There are three questions we are always asked:
1. What was it like growing up on The Waltons?
2. Were you all as close as you seemed on the show?
3. How did you grow up to be so normal?
The short answers are:
1. Terrific and hard.
2. Yes.
3. Who knows?
Seriously, I’ve also wondered how we got through it all. I’ve always thought of writing a book about what it was like to grow up on the show, and joked it should be titled I Haven’t Robbed a Convenience Store…Yet!
My friend Paul Petersen, who grew up playing Jeff Stone on The Donna Reed Show, said to be honest and tell it all. “The life of Hollywood kid actors was hard then, is hard now—and the more people know about it, the better.”
Oh, but to tell the truth, the hard truth. Would anyone really want to know? Or, are they more comfortable believing the show and its cast of characters were in real life as they were on TV? If that’s true for you, put this book down. The show does deserve its beautiful memories.
This book is about the kooky, wonderful, different, loving, harsh, confusing, fascinating, otherworldly way I grew up as Erin Walton, and how I came out the other side not having robbed a convenience store. Despite my lack of criminal activity, I did not escape totally unscathed, either.
The decision to write didn’t come easily for several reasons. When people ask me why we haven’t written a book about The Waltons, I joke that if anyone did and told the whole truth, the rest of us would get together and kill them. So, if I disappear soon after this book is published, consider The Waltons family members key suspects.
Seriously, I hesitated to write in deference to my beloved cast mates. We have always regarded each other as family. There’s a huge amount of respect for each other’s privacy. We are dear friends this many years later; we love each other, and no one will ever break our bond. You don’t grow up with ten extra family members over the course of nine seasons and not have a lot of life together. They are also why I believe we grew up, well, fairly “normal.” But I’m ahead of myself.
I’ve learned the Universe has a way of confirming our paths to us, and one day the “book” messages pushed me to complete this book. I was at work on The New Adventures of Old Christine, where I had a recurring role as Mrs. Wilhoite. I found myself in a conversation with Blair Underwood. (Yes, of all people! And yes, he is the nicest ever. And yes, the most handsome!) I was telling Blair, who played Mr. Harris, my funny stories of Walton-hood and being a mom, and now a “stepmonster,” and he said, “Mary, you have to write these experiences and tips in a book.”
Then, later on the set, Tricia O’Kelley (Marly) and Alex Kapp-Horner (Lindsay) were asking me about The Waltons and my years growing up in the business. They shared how much they loved the show and thought my stories were great.
“You should write a book! Look at us! Seriously, our mouths are hanging open wanting to hear more,” Alex said.
Tricia agreed and said, “You have to write this.”
Julia Louis-Dreyfus (who, yes, is the funniest, nicest, most talented, and most gracious woman) joined us and shared some of her own fond memories of The Waltons, and talked about how she and her sister, Lauren Bowles, used to “play Waltons” when they were kids.
The timing of these conversations, along with my desire to share my story and offer encouragement to others, confirmed I should write.
So, back I go, to my foundation, my friends, my Walton family. Back to her, the girl I tried to crawl out from under for years. The girl I had sealed away in a Tupperware container somewhere. Yeah, her. What a mixed bag for me, being Erin.
Establishing myself as Mary McDonough, separate from Erin Walton, had become important to me, as it is for any actor or performer, whether they are associated with a particular character or just a public persona. I’ve been taught and had no trouble appreciating fans; yet I yearn for a sense of self, to be loved and understood for who I am, not the image of any character I’ve portrayed.
Rosemary Clooney, the beautiful singer and actress, was like a mentor-mother to me. She taught me about separating what’s important from what can be let go. I met Rosemary in 1982 after meeting her sons and nephew in Kentucky while shooting a movie. More about that later.
She embraced me and treated me like a daughter when I dated her son. I, like many, called her “Mama.” She had knowledge about the business that my mother didn’t. Rosemary knew better than most celebrities how to separate her private life from her public persona, without disappointing either one. I remember one year we were in a Christmas tree lot and the owner asked her to sing “White Christmas.” There, in the middle of the pine trees and fir, reminiscent of that fabulous setting for the movie, she graciously obliged. I know she made his holiday, as she does mine to this very day. I still cherish the Christmas cassettes she sent each year with a personal message to me.
One night after a PR event, she told me it was time to “take the singer off and hang her in the closet.” She described it as metaphorically taking off that persona, hanging the girl singer on a hanger, putting on a comfy robe, and surrounding herself with family. She literally knew how to “be” Rosemary, without feeling conflicted with who the world thought she was from the public image.
It would take me years to understand how to do that, but her example helped me learn to put Erin on a hanger and “be” Mary. Eventually I learned it was okay to be both—I didn’t have to get rid of Erin; I just needed to know when to wear Erin and when to hang her up.
I had been away from Erin for years, trying to leave her in that “closet.” Writing this book, I faced her again as I headed back to Warner Brothers Stage 26 in the shadow of the Cahuenga Pass, the familiar backdrop now recognizable as Walton’s Mountain.
At the age of ten, I had no way of knowing how that mountain would change my life. Nor would I know until decades later how the show, scripts, and the people would mold me forever. It became more than a place where I struggled to grow up in a world of contradictions, required to be a working “adult,” but treated like a child. I had good times and bad, and one of the most unique and amazing experiences a kid can have.
The mountain became a symbol of my life. My life had been trying to move my mountains of emotion, fear, pain, experiences, failures, and feelings. I believed if I could just plow through my mountains of life’s “stuff,” I could get to the top and be accomplished, successful, happy, and healed. If I worked hard enough, it would pay off. If I had enough indulgences, I’d get to heaven. (My Irish-Catholic upbringing rearing its head.)
Over the years, I’ve hiked, run away from, cursed, climbed, screamed, and thrown my rage at my mountain. I’ve given up a hundred times and felt defeated by my life’s mountains. I’ve brought in huge earthmovers to drill through it. I’ve assessed and talked it to death and let others tell me how to move it. I’ve examined every rock, boulder, and pebble, and even had soil samples run on the bloody thing—thinking if I understood it, I could conquer it. Hell, I would have eaten it if I felt that would do the trick. I just wanted to be better, whole, and done with it!
Then one day, exhausted, I sat down and decided…maybe…just maybe I could enjoy the view. In the stillness, a peace came over me as I realized I didn’t have to move the mountain at all; I could just walk around it. I could even sit on my butt and slide down. I finally learned that embracing and accepting my mountain, and all its molehills, made all the difference.
These are my memories of forty-nine years of joy, struggle, loss, love, illness, pain, and pleasure. My fears and tears are just like everyone else’s. All right, my experiences are a bit different. Once, when friends were sharing high-school stories, someone commented, “Mary, you can’t even share a high-school memory because you weren’t a real high schooler.” Ouch.
But I grew up, too. I just happened to do it on television in front of millions of people. My solution then was to hide my struggles, thinking if I could be little Mary Walton, I would please all of you. So I kept my secrets until it almost killed me. I’ve always written, so this book seems a natural way to express my journey as I share the mountain of lessons I learned from the people I loved and the life I led on Walton’s Mountain and beyond.
When I found this poem, I realized I must have known my life was changing when I got the show. This poem represents faith to me. Knowing that even though life may be hard, you should always trust and never give up.
The caterpillar symbolized me separating my reality from a kid’s dreamworld. At a very young age, I had profound sadness and empathy that often made me cry for strangers, animals, war, starving children, and even snails my dad killed in the yard. I told him it was a mortal sin to kill and he would go to hell for killing the snails. He said, “But these are just snails.” They weren’t just snails, to me. I guess my Buddhist leanings began early. I think that empathy ultimately saved me and is what makes me good at what I do.