Looking back at the 1940s in Beverly Hills, it seems extraordinary now. Everyone seemed to know movie stars; they were not such a big deal. June Haver was in my class, and I helped her put on make-up in our high school bathroom the day she landed a contract with Fox Studios.
André Previn went to my high school and played piano at my graduation. He later became a well-known jazz pianist and the principal conductor of the London Symphony Orchestra. The Tallchief sisters danced at my graduation. Both later became prima ballerinas, and Maria married world-renowned ballet choreographer George Balanchine.
I often went to Hedy Lamarr’s house to watch movies; she lived just a few blocks from us. I remember the white rug we sat on — she served only white wine to avoid red spots. Sundays, I played volleyball at Betsy and Gene Kelly’s house, and we usually ended with a game of charades. I wonder why no one plays this anymore. It was a lot of fun.
The big events in Los Angeles were the movie openings at the Grauman’s Chinese and Pantages theatres. We would read about them and were even invited occasionally if we knew the star of the film. I have a photo of Errol Flynn and me. And actor Walter Pidgeon made a pass at me in our garden when I was 17, but my father interrupted him.
There were few live theaters then. I remember my favorite, the Turnabout Theatre. Elsa Lanchester performed there. What was special about it is that the first half of the performance was a puppet show, then at intermission, all the seats turned around to face the stage review so that those in the front row found themselves in the last. As I was one of many regulars, I had my own coffee cup there with my name.
We had season tickets to the Hollywood Bowl and had a box. My mother would bring dinner, as everyone else did. A few months ago, I was invited by friends to go to their box. Now, there is a catering service, and we ordered from a menu.
Gregory Ratoff, the movie director and actor, was also a good friend of the family and arranged for me to have a screen test at Fox Studios. It was successful, and I was offered a seven-year contract with Fox. The contract included dance, voice, and acting lessons and obligatory outings with male movie stars to feed the gossip columns. My parents said no, and instead, I went off to college. This is how I did not become a famous star.
In 1944, I graduated from high school, and, in 1945, the war was over. My parents had met a French professor at some party who told them about Scripps, a women’s college. That short conversation was the deciding factor. The professor vouched for my family, and I was accepted at Scripps. I was one of three foreign girls there. I majored in philosophy and psychology. I graduated in three years, going to summer school at UCLA and at Berkeley, where I stayed at the International House. Whenever tour buses came by, we all laid on the ground and pretended to eat grass.
It was not the first time I was away from home. I had gone to summer camps at Big Bear Lake and Lake Arrowhead and worked as a junior counselor. I loved camp and especially being in charge of little children. Later in life, I worked as a psychiatric social worker in a child guidance clinic.
My brother was becoming overly Americanized, according to my parents. He had rowdy friends coming over and was caught by the police sitting with a bunch of boys on a tree branch in front of a girl’s window to watch her undress. He was 14 and sent to a boarding school.
In January of 1948, when I was 21, we took a trip to France to find that all we have ever owned was gone. The apartment we had lived in had other tenants. No one knew where all our furniture, paintings, and personal belongings had disappeared to, and there was no one to ask. The visit was bittersweet — I loved Paris and the young people I met. French youths were very different from my American friends; they were politically engaged and were discussing Sartre and existentialism. They were also freer with their morality, which worried my parents.
Yet my parents let me travel alone from Calais to Dover by ferry. I had wanted to see the white cliffs of Dover, which turned out to be gray. I also wanted to see a Shakespearean play at Stratford-upon-Avon. The play ended too late to return to London, so I rode a milk train, which took all night. This adventure was one of the highlights of my youth. I wanted to stay in Paris, but my parents insisted that I come back with them to the States.
My story will continue sporadically… Copyright © 2015. Natasha Josefowitz. All rights reserved. — Natasha Josefowitz taught the first course in the U.S. on women in management and is the author of 20 books. She lives at the White Sands in La Jolla.