Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1950)

On another red-letter night I reported, again defiantly, that "Mrs. Miniver" was a great motion picture! But it's a standing joke in the family that my liking a play or picture is equivalent to the kiss of death, because even I must admit that I like anything contained within the four walls of a theater. There are housewifely areas, of course, into which the little woman could fit herself as neatly as the sections of a jigsaw puzzle, and that I do not cook is not entirely my fault. Ed doesn't like home cooking. He likes the conveniences of hotel living, and he enjoys eating at good restaurants. Granted my eagerness to cook for him, I shouldn't enjoy having to compete with Henri Soule at Le Pavilion, or Gene Cavallero at the Colony, or the Kriendlers at "21." I'm not even the poor man's Escoffier, and even if I were, Ed is a real city-bred, a native New Yorker, who prefers the fine cuisine of top restaurants. He would rather have spaghetti at Leone's one night, fish on Friday nights at Billy the Oysterman's — whatever he wants at a place that prepares it to perfection. Making party dates in advance for him is a form of suicide which I early learned to avoid as often as possible. As the date approaches, he starts getting stiff-necked, and his accusations would indicate that I was part and parcel of a deep-laid sinister plot to expose him to cannibals. Once I get him to the party or dinner, he's wonderful, because he's really gregarious. Yet he never can say "no" to just such invitations. If anyone asks how about having dinner next Wednesday, the answer is "I'd love to." Usually he forgets it completely, never mentions it to me. If he does tell me, something important generally comes up and he has to cancel out at the last minute. That'smy job, and one I do not relish. People invite you in good faith and it's difficult for them to understand. It's probably Ed's aversion to noise — he has unusually keen hearing — that makes him dislike people with bad table manners, loud telephone bells, shrill-voiced women and men with booming voices. Living in what must often be a chaos of noise, he wants quiet. He detests drunks and one reason he doesn't go as often to nightclubs as he once did is because of inebriates who insist on greeting him like a longlost brother. (This happens to all columnists, I imagine. The drunk always starts off being enchanted at meeting "my favorite writer," and a few minutes later wants to start a fight.) Because Ed works at an amazingly fast tempo — five newspaper columns per week, an occasional magazine article, two weekly television shows (Toast of the Town on CBS-TV network Sundays, and Little Old New York locally on Mondays on the Daily News Station WPIX), his benefit shows and appearances at various banquets, plus the shrill demands of three telephones that ring almost continuously — he begrudges anything that wastes time. If a show palpably is poor, he chafes at R the necessity of sitting it out. When he drives the car, he drives fast and decisively, and if a motorcycle cop grabs him I have never heard him offer an alibi. 92 My Husband Ed (Continued from page 48) His streamlining of Toast of the Town acts, the technique which I'm sure has been responsible for his TV success, is part and parcel of his economy of thinking. Brevity, to him, is the soul of effectiveness. Even on vacation plans he doesn't waste time. We have done a lot of traveling, and the approach to a trip is always the same. He'll come home one night and suggest flying to Europe. I start packing, because I know we're on our way. But even on a vacation Ed's in high speed. He's always ready to move on to another place, while I always want to stay longer. I practically ran through the Vatican. I got one quick look at the Coliseum in Rome, and we were off again. Recently we flew to Europe. In three weeks we saw Paris, Rome, Naples, Capri, Sorrento, Venice and London. But we had a wonderful trip — extra-special because it was our daughter Betty's first trip abroad. Sometimes what Ed says and what he means are two different things. For instance, he has always claimed he doesn't care for celebrations and presents. So one year Betty and I took him at his word and we didn't make a fuss over his birthday. That night when he came home he looked very unhappy. We asked what was wrong. He said, "I certainly thought you'd have a little birthday cake and ice cream waiting for me." That was the last time we ignored his birthday! Despite the hectic pace, Ed has never been too busy with anything to forget to be a wonderful father. He would do anything to make Betty happy, yet he has never spoiled her. He has instilled in her a truly liberal viewpoint and he is proudest when she shows an intense interest in, and sympathy for the problems or misfortunes of others. 1 don't know any home that has greater affection than ours. Betty has always been treated as an individual in her own right. It was never a case of a child being seen and not heard. We have always invited her to speak up in discussions, and we have extended the same respect for her thinking as she has extended our thinking and opinions. We agreed, Ed and I, that if we ever made a promise we would keep it, and as a result we have never destroyed our integrity with Betty. Her father once promised her that she could choose her own college. She picked UCLA, and though he didn't like the idea of a three thousand-mile separation, the promise was kept. She's a sophomore there now. Betty has been so happy at UCLA that both her Daddy and I feel wonderful that we had some part in making it possible. Despite the distance from New York to California, we're very close. Every Sunday night she telephones and we have a three-way conversation — I in the living room, Ed in his den, and Betty at her sorority house. That Sunday call is the highlight of our week. There's another member of the Sullivan household I must mention. He's Carmine Santullo, Ed's secretary, to which description Ed always adds, "loyal friend and confidant." He's all those things, and the politest person anyone ever talked to over a telephone. Carmine has been close to us for almost ten years, since he began to do little odd ; at jobs and favors for Ed backstage at Loew's State Theater when Ed was appearing there. Everyone who knows Ed well knows and likes Carmine. And there's another member of our household who must be mentioned. He's our miniature French poodle, Boj angles, named after our friend Bill "Boj angles" Robinson. Ed, Betty and I are mad about dogs and always have had one. Bojangles is dreadfully spoiled, but he's so cute we forgive him everything. Ed's hobby is golf. He plays a very good game, scores in the seventies, but is always seeking the secrets of golf. He has read more golf books and taken more lessons than Ben Hogan. Every time he comes home from the club he tells me, with great glee, "I have the secret of golf." Whatever I'm doing I have to stop. He hands me a golf club and proceeds to show me his secret. I'm never too impressed because I know he'll have another "secret" next week. I don't play golf with him — I'm not very good at it. Ed's other love, after golf, is television. He's very proud of his Hooper and Pulse ratings, and he spends hours on anything that will help his show. I'm proud, too, of Ed's success with it. Most everyone is interested in his opinions, and in pleasing him. It is inevitable that he is spoiled, all men in his position are. Wherever he goes, he gets preference. In a restaurant or nightclub he is ushered in with fanfare, gets the best table. The food is prepared to suit his taste, and waiters are solicitous. I must admit that all of this has spoiled me a little, too. I enjoy the special privileges. But mine is a reflected glory, such as when a saleswoman recognizes the names and asks, "Is that the Ed Sullivan?" I try to appear nonchalant, but I'm very flattered. There are drawbacks, however. If I'm with Ed people have no difficulty in recognizing me. If I meet the same people sometimes without him they haven't the vaguest idea who I am. It's an amusing misconception that the wife of a Broadway columnist and television star must laugh her way through life. Doesn't she live to the gay refrain of nightclub bands, popping champagne corks, world premieres? The answer is a positive no. The truth is that the role calls for great understanding, great adaptability and great tolerance. If you want peace and quiet, it's not the life for you. As a Broadway columnist and television personality, Ed naturally meets a lot of people. Fortunately, I'm not jealous. I'm very conscious that girls find him attractive, but I don't worry about it. He is attractive. I'm proud of his good looks. My only reaction is to try and look as well as possible myself. He sincerely likes people and, as a whole, I would say that people like him. He has a wonderful sense of humor, in spite of what some people call his "poker face." (Which, by the way, he wouldn't try to change now, because it has become his television "trade-mark.") Above all else, he requires loyalty and alertness. Would Ed choose the same life, if he had to do it over again? Fm sure he would, because while it has often been a headache it has never been a bore. Would I? A thousand times yes. In fact, I'd like to re-live every day.