She was my template, my prototype. But I never knew it. Even as a preschooler, I was embarrassed by her. “Don’t forget to go wee-wee,” she’d say at bedtime. “Nooo, Grandma! It’s pee-pee!” As a teenager, I loudly dressed her down for calling an African American child a “cute little pickinini.” “Honey, they use it,” she replied, “they” being Black people in the little Texas town she’d come from. “Well, not white people, Grandma, and not you! Ever!”
She owned an antique shop next to Grandpa Frank’s glass business in Upland, California. There, dressed in late 19th century garb, she’d interact with her customers as a folksy pioneer woman, always ready with a story. I loved her turn-of-the-century Victrolas and stereoscopes, but cringed at her corny persona.
It wasn’t until her death that I found out who she really was. Johnie Belle Reed had been the fifth of eleven children in sandy Pleasanton, Texas. She lacked direction until, in the 1920s, her family moved to Los Angeles, and she fell in love with another little town called “Hollywood.”
Johnie loved acting, but writing was her greatest passion. She wanted to write and make movies. So she wrote scripts. Lots of them. When no one bought them, she wrote a newspaper column called “Watch Your Words.” And then, after she married a dashing WWI air ace name Frank, she wrote and starred in a radio show, “The Mix-Ups,” with Frank as her befuddled straight-man.
The moment “Frankie and Johnie” (their forever song) produced a striking little redhead, Tavia, Johnie decided to make her a star. Before their second child (my mother) was born, she’d already enrolled their first in dance classes. And by the time long-legged Tavia was eleven, Johnie had gotten her into Meglin Kiddies, Universal Pictures’ training pool for kids.
In 1939, Tavia landed a supporting role in a summer camp musical The Under-Pup, the Mean Girls of its time. It starred Robert Cummings and Gloria Jean, Universal’s new preteen singing star.
Tavia loved the attention, but it was actually my mom who inherited the acting bug. Tavia grew tired of showbiz, even while my future mother was playing Juliet in her school production of Romeo and Juliet.
Two decades later, Johnie was still turning out plays and TV spec scripts. Meanwhile, I arrived and in short order blessed the world by inventing writing, acting and music. When our eighth-grade drama teacher quit, I commandeered the class. Looking for a play to star in, I found an unproduced Danny Thomas Show script written by Grandma Johnie, and it was good! But the show never happened and, blinded by the light of my own ambitions, I quickly forgot about Grandma’s.
A few years later, a new playhouse, the Gallery Theatre, opened in Upland, and Johnie became a co-founding member. In December, 1968, while I was still a newbie theatre major, the Gallery produced her play The Christmas Card. It featured three tunes by her nightclub-singer/songwriter sister Dorie, and was the Gallery’s first big hit!
Excited, she and Dorie started working on an original musical. But when Johnie was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, they were unable to continue. She moved in with us, but her condition progressed quickly, so we transferred her to a care facility. As her memory faded, my visits became increasingly awkward. We barely spoke.
What was there to talk about?
A lot, I know now. But sadly, those visits are long-gone. Grandma Johnie passed away in the fall of 1974. And only afterward, as I went through her scrapbooks, did I finally comprehend that she was the prototype, the mold from which I was made. Even more than my mom, I’d inherited her creative gene for writing, acting and directing. One day, it’ll be my turn to depart…
And, oh, how we’ll talk!
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