It was March 3rd, 1986. The tickets for A Tribute to Spencer Tracy were sold out. A one-night-only performance, it had all the glamour of a Broadway premiere, complete with police barricades which had been in place outside the Majestic Theatre on 46th Street since early morning. Fans were waiting behind the velvet ropes hoping to catch a glimpse of Katharine Hepburn, Robert Wagner, Sidney Poitier, and Frank Sinatra. But very few people knew about the chain of events which had led up to this evening, or the ones still unfolding behind the scenes even as the curtain went up. There was drama all around, and it wasn’t just on the stage that night.
DH It all began some four years earlier when Katharine Hepburn received a phone call from the president of the American Academy of Dramatic Arts asking her to appear at a benefit honoring Spencer Tracy. Tracy had graduated from the Academy in 1923, and had always credited his training there as the foundation for his success as an actor. Hepburn had previously been told that the AADA was planning to build a theater in his name, but that wasn’t even mentioned as the president described the event they had in mind now.
He said, “We’ve decided to set up an annual Spencer Tracy Scholarship, and we’ll launch it at a dinner in the ballroom of a hotel here in New York. Of course, we’d like you to sit on the dais and be the keynote speaker.”
She listened politely and then said, “It all sounds fascinating, but I don’t sit on daises. I’m not like a bowl of sugar where you spoon me out and then put the lid back on. Two friends of mine are producing a documentary about Spencer, which I’m going to narrate. Everything I have to say about him will be in it. So wait until we finish and then you can show it at your event.”
It was a clever ploy. If the Academy used the program, she wouldn’t have to appear at a benefit. That was her plan. It didn’t quite work out that way.
At the time of that phone call, we were, indeed, hoping to produce a profile of Tracy, which Hepburn would host. But she had no idea when—or if—we’d ever find the financing for it, a fact which she forgot to mention to the president of the AADA. So little did he know just how long the wait would be. It actually took over three years to raise the funds before we could even start production, and we wonder to this day what ruses she used each time she was asked, “When will the show be ready?”
There was one other significant hole in her plan. She never mentioned anything about it to us.
JK In the many conversations we had with her during those years, only twice did we ever discuss the Academy wanting to honor Tracy. In August, 1982, she told me: “The American Academy of Dramatic Arts is building a theater to be named after Spencer.” Then a month later, when I asked her if the theater was still in the works, she said, “Yes. They’re trying to raise the money for it, and I think the publicity for the show we’re going to do will be a great help to them.”
That was all we knew until four years later. By then, our program was completed and we’d delivered it to PBS for a March 10th, 1986, broadcast premiere. I was across the hall talking with David when I heard my phone ring.
“Hello, Joan. It’s Kate.”
Even though I always enjoyed talking with her, I still felt a twinge of nervousness whenever she called me.
I said, “Hi. How are you today?”
“Fine,” she said. “But I must be getting feeble-minded because I can’t remember if I ever told you that the American Academy of Dramatic Arts is going to honor Spencer.”
“Yes, you did,” I said. “But you haven’t mentioned it for a long time. Have they started building the theater yet?”
“The theater? What theater?” Then before I could respond, she continued. “Oh that’s right. They were talking about a Spencer Tracy Theater, weren’t they? But they must have given up on that idea a long time ago because I haven’t heard a word about it in years. Now they’re doing a benefit at a Broadway theater and I told them they could show your documentary. You’ll be getting a call from the president of the Academy any minute.”
This was straight out of left field. I felt as if I’d been hit in the stomach by a fast ball. What on earth was she talking about? My mind began to race, but somehow it went blank at the same time. I thought, “Okay, Joan. Take it easy and try not to sound panic-stricken.” But it didn’t take long to realize that what she thought would be simple would, in fact, be very complicated.
“When is their event?” I asked. “And I need to check with the legal department to find out whether we have the rights for the program to be shown in a theater.”
She said, “If you don’t have those rights, get them. I’ve already promised the Academy.”
I wanted to say, “What do you mean you already promised? When did all this happen?” But I already knew that engaging in a confrontation with Katharine Hepburn would not be a good idea.
However, she must have sensed how taken aback I was because, instead of waiting for me to say something, she continued. “It’s just plain idiotic that I haven’t told you about this before, but I can hear it in your voice that it’s all news to you. So here’s the story.” And that’s when I learned that she didn’t sit on daises, give keynote speeches, wasn’t a sugar bowl, and had decided our show should be the centerpiece of the AADA’s benefit.
And as I listened, it began to dawn on me what a huge compliment this was. Obviously, she’d never doubted for a moment that the program eventually would get made, or that it would turn out to be worthy of representing her at a tribute to Tracy. And while her primary goal in all this was her own self-preservation, it also reflected the trust she’d placed in us years before.
My indignation vanished completely, and I finally said, “It would really be exciting to see the show on a big screen with a live audience.”
“I think so too. It’ll be thrilling—and very good for your careers,” she said. “And it’ll help them do Spencer proud.”
Indeed, the president of the Academy called a few minutes later, his voice full of enthusiasm. I decided not to beat around the bush. “I have to be honest with you. None of us knew anything about this until Miss Hepburn called five minutes ago. It’s a wonderful idea, but we may not have the rights for this sort of a screening. I need to get a reading from our lawyers.” There was a dead silence on the other end and then, in an urgent tone, he said, “But she promised, and our benefit committee has already lined up the Majestic Theatre on 46th Street and sent a notice to all our members. We’ve waited almost four years for your show. Please work it out.”
DH After months of twelve to fourteen-hour days, Joan and I were looking forward to a vacation. This should have been a period of winding down to the sound of gentle ocean breezes. But the call from Katharine Hepburn and then from the president of the Academy threw us right back into a maelstrom of activity.
There was a flurry of phone calls to lawyers at WNET, PBS, and MGM (which was supplying most of the films clips in the program), to the publicists at all three companies, and of course, to our two executive producers, George Page at WNET and George Paris at MGM. The questions were obvious: Would the AADA’s use of the program cause a violation of any of the contracts which excluded theatrical exhibition of the show? Would the press coverage for this event steal the thunder from the publicity campaign for the program and therefore diminish its impact as a television special?
JK While executives were conferring, I was hearing almost daily from various people at the AADA, and from Katharine Hepburn. “What’s the problem? Why is this such a big deal?” Their frustration was building. No, make that anxiety. I understood it because I felt it too. But all I could say was, “It isn’t up to us. Please be patient. The powers-that-be are on the case and we should have an answer very soon.”
Now I was the one having to come up with ruses to avoid an uprising.
Hepburn said, “Maybe I should call all these people myself. I can be pretty persuasive and quite adorable.”
“Yes, we know how persuasive and adorable you are.” I said. “Thank you for the offer, but let’s keep it up our sleeve in case we need a last round of ammunition. Right now, everyone realizes how important this is and I think it’s better to let it play out on its own.”
She laughed and said, “Okay. But make sure I jump in if it looks as though the ship is sinking.”
I knew the impact of hearing directly from Katharine Hepburn. And she knew it too. One call from her usually did the trick. But I was reluctant to turn her loose on people who’d never talked to her before, knowing that she can be both charming and intimidating. I also wanted to protect her from the risk of failing. She’d likely insist that she’d made a promise and was honor-bound to keep it, an argument which might just fall like a lead balloon on some executive trying to prove how unimpressed he was by saying, “With all due respect, Miss Hepburn, you never should have done that without clearing it first with us.” My goal was to avoid any more tension than there already was.
DH Finally, there was a decision. The program could be used as part of the benefit only if it took place before the television premiere. It would then fall under the category of “advance publicity” for which we, indeed, did have the rights. And the press coverage it received in connection with the event would obviously enhance the publicity for the broadcast.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, and the date was set for Monday, March 3rd, 1986, exactly one week prior to the airdate of the program.
The Academy hired an experienced events producer, Inez Weinstein, who had chosen a very difficult career. Benefits involve influential people—often celebrities—volunteering their time and participation. The organization which is presenting the benefit has its own cast of characters, perhaps not well-known personalities, but with egos just the same. The producer has to treat all of them with the utmost finesse, inspiring confidence and respect, while getting the job done on time and on budget. It’s a tough balance. And even though Inez was a seasoned professional, strong-willed and thick-skinned, this event turned into a wild ride not unlike a roller coaster on the brink of falling off its rails.
Right from the start, she told Katharine Hepburn that the gala needed top-flight, big name personalities to appear on stage telling stories of their professional and personal relationships with Tracy. It also needed his daughter, Susie, to accept the Spencer Tracy Award as the Academy launched the scholarship in his name. And it needed Hepburn live on stage to introduce the documentary.
Needless to say, Kate protested, but Inez stood firm. Apparently there were heated discussions. But Katharine Hepburn was, above all, a pragmatist. And she knew, despite her plan to avoid it, that she had to be there in person. So she reluctantly agreed and then became the talent coordinator. She called Robert Wagner to host the evening, and asked Frank Sinatra, Sidney Poitier, and Stanley Kramer to take part. All of them immediately accepted her invitation. They hadn’t received a fee for appearing in the documentary and wouldn’t be paid to participate in this event either. Susie Tracy agreed to travel to New York even though she was very nervous about speaking in front of a live audience. While she and Hepburn had become good friends in the years since Tracy’s death in 1967, this would mark the first time they’d be seen in public together.
The writing team was just as distinguished: Betty Comden and Adolph Green, who interviewed each of the participants so that the script would be based on their own words. Susie Tracy was the only one who declined to have her comments scripted. She explained that, not being an actress, it would be easier for her to speak extemporaneously.
In the meantime, I was investigating what kind of equipment could project a television program on a big screen. No one at the AADA had any technical experience, and their original idea was to place television monitors in the aisles of the theater, which I felt would give the Majestic the aura of a school auditorium. Fortunately, I was able to convince them that seeing the show on a large movie screen would add to the impact of the entire evening. They were on a tight budget, but they found the funds for the projector.
JK Inez had every reason to believe that she’d covered all her bases. There was to be a 6 pm champagne buffet at the Marriott Marquis Hotel just a few blocks away from the theater. The script had been completed and sent to all those involved, and the tickets had been distributed.
But the closer it got to March 3rd, the more nervous Katharine Hepburn became. The woman who had insisted she wasn’t “a bowl of sugar” was about to be spooned out onto the stage of the Majestic Theatre on Broadway. She had appeared live many times throughout her career, but always as a character in a play. This would be much different. Here she would have to play herself, standing at a microphone and facing the audience.
Her housekeeper, Norah, told us the tension in the house was building by the day. And it was during that period that Inez received a phone call from Hepburn.
“I have a great idea,” she said. “Let Susie Tracy introduce the documentary.”
“No. It has to be you,” said Inez.
Kate said, “Just think about it,” and hung up.
The next day, she called Inez again.
“Did you give my suggestion any thought?”
“No,” said Inez, firmly.
“You’re a very determined woman, aren’t you?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Miss Hepburn,” said Inez.
We thanked our lucky stars that we weren’t producing this benefit. Inez wasn’t having it easy, and she didn’t know it was about to get worse.
The following Monday, another call from Katharine Hepburn.
“Where are you putting my friend, Irene Selznick?” she asked.
“I’ve given her sixth row center seats, Miss Hepburn.”
“No, no. She has to sit in the back row. She gets sick.”
“What do you mean, ‘she gets sick?’ Do I need to have oxygen standing by for her? Does she throw up? What do you mean?”
“No, no, nothing like that. But she gets sick. Move her to the back row.”
“Miss Hepburn, she already has her tickets. I don’t know if I can get them back and move her.”
Inez knew that making any switch meant re-juggling her jigsaw-puzzle of an audience seating plan, which had been carefully put together to accommodate the guests of the participants, the Board of the Academy, MGM and PBS brass, as well as those who paid full benefit prices for their tickets.
Kate insisted: “Just call Irene and tell her you’re moving her.”
Inez called Irene Selznick, who said, “No. I want to keep my sixth row seats. I don’t want to sit in the back row.”
(A brief note here about Mrs. Selznick: As the daughter of Louis B. Mayer and ex-wife of producer, David O. Selznick, she was used to the perks that come to the privileged. She was also an outspoken personality with her own set of eccentricities. And she and Hepburn had been friends for many years.)
Inez Weinstein found herself in a no-win situation with Irene Selznick. And before it was resolved, she received another call from Hepburn.
“Where are you putting my housekeeper, Norah? And my niece, Kathy Houghton?” she asked, and without stopping for the answers, went on to list several others on her personal guest list.
“They’re all in the center section in the sixth, seventh and eighth rows.”
“No, no,” said Hepburn. “They all have to sit in the back. They get sick too.”
Now Inez herself felt sick. Her seating plan was about to be thrown into complete disarray. Not only did all these people already have their tickets, but so did those who were about to be displaced from their seats in the back few rows of the theater. It added up to about twenty pairs of tickets—forty people—from all over the country.
She said, “Miss Hepburn, all the tickets were sent out weeks ago and I haven’t received any complaints.”
“Call them all. You have to move them.”
At that point, Inez Weinstein called me. When I heard what was going on I said, “Don’t you find it peculiar that suddenly everyone in Hepburn’s private circle gets sick? Unless they’re all afflicted with some epidemic we haven’t heard about.”
“I know. But what can I do?” she said. “This is a mess. Am I going to need an ambulance standing by outside the Majestic?”
“Something’s very odd here,” I said. “Why don’t I call her and try to find out what this is all about?”
Kate answered the phone in her typical way. “Yes? What?”
“Well, Miss Hepburn, Inez Weinstein is about to have a heart attack.”
“Why? What’s the matter with her?”
“Apparently you’ve told her all your guests get sick and have to sit in the back rows. It’s not easy to redo her entire seating plan, let alone retrieve and then redistribute all the tickets from everyone involved. Also, she now thinks she’s going to need medical equipment and personnel on hand.”
She was silent for a few seconds, and then said, “I lied. None of them gets sick. I just realized that I’ll be able to see them if they’re that close to the stage. They’ll be in my eye-line, and I don’t want to see anyone I know. Better to see strangers than friends and family.”
I said, “Do you want me to call Inez?”
“No, no. I’m the one who lied. I have to own up.”
True to her word, she confessed to Inez. But she still insisted that everyone she knew had to be moved to the back of the theater, and she agreed to call all of them herself. This still left Inez with the task of getting back the tickets and rearranging who was to sit where. By the time she’d finished that chore she thought the worst was over. Now the evening itself would be smooth-sailing.
DH It should have been. By Sunday, March 2nd, Susie Tracy, Robert Wagner, Sidney Poitier, Stanley Kramer, and Frank Sinatra had arrived in New York with the scripts sent to them by Comden and Green. They were all in good spirits and seemingly well-prepared.
On Monday, the day of the event, I visited the theater during the afternoon to make sure that the projector was in place and working properly. Then I went home to change clothes.
Joan and I and our guests met at the Marriott Marquis Hotel for the champagne buffet and then made our way to the Majestic.
For us, this was an evening in which to revel. We’d never before seen one of our documentaries on a movie screen. And certainly never had one premiere on Broadway. We were invited members of the audience, so we could just relax and enjoy the show. Sitting a few rows behind us were Joan’s former employer, Dick Cavett and his wife, Carrie Nye, and nearby were Leonard Bernstein, Christopher Reeve, and Phyllis Newman, who was married to Adolph Green, Claire Trevor, and many other “bold face names.”
Sidney Poitier, Robert Wagner, and Stanley Kramer backstage at the Majestic Theatre.
New York, 1986. Authors’ collection.
Betty Comden and Leonard Bernstein at the Majestic Theatre for A Tribute to Spencer Tracy.
New York, 1986. Authors’ collection.
We had no idea what was going on backstage.
JK All the participants were due at the theater no later than 7:45 pm, the customary half-hour before curtain. Katharine Hepburn and Susie Tracy had arrived much earlier. Kate paced back and forth from one side of the stage to the other. Susie stood quietly by herself, trying to stay calm. Robert Wagner, Sidney Poitier, and Stanley Kramer, wearing tuxedos despite the “business attire” dress code for the audience, all arrived on time. No Frank Sinatra.
7:55 pm: Still no sign of Sinatra.
8:00 pm: No Sinatra and no way to find out where he was. Remember, this was before cell phones. Since it was getting ominously close to the curtain going up, Inez Weinstein, Betty Comden and Adolph Green were huddling together, trying to delete Sinatra’s portion of the script and re-write the rest accordingly.
8:05 pm: The stage door opened and in walked three bodyguards with a drunken Frank Sinatra. He was dressed in his tux, but it was instantly clear to Inez that he was in no shape to go on stage.
She went into immediate action. Grabbing him by the arm, she said, “You’re coming with me. If Katharine Hepburn sees you in this state, you and I are both going to be in serious trouble. Fortunately, she’s on the opposite side of the stage right now.”
The three bodyguards began closing in, but Inez brushed them off. She said in a no-nonsense tone of voice, “I’m not going to hurt him. I’m just going to sober him up as fast as I can. Come on, Frank. Remember me? We met last month at that benefit in LA. Let’s go.” Then she asked an assistant to bring her a pot of coffee immediately. She took Sinatra into a nearby bathroom and locked the door behind them, loosened his bow tie, took out the studs from his shirt, and removed his cummerbund. Then she force-fed him glass after glass of water, then coffee, and then more water. Eventually it started taking effect.
He looked at her as if to say, “Well, you don’t expect me to use the toilet in front of you, do you?” But she didn’t budge.
“Go ahead,” she said. “I’m married. I’ve seen a man use the bathroom before. I’m not leaving. And keep drinking.”
She soon heard applause. Obviously, the curtain had gone up. First the chairman and then the president of the Academy welcomed everyone, and then turned the proceedings over to the host, Robert Wagner. By now, Katharine Hepburn had made her way to the wings near the bathroom.
“Where’s Inez?” she said to Susie Tracy. Inez had become a sort of security blanket for both of them at this point. Neither knew that she was three feet away in the bathroom with Frank Sinatra.
DH Robert Wagner made some heartfelt remarks about Spencer Tracy and then introduced producer/director, Stanley Kramer.
Stanley spoke eloquently and movingly. For Inez, who was making slow but steady progress with Sinatra, the longer the speeches the better. But through the door, she could hear Hepburn’s voice, “Where is Inez?”
Stanley Kramer introduced Sidney Poitier. Self-effacing and funny, he too told stories that took time to unfold.
When Inez heard Poitier nearing the end of his scripted remarks, she knew Robert Wagner would soon be introducing Frank Sinatra. So she splashed cold water on his face, helped him put the studs back in his shirt, fix his tie and cummerbund, and led him out to the wings.
Hepburn saw him and said, “Hello Frank,” and he greeted her warmly. She then turned to Inez. “Where were you? I’ve been looking for you.”
“I’ve been taking care of some important last-minute details. Everything is fine.”
On stage, Robert Wagner was saying, “Now, it’s my pleasure to introduce Frank Sinatra.”
Sinatra entered from stage left, walking with assurance, and was greeted with thunderous applause. He leaned on the lectern throughout his comments, which we realized were almost entirely ad-libbed. He was completely ignoring the script written by Comden and Green, but his stories were very funny and personal, and he delivered them in the easygoing manner for which he was famous. None of us in the audience had any idea that he’d been slurring his words just forty minutes earlier. And we didn’t question his leaning on the lectern. It just added to his casual demeanor.
Frank Sinatra on stage at the Majestic Theatre.
New York, 1986. Authors’ collection.
Katharine Hepburn by now was standing center stage behind a black curtain. She was the only one who would not enter from the wings.
Frank Sinatra’s scripted introduction of her was meant to be something like, “And now, ladies and gentleman, it gives me great pleasure to introduce the woman with the greatest cheekbones since Mount Rushmore: Miss Katharine Hepburn.” Instead, he ad-libbed, “And now, the delicious Katharine Hepburn.”
When Kate didn’t hear her scripted cue, she turned to Inez Weinstein and said, “What happened to Mount Rushmore?”
Inez saw the curtain start to rise and said, “Never mind. The curtain is up. Just go!”
JK The theater erupted into a standing ovation of applause and shouts of “Bravo” as Katharine Hepburn walked forward and had her hand kissed gallantly by Frank Sinatra, who then walked off the stage. She approached the lectern, bowing slightly to acknowledge the cheers. She wore a long, black silk taffeta jacket by Rodier, from the 1940s, a black turtleneck, white silk scarf, and black pants, which were long enough to almost completely camouflage her black sneakers. (The previous year, she’d run her car into a telephone pole, causing her to almost lose her foot; the only shoes she could wear from then on were sneakers.) Her hair was mostly gray now, but still revealed a hint of the redhead she’d been in her youth. It was pulled up, in her usual way, with strands deliberately loosened and casual. No jewelry. She looked sensational and, out on that stage, in the center spotlight drinking in the audience’s palpable rush of emotion towards her, she seemed at home.
Katharine Hepburn and Frank Sinatra during A Tribute to Spencer Tracy.
New York, 1986. Authors’ collection.
She spoke for about twenty minutes. Everyone would have been happy if she’d gone on much longer, but with her impeccable sense of timing, she felt the moment had come for her to introduce Susie Tracy.
Susie was in the wings waiting for her scripted introduction. Hepburn was to say, “And now, I’m going to introduce you to Spencer Tracy’s only daughter. I’ll use a line that he used about me in Pat and Mike: ‘Not much meat on her, but what’s there is cherce.’” Instead, she put her hand above her eyes as one does when looking into the distance, turned to her left towards the wings, and said to the audience, “Oh, excuse me; I think I see Spencer’s daughter over there.” And started walking across the stage. Susie said to Inez, “But that’s not my cue!” By then, Kate had reached the wings, extended her arm for Susie’s and led her onto the stage. Seeing the tape of that evening these many years later, one can still see the look of confusion on Susie’s face as she walks with Hepburn to the lectern.
Backstage, Betty Comden, and Adolph Green were more than a little surprised. First, Frank Sinatra hadn’t stuck to their script. And now Katharine Hepburn. Inez was just happy everyone had made it onto the stage.
Robert Wagner presented Susie with an enormous crystal sculpture to honor her father posthumously. She had it in her hands for a moment before Hepburn said, “It’s too heavy. I’ll hold it,” and took it into her own hands. Now the look on Susie’s face was one of consternation. If Kate dropped that crystal, it would have shattered into a thousand shards.
Susie spoke beautifully, from the heart. Her instincts about not wanting to be scripted were correct. Her remarks were well-thought-out, and felt very natural. Then she took the crystal from Hepburn and walked off stage with Robert Wagner.
Kate returned to the lectern and introduced the documentary by saying, “Thanks to the miracle of film and tape, Spencer’s work will live on.” She thanked us, MGM, WNET, PBS, Inez Weinstein, and the Academy for working so hard to make this evening possible.
The curtain rose again, and our program was projected on the big screen. When it ended, the audience cheered. It was “thrilling,” as Hepburn had predicted.
All the participants came back onstage again with Katharine Hepburn in the center next to Susie Tracy. They were smiling as they took their bows.
Backstage, the biggest smile was on the face of Inez Weinstein.
DH Later that evening, Hepburn gave a small party at her townhouse on East 49th Street. There were drinks and hors d’oevres served by her housekeeper, Norah. Katharine Hepburn was radiant—and relieved. Robert Wagner and Jill St. John were there, as were Sidney Poitier, Stanley Kramer, Susie Tracy and her friend, Susan Moon. Frank Sinatra did not come. We and our guests, our associate producer, Cynthia Mitchell and her fiancé, executives from MGM, WNET, and the Academy of Dramatic Arts all were there to celebrate. And, of course, Inez Weinstein, who looked happy but tired. After we expressed our thanks and congratulated her on the success of the evening, she said quietly, “Let’s go into the next room. I have something to tell you.” And that’s when we heard what had gone on behind the scenes at the Majestic Theatre.
Several of Hepburn’s relatives and friends were also at the party and, when it was time to leave, we went up her to say, “Good night.” She was talking with television veteran, Fred Friendly, and introduced us to him: “These are the two that did the film. Great, wasn’t it?”
We shook hands with him and then said to her, “Thank you for a wonderful evening, and congratulations, Miss Hepburn.”
She smiled and laughingly said to Fred Friendly, “You see, they still call me ‘Miss Hepburn’ because they’re such good friends of mine.” We knew it was her way of telling us the time had come for us to call her “Kate.”
I gave her a kiss on the cheek and said, “Good night, Kate.”
JK Dick Cavett called me the next morning. “What a splendid evening,” he said. “And I’m so proud of you; I consider you my protégée.”
I called Hepburn to tell her how sensational she was and how beautiful she looked. “It was a triumph.”
“Yes,” she said. “The audience was sweet. And Bobby Wagner, Stanley Kramer, and Susie were very good. But the stories that Frank Sinatra and Sidney Poitier told made it clear that Spencer and I had lived together.”
“Nobody cared,” I replied. “Everyone just was happy to be there and see you.”
“Well, I do think we did Spencer proud,” she said. “And the Academy was goddamn lucky to have your show. When I first met those people, they didn’t have a clue how to put on an event.”
“We were lucky too,” I said. “It was amazing to see the program on a big screen. And by the way, the Academy taped the entire evening, but when I called them earlier to ask for a cassette of it, I was told they wouldn’t give it to us—that it was just for their archives.”
“Idiotic,” said Kate. “Don’t worry. I’m going to call them right now and tell them to send copies immediately. I need about five. How many do you want?”
“Two—one for David and one for me.”
“Fine,” she said.
Our cassettes arrived by messenger that same afternoon.
DH The following Monday was the PBS broadcast premiere of The Spencer Tracy Legacy: A Tribute by Katharine Hepburn. By the time Joan arrived at the office, there was a note waiting for her: “Robert Wagner called at 9:45 am. Please call him back.” It meant that he’d tried to reach us at 6:45 am his time in California.
JK He answered the phone after two rings. I said, “Good morning. David and I received your message. Sorry we weren’t here when you called.”
“I just wanted to wish you good luck for tonight. I’m going to host the evening here at KCET (the LA public television station).”
I said, “You know, you’re really something. First, you agree to participate in the program for no money. Then you come to New York to appear at the Majestic. Now you’re going to introduce the show tonight on television. And I’ll bet you’ll be doing all the pledge breaks too.”
“Yes, I am,” he said. “Because I really loved Spence. I don’t think you understand how important he was in my life. He treated me like a son, and I considered him my second father.”
I then thanked him again and said I was sure he’d be responsible for raising a lot of money for public television.
“No,” he said. “Not me. Your show will do that.”
DH Joan had just hung up with Robert Wagner when Hepburn called, thanking us for the roses we’d sent to celebrate the premiere. A few days later, we also received a formal, hand-written note of appreciation from her. In it, she said, “I should be the one sending you flowers. You did a wonderful job. Congratulations and love. Kate.”
JK and DH She later told us that, after the show aired, she received over fifteen hundred letters, and more were arriving every day. “I reply to most of them,” she said. “Especially if an eighty-year-old woman tells me I’ve somehow made a difference in her life. I guess I’ve become a saint. But I’ve learned to recognize the ones that just want my signature so they can turn around and sell it. I toss those letters in the garbage.”
JK Then, in early June of that year, she invited us for tea in her garden. She was wearing a big surgical boot—not on the foot she’d almost lost, but on the other one.
“What happened to you?” I asked.
“I just wanted a matching pair,” she said with a laugh.
“But you don’t seem to be limping.”
“I don’t believe in limping. I just can’t walk. Falling apart.”
Norah served tea, ice cream and her scrumptious lace cookies. Hepburn picked up one of them and crumbled it over each of our bowls filled with ice cream. “That’s the best way to eat them,” she said.
Then she said, “I would have asked you to come earlier for lunch, but I just got out of the hospital an hour ago. The doctor didn’t want to release me, but I insisted because it’s June 10th, and I can’t be in a hospital on the anniversary of Spencer’s death.”
Somehow, until that moment, we hadn’t realized the significance of the date, and were deeply touched that she wanted to share that afternoon with us.
JK and DH In the years that followed, we would begin notes with, “Dear Kate,” and send gifts with enclosed cards that said, “For Kate.” But face to face, we still addressed her as “Miss Hepburn.” It just felt right to continue giving her that extra token of respect.
David Heeley, Katharine Hepburn, and Joan Kramer.
New York, 1986. Photograph by Len Tavares.
Invitation to Emmy Awards.
1986. Authors’ collection.
