Lauren Bacall - By Myself and Then Some

Mother agreed that I could go to the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. It would be a struggle, but with the help of Jack and Charlie once more, it could be accomplished. I had to make up my mind that I could have little allowance – no extras – essentials only. But I would be a full-time student and at last could devote all day, every day, to learning about the theatre. And I needed to learn. Four years of Saturdays at the New York School of the Theatre had given me a clue, but the Academy program would be quite different. Meanwhile I was forever inflicting my Katharine Hepburn and Bette Davis imitations on anyone who would sit still for them. Needless to say, Charlie and Mother were my best audience.

The spring before high school ended, Betty Kalb and I had read that Bette Davis was coming to New York. She always stayed at the Gotham Hotel. Traveling with her was her friend Robin Byron, who also happened to be a friend of my Uncle Jack. I called and asked him – begged him – to call Robin and try to arrange for me to meet my idol. While waiting for the answer, Betty Kalb and I stalked the Gotham Hotel. One afternoon when we were skulking in the lobby, Bette Davis came in – walked directly to the elevator. We rushed in after her and tremblingly rode to the tenth floor with her. She was wearing a small black hat, her hair was pulled back with a black ribbon – she was smaller than I’d thought she’d be, but that face was there, just as I’d seen it magnified so many times so far away on the screen. We stared at her openly. When the elevator stopped at ten, she got out. We asked the elevator operator to stop at eleven, rushed for the staircase, ran down one flight only to see her back as she walked through the door of her suite. We laughed weakly and waited awhile to compose ourselves before facing the questioning eyes of the elevator operator. But Bette Davis was wonderful – everything we had imagined. We had to meet her, we’d die if we didn’t.

Finally my darling Uncle Jack called. He’d spoken with Robin, and though Miss Davis had a very busy schedule, Betty and I could come to her hotel on Saturday afternoon at four o’clock. Betty and I were hysterical. We spent hours on the phone – what would we wear – how would we do our hair – what would we say? We did our imitations of her walk, speech – to get that out of our systems at least. It was so exciting – the high point of my life, a dream come true!

I was warned by Uncle Jack to make it brief – not to linger and for God’s sake to behave. ‘Don’t make a fool of yourself – this is a big favor Robin is doing, arranging this. Don’t let me down, and tell Betty Kalb to keep calm.’ Keep calm? Ha! Well, we’d just have to act . Oh, I wished I looked more grown-up. Betty’s figure was well developed – she was actually built not unlike Bette Davis – while I was this tall, gawky fifteen-year-old.

Saturday came – Mother and Grandma couldn’t wait for it all to be over, they’d heard nothing but Bette Davis for days on end. Betty arrived to pick me up. I was trying to look my most sophisticated, but as nothing in my wardrobe suggested sophistication, I was wearing my best suit. My friend looked much better than I did, I thought – less like a stagestruck kid.

We went to the hotel and I asked the receptionist to call Miss Davis’ room and announce that Miss Bacal was in the lobby with friend, we had an appointment. How would I keep from shaking – how would Betty keep from fainting? We were told to go right up. This time we looked the elevator operator squarely in the eye and said, ‘Ten, please.’ By then we were so caught up in thinking how to present ourselves – how to keep from falling apart until after the visit – that we couldn’t speak. The elevator arrived at ten too quickly. Out we stepped and proceeded shakily down the long corridor to Suite 1009–10. We grasped each other’s hands – took deep breaths – checked our hair – and finally I pressed the doorbell. I was trembling from head to foot. Inside and out. The door opened – it was Robin. She smiled at me – I introduced Betty to her – and she ushered us into a living room. There was a sofa with two chairs facing it. I sat on the edge of one of the chairs, Betty on the other. At last the door to the bedroom opened and out walked Bette Davis with that Bette Davis walk – Queen of Films – the best actress in the world. Oh, God!

We stood up immediately – she shook our hands and moved to the sofa. I sat down again in the same chair – I was terrified to take a step – but Betty plunked herself down next to the Queen. Bette Davis was open, direct, easy, and sympathetic. She asked us about ourselves, said she had been told by Robin that I wanted to be an actress. In a voice barely audible, I said that I did and that I had been going to drama classes on Saturdays until I finished school. Betty was much more talkative than I – seemed to have more to say. I suppose I was tongue-tied. I was so nervous, my hands were shaking. She offered us tea, but I didn’t dare pick up a cup and saucer for fear it would fall on the floor or spill all over me. She motioned me to come sit on the other side of her on the sofa. I don’t know how I got there, but I did. Of course we told her we had seen all of her films many times over. The silences seemed endless, why was my mind so blank? I couldn’t think of any words.

Bette Davis was very patient. She said, ‘Well, if you want to act, you should probably try to work in summer stock. That’s the best way to learn your craft.’ ‘Oh yes, that’s what I want to do – I want to start on the stage and then go into films just as you did.’ ‘Well, be sure it’s really what you want to do with your life. It’s hard work and it’s lonely.’ I remembered she had said in an interview when talking about her life, ‘I have two Oscars on my mantelpiece, but they don’t keep you warm on cold winter evenings.’ More silence. Robin looked at me – I knew it was time to go. I said, ‘Thank you so much, Miss Davis, for your time – for seeing us – I am so grateful.’ Betty said much the same. Bette Davis shook our hands, wished us luck. Robin opened the door and out we went.

Betty had started down the corridor and near the end of it she fell in a heap of emotion. I panicked – Bette Davis mustn’t hear us, mustn’t know this was going on. I helped Betty up – we staggered to the elevator – rushed to the nearest drugstore so we could sit down. What a relief! Ordeal over. We both started talking at once. ‘I will never wash my hand again!’ ‘Nor will I!’ ‘Wasn’t she wonderful – did you notice her walk as she came into the room?’ ‘What do you think she thought of us?’ ‘Why didn’t I ask her what her favorite film was?’ ‘Why didn’t I ask her what it was really like to work in films – to be a star?’ ‘Why was I so nervous? She must have thought I was a fool.’ ‘I want to be just like her.’ ‘We must write her and thank her.’ ‘We mustn’t let her forget us.’ ‘Maybe next time she comes to New York she’ll invite us to see her again.’

It was truly generous of Bette Davis to have seen us. It meant so much. To be stage-struck and star-struck is an unbeatable, overpowering combination. Such emotion! Only kids who have wanted to be something really badly and have had a specific someone or something to identify with know that feeling. It’s more than ambition. It comes at a time when you’re still in school and your life work is still very far away, but you feel you’re getting closer to the gold ring and maybe someday you’ll not only catch the ring but keep it. Everything seems possible, but your life is all frustration because you can’t do anything about it yet.

I reported to Jack that I would be forever indebted to him for making this happen. No crown of diamonds placed on the head of a fairy princess by a handsome prince could mean as much. I told Mother and Granny all about it, almost. I left out Betty’s collapse – that didn’t come out till years later. Then I wrote Bette Davis the fan letter to end all fan letters – I composed it at least twenty times, choosing only the best words from each version – thanking her and saying some things I’d been too nervous or shy to say when I saw her. Betty wrote her too. We sent the letters to Maine, as we knew from the fan magazines that she had a house there where she spent a good deal of time. About a week later the morning mail brought a blue envelope with unfamiliar writing. In it, a letter from Bette Davis thanking me for my flattering words – saying she had enjoyed our visit – wishing me luck – and at the end: ‘I hope we meet again sometime.’ I couldn’t believe it – all in longhand! I treasured that letter – read and reread it hundreds of times. Betty Kalb got one too. Writing us was another generous thing for that busy actress to do.