I’d like to take this opportunity, early on here, and tell you a little about my babyhood… is that a word? Oh well, it is now. My mother, a single parent, adopted me at the age of 13-months; now keep in mind that this was in 1970, a time when single-parent adoptions were simply not done. When the adoption was finalized just before Christmas a year later, it caused such a stir that media outlets from coast to coast were banging down our door to try to get an interview with my mother. Even the Today Show on NBC was relentless in their efforts. She did grant a few interviews for the Los Angeles Times and other local papers around the country, but it quickly began to wear on her, especially since it was the height of the Christmas season. She finally had to stop answering the phone in order to have any peace in the house (these were the days when newspapers published your home address and phone number).
My mother is a special education teacher, and at the time, worked for a private school in Pasadena, California. While she was at work, I was cared for by my great-grandparents, Grace and Jack. Grandma Grace was a no-nonsense lady; born in Missouri in 1890, she was raised on a farm, attended school only to the third grade, and lived by the rules of common sense. Grandpa Jack was a Hungarian immigrant, born in December, 1900, who came to America with his family in 1903 and passed through Ellis Island on the way to settling in the Bowery of New York City’s lower east side.
Grandma and Grandpa were both very understanding and permissive when it came to my imaginative play habits, although Grandma Grace was more of a pragmatist who saw no value in pursuing goals or dreams she viewed as impractical, such as show business or entertainment. During the Depression, she worked in Los Angeles, running the households of the likes of Lionel Barrymore and Oscar Hammerstein, and she saw more than her share of wild drunken parties that ended with her having to drive movie stars home while they vomited in the back seat.
Grandpa Jack, on the other hand, loved show business and longed to perform in theatre and film. While still a teenager in New York City, he was approached by famed movie director, Adolph Zukor, who invited him to Los Angeles to pursue a film career. Unfortunately, his family would not hear of it and nearly threw Zukor out of the house, telling him to go get a real job. Grandpa Jack tried to look up Mr. Zukor years later, but all attempts were in vain.
While my mother was at work, my great-grandparents encouraged me to play and explore, although I did incur the occasional threat of a switch from Grandma Grace. Grandpa Jack carried me around the living room to look at all the pictures on the wall, describing each one in glorious detail as we went, as well as stopping at the mirror to make goofy faces. He would also take me in my stroller for my daily train experience, as we lived very close to the tracks.
When I was five years-old, Grandma Grace had a massive stroke and died shortly thereafter. Grandpa Jack was never his same jovial self again and died two years later. I believe that I have the creative spirit I do because my great-grandparents, along with my mother, who played with me and talked to me for hours after work every day, took the necessary time to make sure that I had the knowledge and the courage to take advantage of every opportunity in life.
Maginarius 