The Boys : A Memoir of Hollywood and Family(49)

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The best part of my New York trip with Mom was the cheapest. She took me to the Horn & Hardart automat in Midtown, which was already a relic of bygone days, a reminder of the times when she and Dad, at their most penurious, could still get a cup of coffee and a slice of pie for a nickel. By the time of our visit, the going rate had risen to fifteen cents. I placed some coins in a slot and pulled out a cheese sandwich that was totally underwhelming—cold and dry, with a limp leaf of lettuce and colorless slice of tomato on top.

But that wasn’t the point. The aura of the place, with its still-packed tables and art deco design, sucked me in, and I understood the pleasure that Mom took in being there. While we were eating, we heard a voice say, “Jean? Jean Speegle?”

This was unusual. I was by this point used to hearing people call out “Hey, Opie!” in public places, but this was the first time that I ever heard someone call out Mom’s name—her maiden name. We turned our heads. The words were coming from a diminutive man with dark, slicked-back hair and flashy rings on his fingers, a real Damon Runyon character, complete with a fat cigar.

“Felix!” Mom cried, beside herself with excitement. The man was one of the little people with whom she and Dad had acted in the children’s-theater troupe a lifetime ago. She introduced him to me: “Ronny, this is Felix. He was one of the groomsmen at our wedding! And he played Grumpy in our show!”

To Felix, she exclaimed, “I can’t wait to tell Rance I saw you!”

Felix shook my hand firmly and looked palpably relieved to hear the name “Rance.” It hit me later that he might not have been optimistic about the long-term chances of the young couple whose wedding he witnessed.

“Where are you two living these days?” he asked Mom.

“California. Rance is getting work out there.”

“That’s great,” he said. “Yeah, I think about doing that, too. But I keep putting off the move because I do the Christmas show at Radio City every year. What brings you back?”

“We’re here on a publicity trip.”

As I nibbled on my cheese sandwich, Felix cocked his head sideways, studying me with a squint. “Is this . . . is this Opie?” he said.

Mom nodded, beaming.

“Well, that’s terrific. You kids turned out just great.”

It was bizarre to hear someone describe my parents as kids. But as Felix and Mom gossiped and reminisced, I felt like I was traveling back in time. Here was Mom as she was before motherhood: playful, brassy, funny, and girlish, the feisty runaway bride.

When we finished lunch and began putting on our coats, Felix positioned himself next to me so that we stood side by side. At four foot nine, I was just a tad taller than him. “I could be a standin for you!” he said, forever hustling, as actors will.

After Felix and Mom said their goodbyes, she was on a high: her beloved New York City had delivered as it always did. It was at that moment, in fact, that she told me, for the first time, the bizarre, storybook circumstances in which she and Dad had tied the knot—the hurried ceremony in the Kentucky hotel lobby, the repurposed Cinderella dress, the joyful reception with their theater-troupe comrades.





11


One Role, Three Bears


CLINT


When the family reunited in Florida, it was always a blast. Miami had tons of recreational activities and I had a brother to play with again. Ron even appeared in a couple of episodes of the show, though it was hard for him to work outdoors in Florida. I tan easily, but I am not a pale redhead. The South Florida sun burned poor Ron to a crisp. I don’t know how Andy Griffith and Sheldon Leonard felt when he returned to work pink and peeling.

We also hung out as a family with Dennis Weaver’s family. It was an easy fit. Dennis had his college ties to Mom and Dad, and Dennis’s wife, Gerry, was a lovely, down-to-earth woman. On top of that, they had sons our age. The Howards and the Weavers aligned perfectly except in one way: they were vegetarians.

Dennis was the original tree-hugger and health-food nut. The man had eight-pack abs until he died in his eighties, God bless him. When the Weavers invited us to a barbecue, Dad solemnly spoke with Ron and me beforehand. “Now, boys,” he said, “there are going to be hamburgers and hot dogs, but they won’t be normal hamburgers and hot dogs. They’ll be made of soy.”

Plant-based food products in the 1960s were not what they are today. So I struggled to choke down my soy dog. Where the hell was my PB&J when I needed it?





RON


As I mentioned, Dad and Clint’s long stays in Florida were a challenge to Mom. But Gentle Ben also brought her joy—joy in seeing her second son succeed like her first, and joy simply in the time that she got to spend with her family in the Sunshine State. The moment The Andy Griffith Show went on hiatus, Mom and I dashed off to Miami.

The very first time we went, we were bowled over by Dad and Clint’s sweet setup: a large, sprawling rental house right on the Intracoastal Waterway. If we’d had a boat, we could have docked it in our backyard.

Unfortunately, I had a bout of food poisoning on our first night there. It unfolded the usual way: suddenly, a few hours after a nice dinner. I rose slowly from my bed and crawled my way through the unfamiliar house to the bathroom, where I puked. Then I knocked on the door of Mom and Dad’s bedroom. “Mom, Dad,” I said, “I’m really sick.”