These Painted Ponies Didn’t Go Up and Down
You could never accuse my father of having no imagination.
My family moved to New York City in 1957 so Mom could fulfill her contract as the Revlon Girl on TV. I hated both the city and the cold weather, and asked with the naivete of a 10-year-old when we were going back to Los Angeles. (We weren’t.)
My folks couldn’t do anything about the weather, but they could see that a five-room apartment — even a ritzy one — might seem like a prison to a kid who was used to a three-story house in the Hollywood Hills. My sister was four years younger than me, and she wasn’t any too happy, either.
The Revlon contract was a windfall for those times, so we looked around and bought a “country home” in Bethel, Connecicut. In so doing, we joined the vast numbers of New Yorkers driving out of the city on weekends and holidays.
Yes, we were privileged. Have you watched “The Fabulous Mrs. Maisel?” That was the era, and that was our sort of family. Only in SHOW BUSINESS.
One day on the set of a Revlon commercial, there was a beautiful hand-carved wooden Merry-Go-Round horse. Mom fell in love with it and asked Dad if he could buy it for her.
(I know, I can hardly believe what I’m writing now, but that’s what life was like for her just then. Bear with me.)
