Written by Sybil Carpenter, this article appeared in the September 1962 issue of Movie World Magazine.
You remember knocking on her front door, meeting her mother and sitting down to cokes and endless
conversation -- Sandy, Mrs. D, and you.
You remember tapping Sandy on the shoulder one sunny afternoon
in the studio and talking for hours.
You remember those incidents like a dream because you're a reporter
and a friend and, in those days, Sandra Dee was a dream come true. She
loved to talk and she had no secrets. And after an hour with her you had
enough material to make even your editor smile. "Are those days gone
forever?" you wonder.
Today you can't just climb the hill to the Darin mansion, knock on the door and
hear a "Hi, c'mon in!" You can't because you're a "reporter" and for you the
Darin's home, baby, front lawn, or back yard is a no man's land.
Sure, nobody's going to shoot bullets at you if you get through the gates. But
when you're a reporter, silence is your worst enemy and it's harder
to get through than barbed wire. Silence
is the latest news from the Darin
household.
You settle back in your chair, thinking about the kind of talk that used
to go on:
"Hey, Sandy," you said, "what's with
the new boyfriend? Thought you were
simply crazy about a guy named Dick.
Now it's Troy?"
"Oh, you see," Sandy blushed, "Dick was absolutely fantastic, really great. But
Troy, well... Troy's just marvelous and... gosh, he's just wonderful."
And she would go on and give you
a blow by blow description of her
newest romance. No reticence—just a
warm pouring out of her heart to a
good friend.
She knew you were her friend. She
knew you would never do anything
in the world to hurt her. And she knew
that, besides the friendship you felt
for her, you were doing your job—bringing news of her to all the people who
cared.
A couple of weeks later, meeting Bobby in a drugstore, you set up a
photography-interview for the following week: "Sure," Bobby said, "come
around Wednesday. We can do some
great shots by the swimming pool. I'll
wear my geetaar."
"O.K., but don't forget to put its
swim trunks on," you said.
"Easy said, easy done. I wouldn't
disappoint a friend," Mr. Darin quipped.
"Maybe I'll even throw a party. You
know, splish splash."
"By the by," you said, "hit another
million mark yet?"
"Man," he laughed. "I only run in
triples."
Ah, those were the days, you think,
when Sandra Dee was always "utterly
speechless" about some new dress,
record, movie, or boyfriend and always
smiling for the camera. And Bobby,
making it to the top, would say, "Interviews are part of the business, even
the singing business. This year I intend
to be on everyone's lips in America...
Ahem, next year Europe!"
Now, Sandy and Bobby don't belong
to the world anymore—they belong to
each other—and to their new baby. They
say they want privacy and when Bobby
Darin says privacy he means it with
a capital "P."
Perhaps Sandy says it more softly,
but she means the same thing. It's their
marriage and their baby, and they
don't want any outsiders messing up
their happiness. "Is it any wonder?"
you ask yourself. You can't really blame
them even if it does make your job
more difficult. They may be movie stars
but movie stars are people and people
are Mr. and Mrs. and Jr.
But if you toss the coin, and it lands
on the other side, Mr. and Mrs. and Jr.
become Sandra Dee, Bobby Darin, and
Dodd and that's not just people—that's
public property.
Practically all her life Sandra Dee
has been in front of a camera. At first
it was a still camera the fashion model
faces. Then it became the moving
camera and a film star was born. She
became the adored darling of thousands.
Bobby Darin's another story. He was
a poor kid in New York and he was a
sickly kid. Nobody noticed him except
to make his life miserable. The other
kids teased him and fought with him
just because he was different. But out
of this depressed background came a
fast talking, sharp singing entertainer
who, at 20, broke records at the Copa.
From that day on the flash bulbs and
movie cameras started turning on him
and another young star was born. Bobby
may not have been adored—but he belonged to the public.
They met each other as two film
stars in the same movie on location in
Italy. They dated as two celebrities who
were idolized by the teenagers who
went to their movies and bought their
records by the millions. They had
glamour and fame and they were the
exciting idols of young America.
But idols are solid gold and covered
with jewels. Sandy and Bobby were
flesh and blood people who could love
and hate, laugh and cry, walk and talk.
When they fell in love, they loved with
their hearts, which beat like other
peoples'. And they married for real,
which was no film story. Their baby
wasn't chosen out of hundreds' of babies
because he looked and played the part
well; he happened like all babies happen even if his mother was Sandra Dee
and his father Bobby Darin.
So these real lovers with their real
baby climbed a hill to live in a fortress
with the door firmly shut on outsiders
who might turn their marriage into
publicity stories and their baby into a
cute photograph. Closing the door, they
left the public a legacy—two images-
Sandy, as the adorable teenager, premarriage, and Bobby, as the brass
entertainer—also premarriage.
So here's where you say, you, the
reporter: "Prince Charming and his
Princess lived happily ever after. The
End." At least that's what it seems the
Darins want. It's as though they said,
"The castle's out of bounds. Remember
us as we were because you're not going
to find out about us as we now are."
BUT are they being fair to us or to
themselves? Aren't they underestimating their fans? Aren't they making
publicity into a dirty word you can't
even whisper?
Fans and publicity, not only talent,
made them what they are, what they
wanted to be, what they worked for—
important stars and famous people.
After all, they did choose to live in
front of cameras and those cameras
turn not only on the set.
One day, speaking with Sandy, you
asked her how she felt about all the
picture-taking a young film star was
subject to and you remember her reply.
"I'm lucky I'm used to living in front
of a camera; and I like it. I like
knowing that all kinds of people get
pleasure out of seeing me. It's a good
feeling to think that when you smile,
when you radiate some happiness in a
photograph, you help to make other
people happy. Sure it's hard work, but
it's important work."
This bubbly teenager's now a mother.
Is it wrong to want to see pictures of
her as a mother, holding her baby,
loving it with her eyes and soft kisses?
Nobody wants Sandy to play the role
of mother. We want to see her as she
is—a real mother with a real baby.
And the change in Bobby. His new
calm and warmth. Can't we know at
least a little bit how that happened?
How the lovely Sandy and fatherhood
have worked magic on him so that the
once gruff Mr. Darin has changed into
a nice kind of feller?
Like other young Hollywood couples,
the Darins fear that publicity will
destroy their marriage, will make it
into a phony commercial gimmick. But
they didn't marry for news coverage nor
did they have a baby for press angles.
We all know that and we all respect
them for their sincerity and their love.
"Listen, Sandy and Bobby," you'd
like to say, "we're all for you not
against you. We want you to be happy.
We want what you want. Don't give
us the cold shoulder now. We were
friends. We thought you liked us.
"We did know you, Sandy and you,
Bobby. But we don't know you very
well any more. We don't want anymore 'I remember when stories' — we
want the now, the present, the real
thing. We don't want any make-believe
domesticity, we just want to see you as
you are—happily married.
"Sandra Dee and Bobby Darin—those
names belong a little bit to us. And
because they do, Mr. and Mrs. Darin
also belong a little bit to us.
"After all, you've got to admit that we, the public, helped you to get where you
are. We helped you buy that fantastic house on the hill and we even
helped each of you to become famous
enough to meet and marry each other.
Without us, Sandy, you might still be
staring silently into those fashion
cameras. And you, Bobby, might still
be struggling to get out of the slums
of New York.
"But you have arrived at the top and
we—your public, your fans—are waiting
to get reacquainted."
As a reporter, you have a dream. You
walk hesitantly up the front steps. You
reach the front door and stand there
listening to a baby cry. Then you ring
the bell and wait. You hear footsteps
and begin to smile as the door swings
open. You hear a "hi" and "come on
in" and your smile gets bigger and
bigger. You sit down in the living room
and lose track of the time. The talk
goes on for hours and when you leave
you're almost out of your mind with
joy. Mr. and Mrs. Darin just asked you
to come again and share their life.
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