Post by smith on Jul 29, 2006 2:54:00 GMT -5
I WAS A BIT apprehensive
as I walked up to the
Birdcage, the big house high
above Beverly Hills where
Katharine Hepburn lives.
For all practical purposes, she
had not talked to an interviewer
about her personal life since she
won an Academy Award for
""Morning Glory" 30 years ago.
Since then, Miss Hepburn has
been nominated for Oscars eight
times (including this year for
"Long Day's Journey into Night"),
yet she has remained the mystery
woman of Hollywood, granting
few interviews—and even then
volunteering little more than professional
opinions about her work.
But for some inexplicable reason,
the afternoon I saw her she
was in a mellow and talkative
mood, willing to discuss anything.
When interviewed 30 years ago,
Miss Hepburn struck back at what
she-considered an invasion of her
privacy by telling the reporter
that she had been married 3 times
and had 10 children.
This time, however, she discussed
her one unsuccessful marriage
with little hesitation- "It
happened in 1928 and lasted six
years. Unfortunately, we had no
children." Her husband was Ludlow
Smith, an industrial engineer.
Since then, she never has been
even close to matrimony
KATHARINE is a mystery not
only to the public but to her
co-.vorkeis ah well Only a handful
of people are close to her—among
them George Cukor, who directed
some of her most ->uccesblul pictures,
and Spencer Tracy, with
I New York and Hartford, Conn.,
I as boardingho'uses. "When I'm not
I there," she says, "it's open house
I to any of my friends who need a
g place to stay."
I Although Katie's California
| house was built for John Barry-
| more, it reflects the informality
| and casualness of her life. The
| walls are bare except for travel
| posters; most of the furniture is
| functional, some of it homemade.
| The studiolike room where I in-
| terviewed her contained a huge
I gas heater which was trying vain-
I ly to combat the cold draft pour-
I ing in through open windows and
I doors. Scattered about the room
| were a sculpture, an easel, brushes,
[ a few paintings (Katie refused
'I to point out which ones she had
, done), a parcheesi game, a picture
'• of George Bernard Shaw, some
books, including Bette Davis'
"The Lonely Life," and a tray with
Scotch, soda water, and glasses
(mostly for guests; Katie prefers
milk—eight glasses a day).
HER OUTFIT matched the setting.
She wore loose beige pants, a
black knit pull-over sweater, brown
buckled Oxfords, and white socks.
Her reddish-brown hair was pulled
back tightly in a tousled bun. She
wore no make-up, and the freckles
which are her trade-mark were as
obvious as always. "I was never
interested in clothes," she said,
"and I can't stand wasting time
fixing my hair or nails."
Katie's boyish mannerisms and
attire date back to her childhood
in Hartford. "I used to cut
my hair in a close crop and call
myself Jimmy," she recalled. "This
solved the problem of being accepted
by boys. To tell you the
truth, I looked more like a boy
than my brothers—and I was
tough! I used to get into fights
with boys and usually I won."
Katharine was the second oldest
of six children. When her older
brother died in an accident, she
took his place and remained close
to her father all his life. He died
only a few months ago at 81—
shortly after he and Redtop, as he
called her, had taken a trip to the
Middle East during which they
used every means of transportation
from jeeps and boats to
horses and camels.
It is rather surprising that
^Katie didn't follow her father's
^footsteps into medicine. "He was
a neurosurgeon, and I watched
him operate many times," she
told me. "It didn't bother me at
all; I rather enjoyed it. When I
went to Bryn Mawr, I had hoped
to study medicine, but then I said
to myself, 'Oh, well, women surgeons—
who's going to have any
confidence in them?' There was so
much prejudice against professional
women in this country that
I gave up the idea and decided to
get my B.A. instead."
^ Her decision is "surprising considering
that her mother was a
famous champion of feminist
causes. "She was always involved
in rallies and parades, and I used
to go with her," Katharine recalls.
Once Katie talked herself out of
medicine, becoming an actress was
a logical step; she had always
loved the movies. "I would shovel
more snow than any boy in the
neighborhood to get money to go
to the movies. In the summer I
cut lawns and did other odd jobs
to buy movie magazines. I could
name every actor and actress and
every film ever made."
Katharine made her Broadway
debut in "The Warrior's Husband,"
which led to her being
signed for her first film, "Bill
of Divorcement," opposite John
Barrymore. With the release of
this film and "Morning Glory,"
for which she won the Academy
Award as Best Actress of 1933,
her career went into high gear.
BUT ALTHOUGH she has been in
films for more than 30 years,
she has appeared in fewer than
30 pictures. "I do very few things,
but I pick parts with extra care,"
she explained. "If you have a very
good role, you generally get nominated
for an award."
Her selections have resulted in
some of the finest performances
in movie history—in "Little Women,"
"The Philadelphia Story,"
"Keeper of the Flame," "The African
Queen," "Summertime," and
"The Rainmaker."
With a comparatively light work
load and no husband or children
to occupy her time, it would seem
hers is a lonely life. But Katharine
insists not. "I have always
been very close to my family,
much more so than the average
person." That's why she was so
hard hit when her mother died in
1953, and even more so when her
father died a few months ago.
"Dad and I were almost inseparable—
girls are usually closer to
their fathers. I helped raise my
brothers and sisters, and they
were like my own children. And
now their 16 children are like my
grandchildren. Me lonely? For
goodness' sake,-no!"
as I walked up to the
Birdcage, the big house high
above Beverly Hills where
Katharine Hepburn lives.
For all practical purposes, she
had not talked to an interviewer
about her personal life since she
won an Academy Award for
""Morning Glory" 30 years ago.
Since then, Miss Hepburn has
been nominated for Oscars eight
times (including this year for
"Long Day's Journey into Night"),
yet she has remained the mystery
woman of Hollywood, granting
few interviews—and even then
volunteering little more than professional
opinions about her work.
But for some inexplicable reason,
the afternoon I saw her she
was in a mellow and talkative
mood, willing to discuss anything.
When interviewed 30 years ago,
Miss Hepburn struck back at what
she-considered an invasion of her
privacy by telling the reporter
that she had been married 3 times
and had 10 children.
This time, however, she discussed
her one unsuccessful marriage
with little hesitation- "It
happened in 1928 and lasted six
years. Unfortunately, we had no
children." Her husband was Ludlow
Smith, an industrial engineer.
Since then, she never has been
even close to matrimony
KATHARINE is a mystery not
only to the public but to her
co-.vorkeis ah well Only a handful
of people are close to her—among
them George Cukor, who directed
some of her most ->uccesblul pictures,
and Spencer Tracy, with
I New York and Hartford, Conn.,
I as boardingho'uses. "When I'm not
I there," she says, "it's open house
I to any of my friends who need a
g place to stay."
I Although Katie's California
| house was built for John Barry-
| more, it reflects the informality
| and casualness of her life. The
| walls are bare except for travel
| posters; most of the furniture is
| functional, some of it homemade.
| The studiolike room where I in-
| terviewed her contained a huge
I gas heater which was trying vain-
I ly to combat the cold draft pour-
I ing in through open windows and
I doors. Scattered about the room
| were a sculpture, an easel, brushes,
[ a few paintings (Katie refused
'I to point out which ones she had
, done), a parcheesi game, a picture
'• of George Bernard Shaw, some
books, including Bette Davis'
"The Lonely Life," and a tray with
Scotch, soda water, and glasses
(mostly for guests; Katie prefers
milk—eight glasses a day).
HER OUTFIT matched the setting.
She wore loose beige pants, a
black knit pull-over sweater, brown
buckled Oxfords, and white socks.
Her reddish-brown hair was pulled
back tightly in a tousled bun. She
wore no make-up, and the freckles
which are her trade-mark were as
obvious as always. "I was never
interested in clothes," she said,
"and I can't stand wasting time
fixing my hair or nails."
Katie's boyish mannerisms and
attire date back to her childhood
in Hartford. "I used to cut
my hair in a close crop and call
myself Jimmy," she recalled. "This
solved the problem of being accepted
by boys. To tell you the
truth, I looked more like a boy
than my brothers—and I was
tough! I used to get into fights
with boys and usually I won."
Katharine was the second oldest
of six children. When her older
brother died in an accident, she
took his place and remained close
to her father all his life. He died
only a few months ago at 81—
shortly after he and Redtop, as he
called her, had taken a trip to the
Middle East during which they
used every means of transportation
from jeeps and boats to
horses and camels.
It is rather surprising that
^Katie didn't follow her father's
^footsteps into medicine. "He was
a neurosurgeon, and I watched
him operate many times," she
told me. "It didn't bother me at
all; I rather enjoyed it. When I
went to Bryn Mawr, I had hoped
to study medicine, but then I said
to myself, 'Oh, well, women surgeons—
who's going to have any
confidence in them?' There was so
much prejudice against professional
women in this country that
I gave up the idea and decided to
get my B.A. instead."
^ Her decision is "surprising considering
that her mother was a
famous champion of feminist
causes. "She was always involved
in rallies and parades, and I used
to go with her," Katharine recalls.
Once Katie talked herself out of
medicine, becoming an actress was
a logical step; she had always
loved the movies. "I would shovel
more snow than any boy in the
neighborhood to get money to go
to the movies. In the summer I
cut lawns and did other odd jobs
to buy movie magazines. I could
name every actor and actress and
every film ever made."
Katharine made her Broadway
debut in "The Warrior's Husband,"
which led to her being
signed for her first film, "Bill
of Divorcement," opposite John
Barrymore. With the release of
this film and "Morning Glory,"
for which she won the Academy
Award as Best Actress of 1933,
her career went into high gear.
BUT ALTHOUGH she has been in
films for more than 30 years,
she has appeared in fewer than
30 pictures. "I do very few things,
but I pick parts with extra care,"
she explained. "If you have a very
good role, you generally get nominated
for an award."
Her selections have resulted in
some of the finest performances
in movie history—in "Little Women,"
"The Philadelphia Story,"
"Keeper of the Flame," "The African
Queen," "Summertime," and
"The Rainmaker."
With a comparatively light work
load and no husband or children
to occupy her time, it would seem
hers is a lonely life. But Katharine
insists not. "I have always
been very close to my family,
much more so than the average
person." That's why she was so
hard hit when her mother died in
1953, and even more so when her
father died a few months ago.
"Dad and I were almost inseparable—
girls are usually closer to
their fathers. I helped raise my
brothers and sisters, and they
were like my own children. And
now their 16 children are like my
grandchildren. Me lonely? For
goodness' sake,-no!"