Arnold Schwarzenegger - Total Recall - My Unbelievably True Life Story

“That’s fantastic! Superman!” exclaimed Sarge. “But you know, I think it’s more interesting that we have supermen in real life.” There was a side of him that wanted to be diplomatic and respectful but also another side that couldn’t understand how anyone could waste all those hours wearing costumes and makeup. Sarge never read the entertainment pages.

“How many people do you save when you look good on the set?” he’d ask me. He’d tease me about how I’d been awed by James Earl Jones during the making of Conan . “You told me James Earl Jones was in the middle of a speech and forgot his line and how professional he was, how he held his gesture and his pose and said, ‘Give me the line, guys, give me the line.’ And the next line was ‘I am the wellspring, from which you flow,’ and then he said, ‘Oh, yeah … I am the wellspring, from which you flow.’

“So is that what’s important to you? To be able to freeze in the middle of a scene and to have somebody give you your line? Wouldn’t it be much better to go through Africa and show them how to dig wells and how to make vegetables grow and inspire them to plant?”

It was a collision of worlds, but I didn’t disagree entirely. Acting went only so far in terms of real accomplishment. Still, I felt Sarge was hitting below the belt. I was only trying to explain why I admired James Earl Jones. I got him back a year later. He was telling me about traveling with Armand Hammer to make oil deals in Russia after Sarge went back to the private practice of law. He described hanging out at night with Russian oil experts. “You have no idea what great vodka they have,” Sarge said.

“Is that what you really admire?” I asked. “Is that what your life is all about? That you have the best vodka?”

“No, no, no! We made a huge deal.”

“I’m just joking. Remember when you said to me about acting, ‘Is that all you care about, being able to freeze in the middle of a scene and ask for a line?’ ”

“I get it, I get it,” Sarge admitted.

Public service accounted for a lot of the conversation in his and Eunice’s house. “Arnold, you have such an unbelievable personality,” they’d tell me. “Imagine using all of what God gave you to reach out and pump up other people: the Special Olympians, the homeless, the sick, the returning military. It almost makes no difference which cause you pick. You would bring such a spotlight because of your energy and your stardom.”

I was already on a crusade around the world to promote health and fitness to young people. I’d stepped up my commitment to the Special Olympics so that now I was the US national coach of power lifting, regularly conducting seminars and making appearances all over the country. And with my growing popularity as a movie star, I was ready to take on more.

“What else can I do?” I asked Sarge and Eunice. They had plenty of ideas. Eunice was a constant inspiration. What she’d accomplished, to my mind, was larger than the work of most mayors, governors, senators, and even presidents. Not only did she expand the Special Olympics to encompass more than 175 countries, but she also changed people’s thinking around the world. Many nations viewed the mentally challenged as a drag on society or a danger to themselves, to be treated as outcasts or warehoused in mental institutions. Eunice used her name and her influence to free those people to have regular lives and the same social benefits as other citizens. It was a tough challenge, because governments didn’t want to be told they were doing something wrong. They felt embarrassed when Eunice Kennedy Shriver would show up and put the spotlight on the institutions where the mentally disabled were locked up. But one by one, the nations came around—even China, which eventually overcame centuries of social prejudice to host the International Special Olympics Games in 2007. Those were the biggest games in the history of the movement. There were eighty thousand people in the stadium, and the president of China came. I was there too, leading the American team in the opening ceremony.

After the 1988 election, I’d sent word to the president-elect reiterating my interest in the President’s Council on Physical Fitness and Sports. I said that I hoped he would consider me when he turned to other appointments after building his cabinet. If he needed help on the fitness council, I’d be more than happy to come in and share my vision. Bush’s staff, of course, was aware of my passion for promoting health and fitness for youngsters. Eunice sent a letter recommending me for the job and pointing out that I was “the number one star” in the United States. The president responded, thanking her for “recommending our man Conan.”

At present, though, she was much more focused on the production of grandchildren. Eunice had become very concerned when Maria and I didn’t have kids right away. We’d been married now for almost three years. She kept saying to Maria, “Why don’t you have kids?” and Maria kept saying, “I have my job; it doesn’t fit in yet. And Arnold is too busy; he’s always on sets.” And so on. Those obstacles were real. Maria had become one of the top personalities of NBC News. Not only was she coanchor of the Sunday Today show and Main Street, NBC’s award-winning monthly newsmagazine for young people, but also she anchored the weekend news and was a regular stand-in for Tom Brokaw on the NBC Nightly News and other news programs. All of these shows were based in New York. In summer 1988 Maria had won an Emmy as coanchor of NBC’s coverage of the Olympics in Seoul, South Korea. She was making well over $1 million a year and traveling all the time—hardly the right circumstances for becoming a mom.

But her mother felt, “No, there has to be another reason. Maybe they’re having problems getting pregnant.” So Eunice started looking into the effects of steroids on male reproduction. She never talked to me about it, but she sent Maria a five-page scientific briefing by one of the doctors connected to the Special Olympics. I could visualize exactly how it had come about. Eunice had done what she always did, which was to go to her office and say, “Get me an expert to help with this issue” or “Get me someone to write this speech” or “Get me the White House on the phone.”

It was a very thorough report, custom written for Maria. It explained that if you have sex regularly and you’re trying to get pregnant but you don’t, there are many possible reasons, but one might be if your husband has used or abused steroids. Then it went into explaining everything medically.

I just happened to see the report on Maria’s desk, so I read it, and I was laughing my head off. I said, “Your mother is out of control.”

“I know, I know,” Maria said. She was laughing too. “Can you believe that? I have to calm her down.”

It was typical for Eunice to try to plant herself in the middle of the action. I used to joke that she wanted to sleep between us in bed on our honeymoon in order to supervise. In the Kennedy family, this wasn’t completely far fetched: the legend was that when Eunice and Sarge went on their honeymoon to France, they arrived at the hotel to discover Teddy in the lobby. Joe had sent him as a chaperone.

Apart from all this, however, Maria did hear the ticking of the biological clock. She had just turned thirty-three, a year older than Eunice had been when she and Sarge had their first baby. So in 1989, we decided to get going, and Maria became pregnant with Katherine.

I was back in action-hero mode that spring, making Total Recall, but fatherhood was never far from my mind. One day in my trailer, wading through scripts, I came across a draft of Kindergarten Cop. I couldn’t put it down; the idea of a tough detective who has to go undercover teaching a bunch of preschoolers made me laugh. People in Hollywood always said, “Never act with kids or animals. They’re impossible to work with, and then they look so cute onscreen that they steal the show.” I’d already had experience with animals as Conan, and they’d been fine. But I’d been interested in doing a movie with kids for years, and the prospect of becoming a dad inspired me. I thought, “Great! Let the kids steal the show. As long as the movie succeeds.” I called to make sure the script was available. Then I asked Ivan Reitman if he’d direct me again. We both wanted changes in the script to add social relevance: I wanted to add a physical fitness theme, and he wanted it to touch on broken homes, child abuse, and family life. But we agreed to go ahead. Since Ivan already had Ghostbusters II in the works for the 1989 holidays, we started planning Kindergarten Cop for Christmas 1990.