A model at 14, a movie star at 16 - Sandra should be the most spoiled young lady in Hollywood. Instead....
She's Darling! She's Different! She's DEE-lightful!
This article appeared in the October 1958 issue of Motion Picture Magazine
"She's cute as a button," raves one studio executive.
"She's such . . . such a bon-bon . . . I could positively eat her!"
It is a reaction shared by everyone who meets Sandra Dee. There is a confectionery quality about this child, whose enormous brown eyes look softly on a world that has given her everything she ever wanted.
And therein lies the surprise of Sandra Dee.
Few human beings could have withstood the pampering and the coddling so happily endured by Sandra without turning into terrible Tartars. At 16, she has already lived the life of a blase social debutante. From the beginning of her memory, she has seen every important Broadway play, dined at every plush Manhattan restaurant. She owns a white fox fur and a mink stole, and so many clothes that there are whole closetsful that she has forgotten. She charges everything she buys and, in addition, she has a fat weekly allowance which slips through her fingers like quicksilver.
The pattern has been the same for l0 years, ever since she was legally adopted by a wealthy and adoring stepfather. She was dressed in imported, hand-embroidered dresses, had every toy she wanted and more. By the time she was 7, she ordered her own meals via room service in New York's finest hotels, with the aplomb of an adult born to the purple. When the small Sandy wanted to live in a house, her stepfather bought a house. When she decided a hotel was more fun, the family sold the house and moved into a hotel. When she decided she enjoyed modeling, the world remained her oyster; she promptly became one of America's top ten models. When she gave thought to a Hollywood career, the doors opened wide and she was given a long-term contract with Universal-International. Before a year had passed, she was borrowed by MGM and played the role of the youngest sister in Until They Sail. For UI, she played teen-age Melinda around whom the plot of The Wonderful Years (NOTE: The title was changed to "The Restless Years") is motivated, and the crucial role of Pat in Stranger In My Arms.
With these roles behind her, she decided she liked acting and has determined she will be "the best."
She is certainly going to be in "the best" company, in fine box-office tradition, in her next film chores. MGM called her back again, and sent her to Europe to co-star with Rex Harrison, Kay Kendall and Johnny Saxon in The Reluctant Debutante. UI now has her before the cameras with Lana Turner and newcomer John Gavin for a remake of the powerful drama, Imitation of Life. After that, Columbia has call on her services for a young-love story called Gidget, in which her leading man will be popular James Darren.
Life still smiles on Sandra Dee. Whether or not she is aware of it, she has an innate and enormous talent for acting--and Hollywood knows it. She is being requested by other studios for top roles in the coming year, and her own studio plans to star her in a seemingly endless string of first flight productions. It would seem as though Sandy has the Midas touch.
The Midas touch, however, incurs envy. People who find life hard and demanding tend to resent those few who have no financial troubles, Once you know Sandra's incredible background, it is natural to assume she is an indulged child, spoiled rotten and given to tantrums. Following all rules of human behavior, this would be true. But Sandra is a paradox. The simple fact is that she is not at all like this. She is friendly and guileless as a puppy, and accepts her good fortune with simple and childlike gratitude. She regards other human beings with a warmth so sincere that it is returned tenfold. People who meet her without knowledge of her background are immediately charmed. Those who know beforehand of her unusual history, admit they expect the worst, yet find within five minutes that their defenses are down, and they regard her as enchanting.
Her mother, Mary Douvan, is hard put to explain why Sandra has evolved into the charming, wholly reasonable girl she is. "I know it sounds silly, but I do think it's because she has had everything. She's never had to worry, therefore she's never known what it is to have to push. It's as though she loves the world because it's been so kind to her."
There is yet another surprise about Sandra Dee. One could expect her to suffer a woeful ignorance of what life is all about, since she has been so thoroughly protected. But here again, Sandra confounds. Ask those who know her what her most outstanding quality is, and the answers always come back in the same vein. Wise beyond her years, they say. A very bright one. An awareness of life that's almost frightening in a 16-year-old.
Sandra knows exactly what she wants to do, and has always known. What's more, she has the knack of doing it without crowding others. She is so wise beyond her years (and charmingly so, because there is none of the smart aleck about her) that adults frequently are confused by an urge to ask Sandra for advice. It is something Sandy herself has never done. Her path has been carved without advice from others.
The fact is that Sandra Dee is just plain bright. She talked at 6 months, spoke in full sentences when 9 months old. At 21 months, in the Russian Orthodox church back in Bayonne, New Jersey, she took over the service by herself. In her grandmother's arms, she listened as the choir (which included her mother) ran the gamut of the range of the human voice, singing one hundred times, "God Help Us!" When the choir finished, the priest opened his mouth to begin the sermon, only to be interrupted by Sandra, who proceeded to imitate the choir's rendition.
When she was still an infant, Sandra's parents divorced. Mary Simbolic had married young, and when, at 18, she gave birth to Sandra, her own mother told friends, "My baby had a baby." The Simbolics, Russian immigrants, had always leaned over backward to protect Mary and after the divorce, they sheltered her and the baby in their Bayonne home. When Sandra was 5, Eugene Douvan moved into the picture. Douvan was a big man, in physical appearance as well as in business. He owned, among other things, several buildings in Manhattan. He fell in love with Mary, and with her daughter as well. He used to tell Sandy the reason he married her mother was that it was the only way he could get her. Sandy believed him.
Eugene Douvan was to make life a fairyland for his new family. He showered them with gifts, and according to his lights, bought them only the best. He adored them as only a big, generous man can adore the petiteness, the helplessness of women, and he was fiercely protective about them. Once, when a man on a New York street tried to flirt with Mary, Douvan picked him up and jammed him into a sidewalk refuse can. The man was so dazed that he stayed there motionless until Douvan tucked his family into the car and drove off.
He insisted that Sandy go with them wherever they went. She accompanied the Douvans on their honeymoon and never thereafter left their side. She had no bedtime as other children know it, nor was she ever left in the care of a baby sitter. When Eugene and Mary dined in New York, so did Sandy. She went to the theater and to night clubs, even to the races at Saratoga with them. To this day, she doesn't understand how her stepfather managed to get her, a minor, inside the gates of the track, but to Douvan nothing was impossible. He took Sandy shopping and when the saleswomen, aware of his generous nature, trotted out a dozen dresses for Sandy's choice, they knew Douvan would order all twelve. At an early age, Sandra learned to refuse shopping expeditions alone with her mother; she would "wait for Daddy."
Thinking back on it now, Sandra says, as if the thought had newly occurred to her, "Yes, I guess Daddy did spoil me. But he was boss. Mama wouldn't have dreamed of objecting. He was the boss, you understand."
She was by nature "a lady." Sandy could never abide dirt; if a smudge appeared on a finger, she had to wash her hands immediately. Her dresses were changed six and eight times a day, and when waiting for her parents to take her out, she got in the habit of standing straight against a wall to preclude the possibility of getting mussed.
Eugene Douvan always felt, from the moment he first saw Sandy, that she was destined for show business. He had been involved in it himself, as personal manager of stars, but he had waited. Sandy was too young; he didn't want to take the chance of turning her into what he called a professional monster.
When Sandra was 12, she was seen by Harry Conover at a fashion show given by her Girl Scout troop. The day after she signed up as a Conover model, American Girl magazine requested her for a cover. The ball was rolling. Sandra entered professional school, and countless jobs and covers followed. Her face, petal-smooth with youth and minx-like with precocity, framed by a storm of blonde hair, became familiar to America.
When she was 13, her contract was purchased by Huntington Hartford for his model agency. In that same year, designer Oleg Cassini asked Sandy to model at one of his society fashion shows. She wore a diamond necklace valued at $165,000. No one bothered to inform her of its worth. "It's pretty," she said, eyeing the guards who surrounded her at every moment, "but they certainly make a fuss about it. You'd think it was something." Soon after, she was signed to play Vaughn Monroe's daughter on his TV show, and the transition to actress took place as easily as putting, one foot in front of the other. The year she was 14, between modeling and television, Sandy earned $78,000.
The money meant little to her. She enjoyed the work, and was fascinated to meet, for the first time in her life, contemporaries who worked for a living.
"I felt so sorry for them," Sandra says, "Most of those kids were the sole support of their families. Their circumstances made them push." Her sole negative reaction was the bickering, the jealousy and the gossip in the world of the professional. Up to now, Sandy had been so protected from competition she had never known such things existed.
"I think her best quality," says her mother, "is her sense of fair play. It always disgusts her to hear people talking behind the backs of others."
In the main, Sandy was happy with her new life. Always an avid movie fan, she had devoured stories of her favorites and often Mary Douvan opened Sandy's bedroom door to find her emoting in the manner of her crush of the moment. It seemed natural now to think that perhaps movies were a possibility for herself. "You model, you think of television, and when you get into TV, you naturally think of movies."
It was to come true, but not before Sandy suffered the only tragedy of her life. Eugene Douvan died in September of 1956, when Sandy was 14. He underwent an operation in Washington, D. C., and Sandy, wanting to be near him, canceled all appointments except one Monday TV show. She planned to fly to Washington the next day. Monday night Douvan called her. "He sounded so happy, teasing me and joking. I phoned Mama the next day and she said the operation had gone well, then suddenly she hung up. Later, I learned a doctor had just told her Daddy's heart had stopped. She couldn't tell me. She phoned a friend later to tell me. It never occurred to me that Daddy would die--he had always been there, caring for us. This is the thing we lost, this sense of protection."
Douvan's funeral took place on a Saturday and the following Monday, Sandy's agent took her to see producer Ross Hunter, who was screening applicants for roles in The Wonderful Years. Sandy didn't want to go; her agent insisted.
Hunter remembers her vividly. "I'd interviewed two hundred people that day. The boys wore sneakers and blue jeans and the girls were sloppy and their hair was uncombed. Then Sandra came in--this cute little thing with all the make-up. Her eyes were red from crying and made up like Mae Murray's, but immediately I could sense something there. She was so natural, she didn't beg or apple-polish--and she was a clean and neat, normal little girl, not a juvenile delinquent. When I asked her to read she said, 'I'd be glad to, sir, but I'd like to look at the scene first. She came back in a half hour and read for me, and I flipped. She was the only one who bothered to take time to read the scene beforehand. I've never regretted my choice. Sandra has talent, an ability to put herself into any role and create an illusion."
In December, Sandra flew to Hollywood to make a screen test with Johnny Saxon. It was a love scene, a fact which Sandra didn't bother to mention to her mother. Nor did she mention to her director, producer, or least of all Johnny Saxon, that she had never kissed a boy in all her life. When her family saw the test they were stupefied. "I have to admit," said her mother, "that she must be a born actress, because I know it wasn't experience."
When Sandy's grandmother recovered from surprise, she confronted the young actress. "Sandy, where did you learn to kiss?"
Sandy grinned. "One look at Johnny Saxon," she said, "and who needs to know?"
Two months later, she was at MGM making Until They Sail. On the set, Mary Douvan found herself shunted off to another stage, or behind closed doors, whenever Sandy had a scene. It had always been like that even with her beloved stepfather. Sandy would ask them to leave whenever she had a chunk of real acting to do. Says Sandy, "I feel silly with Mama watching. I figure if you're going to mhke a fool of yourself, don't do it in front of somebody you have to live with."
The relationship between mother and daughter is more like that of sisters. Mary Douvan is a young 33 herself, and the two are inseparable. "Mama's just as goofy as I am," says Sandy. "I hope I get married young and have a baby and grow up with it just the way Mama and I have."
They live now in a rented house above Sunset Boulevard and argue daily about where they'll live next. Sandy wants a hilltop house, Mary doesn't; they'll probably end up on a hill. Mary denies Sandy nothing in the way of clothes, but pulls up
short when it comes to a black sheath. A sheath dress, yes, but a black sheath is too old. Untypically, Sandy has surrendered to the ultimatum, probably because she's smart enough to realize her mother is right.
She requested a car for her 16th birthday in April, and was gifted with a Thunderbird. Mary DoUvan says, "I've been lucky because when she wants something it's usually right for her, but a sports car in Los Angeles traffic!" Then she sighs. "But Sandy is a better driver than I am. One day, I worked for ten minutes to park my car and finally had to move over and let Sandy do it."
Sandra first saw herself on a movie screen at a showing of Until They Sail. It is best to let her tell it herself.
"I saw it four times. The first time I was sort of embarrassed and I didn't want to be recognized. I wore dark glasses and pulled my hair back. After a half hour, I figured maybe it'd be fun to be recognized, so I took off my glasses, but nothing happened. I went to the ladies' room and unfixed my hair, and there were two women in there talking about the picture. 'Who's the little blonde girl?' one said, 'I've never seen her before.' I stood there right next to them and took my hair down. I practically brushed it in their faces, but nothing happened. The second time I saw it, there were two boys sitting next to me. I leaned forward all the time and sort of smiled at them-you understand, this is something I would never do under most circumstances--boys, ugh--and nothing happened. I even went so far as to offer them some popcorn. 'No thank you,' they said, looking right at me. But nothing happened." Sandy sighed. "I went twice more, and the same nothing. You'd have thought the ushers or somebody would have noticed."
When it was suggested to her that one day in the future it will be impossible for her to walk down a street without being mobbed, she giggled. "Oh, I'd love that!'
Poised for the moment between childhood and adulthood, Sandy is a delicious blend of the two. At first glance, she seems like a child trying to be grown up, chiefly because of her heavy eye make-up. "I started using it in my modeling days, and I'm so used to it now that I look funny without it."
Says producer Ross Hunter, "When she walked into my office, she gave the illusion she was wearing her mother's high heels, and was dressed up in a sophisticated evening gown. Neither was true, but she gives that impression, of a little girl trying to be grown up. I see her now in the studio commissary, and if she knows I'm looking at her she starts posing. She'll suck in her cheeks for the Hepburn look, and when I walk by I tell her, 'You're so fat you'll never make it,' and she relaxes the cheeks in surprise. I get such a kick out of her."
Quoting Sandy is the best possible way to illustrate the workings of her 16-year-old mind. Following are several Sandyisms.
"I can remember my fifteenth birthday just as though it were yesterday. You know, it's kind of frightening--my life is slipping right by me. I sort of wish maybe I was twelve again."... "Mama's like a friend. I adore her, and I listen to her--at times." . . . "My own children will never get away with what I got away with."... "When we moved to Long Island, the kids used to tease me about being such a lady, so I did what they did. I wore blue jeans and climbed trees and fences. But I would have preferred to stay a lady."... "I lose my temper at anything, and I blame it on growing up.".:. "I like Jean Simmons best. Not because I worked with her, but she always was my favorite. I saw all her pictures. I think maybe it's because her eyes smile before her mouth does."... "I have my own room, but Mama's forever coming in to sleep with me because she gets lonely."
Having discovered Hollywood, she says, in all innocence of its ever having been said before, "I like New York but only to visit. I wouldn't want to live there." On boys: "Boys my own age are too young for me. Boys older than I am think I'm too young. I'm right in the middle." On sex appeal: "Clothes don't make it--it's from the inside. Some women have more of it all buttoned up than the kind who throw it at you." On age: "Sixteen's all right, but I think thirty is the perfect age for a woman. Then you've lived long enough, but not too long."
Without work, Sandy's restless. "I get very dull and bored when there's no work. I wonder if I'll be that way when I'm older." She sees almost every movie made, whether good or bad, and drags her mother with her. Mary Douvan yawns and squirms, but can't get Sandra to leave. "I know it's bad," says Sandy. "That's exactly why I came-I want to learn something."
Sandra has told her mother she is determined to be a top actress. "If I'm not to be top, Mama, I'll bow out gracefully. And if I do hit the top, that's when I'll quit, so people will remember me at the top. Then I'll get married and have a family.'
So far, Sandra has found Hollywood a friendly town, despite having been warned against its seamier tactics. To date, no one has tried to stab her. "You've been lucky, Sandy," says Mary Douvan who, whether or not Sandy realizes it, worries how the movie career will affect her daughter. "But suppose someday you're no longer lucky, and you work in a picture where people aren't so friendly. What would you do then?"
Sandy doesn't hesitate. "That's easy. I'll just go on being as friendly as though they were friendly."
It sounds like a simple answer, but as one experienced Hollywoodite said, "When you think about it, it's the brightest answer I ever heard."
And Mary Douvan says resignedly. "Why worry about her? She's way ahead of me."
Sandra seems totally unaware of the fact she has had an unusual childhood. It could be said she had no childhood at all. She has no friends her own age, and according to her teacher, misses having other kids with her in a classroom. Yet Sandy goes happily onward and gives only a glimpse of regret for her lost childhood when she says, perhaps unconsciously, "My happiest days were the ones I spent on Long Island, in public school."
It has been an unusual life and it promises to continue that way, because Sandra's real luck is not that she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but that the spoon was heaped with the fine grains of common sense.
----Betsy Harris
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