Mom did not include this episode in her journal. No longer part of the daily family dynamic, I felt sad but also confused about my parents’ relationship, and the effect it must be having on Robin and Dorrie, and of course Randy. Mom moved to the little cabin in Silverado Canyon, north of Santa Ana, they’d bought a few years before. She took Robin and Dorrie with her. To this day, I’ll never understand why she tried to talk Randy into staying with Dad. But he wasn’t having it…not at all. Jack Hall was destined to live alone in the sprawling home two blocks north of 17th Street in Santa Ana.
Even though my decision had triggered the fight, Randy remained the focus of our family’s conflicts. Dad, never welcomed in Mom’s exclusive inner circle, was now defective material. Yet in all her journals she continued to insist that life, for the most part, was a breeze. “An interesting comment today from a shopkeeper. He mentioned he was buying for Christmas now!! Can you believe in late May? Talk about commercial trickery.” “Off to Elfin forest in Escondido mountains; lots of hiking trails.” “Robin loves the nursing classes she’s taking. It’s so good to see her feel so confident and proud.” “Had a long talk with Dorrie about college.” “Randy’s taken to playing one of his three guitars all over the house. He has to become great. He loves Music like a deep all consuming gift.” That was Mom.
After emotions had cooled, she moved back to her apologetic Jack. At this point, Randy, in an effort to clear things up with Dad, and no doubt encouraged by Mom, told Dad he was having a hard time deciding what to do with his life. He said he felt he needed more of an education and talked about enrolling at Santa Ana Junior College full time. Dad liked the initiative and offered him a part-time job at Hall and Foreman. Randy took it.
* * *
—
Back home, in a journal entry from 1968, Mom wrote:
I’m so excited Randy’s taking a few classes at Santa Ana. He’s also working part time at Hall and Foreman learning how to be a surveyor. We decided to let him stay in the Silverado Canyon Cabin. He loves his independence. He met a young woman named Sally Tharpe at work. Her father is a judge in San Diego. It’s all very vague. I don’t exactly know what Sally’s job is in the office, but she seems nice. They’ve dated a few times. I’m very excited for him. Randy’s never had a girlfriend before. Sally has a son from a previous marriage, a boy named Johnny. This is all new territory.
Randy never mentioned Sally to me. On the other hand, how could he have? We didn’t talk then, nor did we correspond. One time, he reached out by sending me a few of his poems: “Diane. Take a look and see what you think. Thanks a bunch. Love Randy.” There, among several pieces with titles like “China Paint” and “Passing Over,” I read a passage that stuck.
The yellow tongue of the calla lily draws a hummingbird to its bell-shaped mouth. The hummer hangs in the morning air before plunging its head into the velvet hollow. Her well is dry. In the twitch of a particle what “is” becomes what “was.”
Randy liked the quiet atmosphere of Silverado Canyon. He continued working for Dad, which was made bearable with Sally in the office. Their relationship grew. She kept Randy grounded. Soon enough, she moved in with him. Mom surmised he was genuinely in love, although, as was typical of Randy, he chose not to share his feelings.
I remember meeting Sally for the first time on a surprise trip I made home that Easter. In their free time, Randy and Robin had been working on a singing act. He wrote the music and played the guitar, while Robin performed the vocals. On Wednesday nights, one of the local clubs let prospective performers try out their songs on an audience. Mom and I drove up to sit at the bar with Sally and watch them sing. At ten-thirty, after a long set by one of the regulars, the owner introduced Randy and Robin. Randy was pretty drunk. As Robin began to sing, I was surprised by her sweet, lilting voice, and by how beautiful she looked onstage. Watching Randy was almost unbearable. He seemed so vulnerable, his feelings were so transparent, I thought he might cry. At the end of their brief set, he asked the manager if there was time to sing another song. Greeted with “Not now,” Randy walked out of the bar. Sally followed. I’d never seen Randy ask for anything.
Later, we found them outside the cabin, sharing a pint of beer. After the experience at the club, he never did ask for anything, with the exception of asking Sally for her hand in marriage.
CHAPTER 5
TILL DEATH DO US PART
Not long after I graduated from the Neighborhood Playhouse, I was cast in the Broadway musical Hair. Since I was not a hippie, or much of a singer, I was stunned. For eight months of 1968, I was a tribe member who sang in a trio, “Black Boys.” I remember lying under a huge scrim, night after night, watching a variety of tribe members stand up naked as Claude, played by James Rado, sang “Where Do I Go?” The music was great, and the play had a dizzy energy audiences loved. Still, I wondered where I was going, and what would come next.
What came next was more than I ever could have imagined. When I landed an audition for Woody Allen’s Play It Again, Sam, on Broadway, miracle of miracles, I got the female lead. Woody was brilliant, hilarious, and cute, too. In Lovers and Other Strangers, my first movie, I was cast in a small part, a young woman in the middle of a divorce. The year was 1970. At my audition for The Godfather, I thought it was a waste of time. I was not the kind of actress to play a fine upper-class young woman happy to marry and take a back seat to the likes of Michael Corleone. What were they thinking? I didn’t even want the part.
Life started flying by. I rarely went home to California, nor did I focus on what was going on there. I knew Randy had continued to share Mom and Dad’s little getaway cabin in Silverado Canyon with Sally. I didn’t bother to ask Randy how things were going. In May 1973, having finished my fourth movie, Woody Allen’s Sleeper, I had enough money to rent a nice brownstone apartment on the Upper West Side. I was firmly planted in New York City, and my acting life had taken a definite turn for the better. One day, I got a call from Mom. She had an announcement to make: Randy was getting married.
Two months later, on the morning of July 21, 1973, I was home with the family, getting ready for the wedding that would take place later that day behind the cabin in Silverado Canyon. Grammie Hall called, wanting to know if I thought it would be all right for her to wear the new pantsuit she’d bought at the Ivers department store. She was bringing George Olsen, our stand-in grandfather and Grammie’s longtime tenant/companion of thirty years, who did magic tricks with cards, and fed pigeons little pieces of old bread out of his hand. Before Grammie hung up, she wanted to tell me something important: “A good marriage can be a turning point, Diane, and a turning point is just what Randy needs. Before Sally, he was turning into a do-nothing bum!”