TCM recently showed Pinky, a 1949 film with Jeanne Crain playing a young black woman returning home after passing for white in Boston, where she graduated from nursing school. This video of the complete movie is set to start at a point that I assume pushed the limits of what the censors allowed.
One of the assailants states the obvious. “What a build on her… oh, you’re pretty… you’re pretty… you’re real pretty.” Maybe it’s possible to be not only too white, but too beautiful for a role, because film critics have said Crain was miscast, despite her Academy Award nomination for best actress.
Director Elia Kazan was a founder of the Actor’s Studio, and he favored overly emotive acting, so of course he didn’t care for Crain’s understated portrayal of Pinky. But Crain was on the set before Kazan, who was hired after Ethel Waters had John Ford fired.
Amy Coney Barrett being a Supreme Court Justice has me thinking that Roe v. Wade just might be reversed. This post was first published on July 9, 2011.
When I was in high school, my girlfriend and I were volunteers at a hotline for teens. The crisis center was funded based upon it being an anti-drug program. I had never taken any drugs, or even tasted alcohol, but most of the calls weren’t about drugs. We got our share of cranks, but there were legitimate calls, including suicide attempts. Some of the “crises” were minor, like the drunk kid who had been kicked out of his friend’s car for getting sick. He was on a pay phone and had no idea where he was. There were a lot of upset, sometimes distraught, girls who had been dumped by their boyfriend. And then….. there were…. the terrified girls…. who thought… they might… be pregnant. There were no home pregnancy test kits in those days, and all of the girls who called wanted to know how they could get tested without their parents knowing.
Roe v. Wade was decided right in the middle my senior year of high school, and I remember Betsy, the center’s director, holding a “very important meeting” to explain what it meant to us, as volunteers. Prior to Roe v. Wade we worked with a consulting physician who had an association with a Catholic service for girls in trouble looking for help. After Roe v. Wade we were introduced to another doctor, who said that abortion wouldn’t be the first option, but from now on it would be an option. Our job as teen peer volunteers was to get the caller talking on the phone with one of the adult counselors.
Most of my time at the hotline I spent just hanging around, talking with other kids and listening to records. A friend of mine who I met at the center, named Tom, attended the prestigious Groton School. He went on to Yale and then Harvard Law School.
[2020 note: Tom once dated Caroline Kennedy, who attended Concord Academy. There’s a story behind this, involving me and, in turn, my twin sister.]
For some reason, prep school kids were known for being into the Grateful Dead, and Tom was no exception. I bought their live “Europe ’72” album on his recommendation. But the records that are most indelibly associated in my memory with that time and place in my life are The Doors’ L.A. Woman…
Looks as though my projector notification idea won’t be needed. The neighborhood at the top of my dead end street came up with a plan for a Halloween parade. Participants are supposed to put individually wrapped pieces of candy on a table at the end of their driveway. I learned about this too late to take part, and it runs from 4-6, so it will all be over before dark anyway. It’s 5:15 now, and so far I’ve seen only two families stop at the driveway tables at the two houses across the street.
This is a confession that will surprise none of my friends. I am enamored of certain British women in mid-60’s films, television, and music. Julie Andrews, Petula Clark, Diana Rigg and, of course, my good friend Prue Bury are, for me, the ultimate in class, intelligence, beauty and sex appeal.
Years ago I heard NPR’s Scott Simon interviewing Diana Rigg. Simon was obviously having trouble maintaining his composure, he was so in awe of her. An adolescent dream coming true, and the reality of it turning a grown man into a helpless, quivering mass. Believe me, I know the feeling.
