I know it's a current trend for Asians to want to look Western, but I'm afraid I may have to utilize my (possible) Japanese celebrity to help them achieve their beauty goals without looking like the scary animatronic Disney figures in It's A Small World After All. For all I know I could be huge in Japan and THAT'S the place I must go to experience the thrill of the life of the has-been. To enter restaurants and do what I've coined as "The See-Me-Scan". That's when a celebrity-- no matter how famous or how obscure-- enters a public place and because of their years in the public eye they immediately scan the room with a vacuous smile, all the while making small chatter with their entourage, to see if anyone has noticed their arrival. That's it, next stop Tokyo because if that's where I have to be to experience the thrill that Sally Field's character enjoyed in Soap Dish, that's where I'm going. I just need to learn to say "where's the mall" in Japanese & I'm there.

Doris Day Confession

Friends, it's time I came clean with you. There's someone I've envied, adored, idolized and loved since I was a little boy-- Doris Day! I have always envied everything Doris Day. From her limitless, underrated talent to, most importantly perhaps, her love & devotion to animals. As a singer she's finally being recognized as not only one of the most prolific recording artists of all time, but also one of the best. As an actress her broad range of top flight ability was at home from trademark comedic roles to heavy duty drama. Whether it was as Jimmy Stewart's wife in The Man Who Knew Too Much-- which of course provided Doris with the song that became the soundtrack of her life, Que Sera, Sera-- to her gal-in-charge role of Julie, the stewardess being stalked by her very own psycho husband played by Louis Jordan. Doris Day made it look so damn easy and that was the problem. Her critics didn't get it, until recently. The fact that she made it look effortless and easy was the magic core of her talented soul. Looks-- check. Voice-- check. Charm-- triple check. What more did a gal need than a little glimmer of the intangible magic of our most precious girl next door, Miss Doris Day? As a young boy when Doris' television show premiered, I had no idea that the smiling, singing, sunny movie star driving the Barracuda convertible over the Golden Gate Bridge, wearing a yellow rain slicker & matching hood, was more or less forced to do a TV show she never wanted to do. Unfortunately for Doris, she put all her eggs in one basket & trusted her beloved husband Marty Melcher to invest the tens of millions of dollars she earned cranking out film after film and song after song for decades. Not only as a number one recording artist, but as the number one box office draw in Hollywood as well. He lost practically everything and the bad investment trail led directly to her long time attorney. Although Doris triumphed in suing the crooked lawyer that squandered her life earnings, the award was only a fraction of the money she amassed in her lifetime. The Doris Day Show was one of the last projects her agent-manager-producer husband signed her to shortly before his death in 1968. When Doris' son Terry began to unravel the financial mess, it was he who had to break the bad news to Doris. Resistant to the television project at first, Doris quickly realized that a commitment was a commitment as well as perhaps her financial lifeboat. She put her best foot forward and the professional attitude that propelled her to the top of the Hollywood food chain made the show such a smashing success that CBS begged her to continue season after season. The television show, as well as a 1975 autobiography, enabled her to once again achieve financial independence. She left Los Angeles forever to live in self-imposed exile in gorgeous Carmel, California. Over the years in Carmel, dozens of cherished, pampered & spoiled dogs have undoubtedly performed thousands of canine ballets on the Mexican saltillio tiles of her rambling, yet unpretentious ranch home. Until recently Doris still owned the Beverly Hills house she purchased after the sale of her Toluca Lake home in 1955. In the years since her move to Northern California that property was more or less merely a source of business revenue, as its rental rate (as of 2001) was nearly $30,000 a month. It takes a lot of dough to buy a lot of kibble! Most recently home to her son Terry until his death in 2004, Doris' long-time Beverly Hills home was sold. I must admit that, along with my dear friend Avril, we were given a personal tour of the North Crescent Drive house by none other than her son Terry, under what could perhaps be called less than truthful circumstances! That's another story, but the genuine, one-of-a-kind Doris Day story is still being performed. Although Doris' life has been saddened by the recent loss of her son Terry as well as several beloved doggies, her commitment to her animal foundation compels her to carry on. Now over 80 in chronological years, Doris is forever youthful, forever smiling, forever the young women descending the spiral staircase in the opening sequence of her television show. Forever Doris Day!