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Executive Times |
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2005 Book Reviews |
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It Seemed
Important At the Time: A Romance Memoir by Gloria Vanderbilt |
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Rating: •• (Mildly Recommended) |
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Click on
title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
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Neverland An abiding sadness, loneliness and
incompleteness flows through the pages of the latest Gloria Vanderbilt
memoir, It
Seemed Important At the Time. The subtitle calls it “A Romance Memoir,”
but this book lacks the verve of passionate romance. It seemed as if every
man in her life became a former lover, and her love for her own mother became
consuming and unfulfilled. Through many relationships, it seemed that all
love was conditional, and I came away from this book with an appreciation for
how lonely a life can be. Here’s an excerpt, all of the chapter titled,
“Happy Birthday,” pp. 35-42: Fame casts a long shadow,
is mysterious, inaccessible, transforming a famous person into something that
usually has nothing to do with who the person really is. An image of Leopold Stokowski was blazed in my mind’s eye years before we
met. Remember, in the movie Fantasia, when he’s conducting the
Philadelphia Orchestra and Mickey Mouse walks up to the podium to attract his
attention? That’s how I first saw Leopold. An archangel with a halo of white,
and hands waving around, bringing forth sounds, pulling me right up to heaven
with him. He seems at first so unattainable. But lo! he speaks, sounds actually come forth as he bends down to
shake hands with Mickey. Is he part human after all? When I first saw the
movie I may have been Mickey Mouse myself, but on that fateful night when I
first met Stokowski at a party in I knew the marriage with
Pat was over, but a week before he was to be shipped overseas he became ill
with septicemia and was saved by a new drug, penicillin, and discharged from
the Army. This put him in a cheery mood, free once again to pursue gin games
and nights at El Where was my Mummy during
all of this? Alas, nowhere. No, my Mummy had been out of it almost since
Leopold Stokowski came into it—ever since the
surprise party I hastily planned to introduce my beautiful Mummy to Him. While
making these arrangements I practically had to put a muzzle on to keep from
shouting my exciting news from the There I stood with Him
beside me, not only the world-famous orchestra conductor, more controversial
than Arturo Toscanini, but aside from everything else, he’d had an affair
with Greta Garbo, whom my Mummy ecstatically
admired—that alone would knock her socks off, or so I thought. Could it be
that it may even have had something to do with my wanting to attract him?
(Gloria—please!) My mother was stunned, and I just
couldn’t figure out why It seemed to have something to do with my being
twenty and he sixtysomething, but all great
beauties lie about their age, and anyway, gods don’t have ages or birthdays,
even though I had one coming up very soon. The force of him was splitting my
brain, not to mention my secret heart, exploding from the light of
him—archangel——come to earth, entering my body, possessing me as I breathed,
in and out, out and in. God, it was exhausting. So it’s no wonder I couldn’t
understand why my Mummy, and everyone else for that matter, weren’t clapping
their hands in thunderous applause. Dodo and grandmother Naney
Morgan took it hard, as well—Naney Morgan
especially, but of course she would. She had been counting on me to catch a
personage of royal blood—a prince, a count—a king (why not go for
that?). Couldn’t she see that’s what I had? Pat now appeared as some lowly
whatever, a munchkin maybe—why not?—now that the Wizard of Oz was by my side. A few months later, I
turned twenty-one. In the never-never land I grew up in at Aunt Gertrude’s,
there was one and only one F word (as in forbidden) and it was money.
No one talked about money except grown-ups huddled behind closed doors
with lawyers. But it was there, always, in back of everything, constantly,
continuously, day and night, all the time, nonstop. Neither Aunt Gertrude nor
the hated lawyers Gilchrist and Crocker nor anyone else had ever talked to me
about how to manage the inheritance I was now about to receive. Since I had
always felt an impostor while living with my aunt, the inherited money seemed
unreal, like something that didn’t really belong to me. It was only later
that money had reality, because it was money I earned through my own talent
and efforts. The day I became twenty-one, on the dot, I marched down the long
corridor of Bankers Trust flanked by a parade of bankers, on down to the
vaults where a box was opened. There inside were the stocks and bonds that
would make me an heiress. I took them out of the box—after all, they were
only paper—what did I know about it? Nothing, that’s for sure. All I knew was
that suddenly there was money and that I couldn’t wait to buy presents for
everyone: Naney (a mink coat), Dodo must have one
too, diamonds for Carol, and so on. But Mummy—what to give her? Actually
there was something I wanted her to give me only I couldn’t put
a name to it. Since the allowance Surrogate Foley portioned out from my trust
fund ended now that I had come of age, Mummy would in the future be depending
on me for support. Tony Furness, Aunt Thelma’s millionaire son, supported his
mummy, and I was expected to take care of mine. I tried talking to Stokowski about this, but Leopold was silent, thinking
deep thoughts every time I tried. Speak, speak, talk
to me please. Days went by, but finally he had it figured out—”Your
mother never gave you love. Why give her anything? It was your nanny Dodo
who did—your mother never gave you anything. Let Thelma support her.”
Oh—well—maybe—yes—wasn’t I in control now? That was a new feeling, strange
and liberating—but still . It was no surprise that
Mummy didn’t take to this one bit. She hotfooted to the press and suddenly
there it was, splashed over the tabloids. (How would your mother have viewed
this?) They were bing-banging at the door, waiting
for us out on the street and every other place you could think of, saying
mean, awful things—that Leopold was Svengali and I
his Trilby. Can you imagine!? When confronted by reporters, Leopold said, “I
never talk about personal things.” It was heavy, I can tell you. It got so freaky that
Leopold huddled with his lawyer and came up with the idea of establishing a
foundation and then calling a “press conference” to announce it. “Good
strategy,” the lawyer agreed. Leopold preferred I use the Polish feminine and
at the same time change the spelling of my name to Glorya
to distinguish me from my mother. It was to be called the Glorya
Stokowska and Leopold Stokowski
Foundation. I was to be the “secretary” and was photographed behind a
typewriter (couldn’t type, but so what). Later this photograph appeared in Time
magazine with a caption under it, “Old Score.” What did that mean? A “press release” was
composed stating that my Mummy should find a job and go to work like everyone
else did, including me, who was now the secretary of this foundation formed
to help those who couldn’t work. It was decided that it would be more
effective if Leopold wasn’t present at the conference. Best if I went to it
alone, even without the lawyer. I was told to keep my mouth shut except to
say “I never talk about personal things” as I handed out the press release. Scared to death, I faced
the frosty crowd of reporters and got through the ordeal holding fast to the
thought that Leopold was waiting for me in another room. It was a terrible
feeling, like someone had died—but who? Yes, as if
someone had died and I was guilty of killing them and I hated myself because
even if the things Leopold said about her were true, she was my mother, the
one person in the world I wanted to be mine ever since I could remember. But
who could guess that—I didn’t even know it yet myself. After the press conference,
I didn’t see my mother again for seventeen years. Perhaps the better subtitle could have
been, “Looking For Love in All the Wrong Places.” For an unusual memoir by a
unique and eccentric character, read It Seemed
Important At the Time. Steve Hopkins,
May 25, 2005 |
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ã 2005 Hopkins and Company, LLC The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the June 2005
issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/It
Seemed Important At the Time.htm For Reprint Permission,
Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
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