Sandra Dee:

"The Tales Her House Tells!"

This article appeared in the July 1974 issue of Modern Screen Magazine
When Sandra Dee's friends see a Rolls Royce parked in the curve of her driveway they know she's at home. And if you were to say that she is truly at home for the first time in her life, you would not be exaggerating.
She never felt at home in the homes her mother lived in, because, Sandra says, "My mother's house was a lady's house. But not this lady's! It was immaculate. As the saying goes, you could eat off the floor. Who wants to, though?
"It was also elegant. Not until I was five years old was I allowed in the living room or drawing room, or whatever it was. My bedroom had a lavender velvet carpet. And alabaster angels supported the canopy of my gold and white bed!"
When Sandra married Bobby Darin, the "Millionaire Ballad Belter," and lived in the rambling Spanish house of his choosing-which also was long on elegance--she no more at home than she ever had been.
She says, "It was furnished with lots of dark wood and red velvet.
"Even when Bobby and I were happy it wasn't a house with a happy aura. Everybody who ever lived in that house had trouble, including me! Mary Astor! Frank Sinatra! Even the man who sold us that house and went on a European vacation had trouble. He came home blinded, temporary at least, by some liquid plumbing." She grinned. "Seems evil jinx will travel!"
When Sandra was divorced she got rid of all the things she despised. Her word!
I made up my mind," she explains, "that the house in which my son and I would live would be free of heavy clutter and perishable nonsense. I was determined to have a house in which a kid and his friends could feel free. And I, at last, would be at home!
"I kept more things than I needed. Everybody does, I guess. Today a lot of my stuff is in the houses and garages of any friend good enough to store it. I'm careful never to mention this in case they might ask when I plan to use it. The answer is 'never!'"
No windows can be seen in the front of Sandra's house. A cement lattice, a combination of modern and Oriental styles, covers its length from the side driveway to the green and gold front door. Close to the door a palm tree grows as high as the house. At the shallow steps there are dwarf palms and ferns.
The house's rear is another story; it's all sliding window-walls that open to a covered terrace, free form blue pool, patio, combination cabana and garage, and a white-walled garden with lots of pink roses.
When we asked how the cabana--two rooms and bath and a little kitchen--was done, she said, "It isn't. Dodd and his friends use it to change and shower. Dodd also keeps his paraphernalia there--his bike and bats, rackets and skates. You name it! In his room there's no space for one more thing. Ten-year-olds seem to have a compulsion for collecting."
Discussing the conservative Beverly Hills street on which she lives, Sandra said, "I'd had hills! I wanted to be on level terrain. So Dodd could ride his bike without me calling to watch for traffic on curves and to be very careful about grades--so that he wouldn't go flying off into a canyon."
When the door opens to Sandra's house you enter a center hall, long and wide, white walled and white tiled. To the right, projecting lattice screens separate the living room, dining room and kitchen from the hall--with a feeling of space and freedom that Sandra values. On the left, conventional doors admit you to a gold and white powder room with soft blue fixtures, Dodd's bailiwick, and Sandra's suite. At the end of the hall--and wide open to it--is the pine paneled den which should, Sandra says, be called the living room. The side walls have recessed bookshelves. The rear wall is a floor to ceiling window.
A niche in the den provides space for a small bar, perfect for informal entertaining, and a small powder room painted a bright yellow with delightfully gaudy flower decals, yellow, gold, and white, on the ceiling.
"My mother did the decoration," Sandra said. "Even though she knows so well that I do not always like what she likes! She's recently gone into real estate. I'm happy for her. With her love of houses she should do well!"
We settled in two of the low brown leather barrel chairs that complement the low wooden table where Sandra and Dodd, inveterate gamesters, spend a lot of time.
"We have so many games FAO Schwarz could rent from us," she said. We asked who won. Her dark eyes smiled. "Well, whatever my son does he bears down hard, so he has a way of winning. But when it comes to games I'm usually up on him."
When Master Dodd Mitchell Darin emerged from his room we were surprised. He'd been so quiet we had not realized he was in the house. As he approached--a strongly built young man and a most fortunate combination of his mother and father--he smoothed a flowing black mustache.
"My eyebrow pencil!" cried Sandra. "I didn't say you could use it! Go take it off!" A little abashed he asked, "Can't I keep it until Grandma gets here, so she can see it? Okay?"
"Okay!"
At the sight of Dodd, a toy poodle, "Peggy," and a Pomeranian,"Teddy Bear", came running across the terrace and scratched the glass.
"Can't they come in?" Dodd asked Sandra. "Not right now," Sandra said. "Did you," he asked, "tell about Teddy Bear?" "No, but I will," Sandra said, proceeding, "He was to be a birthday present for my mother, but I couldn't keep my mouth shut and..." "And," supplemented Dodd, "when I asked Grandma if we please couldn't keep him until her birthday she said yes."
"So we kept him," Sandra went on. "And he got sick. On my mother's birthday he was so sick our vet advised against any change. Anyway I couldn't very well have presented my mother with a dog that might be dying. So Dodd and I nursed him. And he became our child. And Mom got another present."
Impossible to tell whose grin was broader, Sandra's or Dodd's.
When Dodd took off Sandra said proudly, "I made it! I really said no when he asked if the dogs might come in. I don't generally have trouble refusing him. But right now I do. He's going to New York for a couple of weeks. It will be our first real separation, nothing like his going to sleep over at a friend's house. That he does all the time."
"I think he has a funny feeling about this, too. Earlier today he came into my room and dragged me out here, Saying, 'Sit with me for a little!'
"I won't worry about the weekends. Then he'll be with friends in the country. But week days he'll be in the city, and I'm just not relaxed about him being in Central Park, in traffic.
"When he leaves I hope I don't make a fool of myself and bawl! I don't want to spoil his trip. And most certainly I don't want him to get any notion he has to stick around and take care of Mom. Ever!"
Beside the den's overflowing bookshelves hung two paintings, a floral and a landscape; gifts from Ross Hunter. For years, Ross was Sandra's guiding light. And he has great empathy with his stars. Not only does he, in subtle and generous ways, encourage their appreciation of beauty in all forms, he encourages them to value themselves as individuals.
Next to the sofa, upholstered in a quilted chintz of yellow and orange flowers, was a square yellow table with a yellow push-button telephone, a giant memo pad, and a row of sharpened pencils. It is her office Sandra said.
The kitchen, aqua and beige, has a peninsula that holds the stove and becomes a table to accommodate four yellow chairs. Ordinarily the housekeeper presides here, but Sandra frequently will take over the cooking--she finds it relaxing and exciting and not at all a chore.
Her chili she rates exceedingly fine. But she concedes, "Maybe it shouldn't be dignified as chili, but as Tobasco soup. A bottle of tobasco doesn't last long around here. I've always had a passion for it; at 11 and 12 I used to consume big spoonfuls of it along with cherry peppers-they go into my chili, too. It gets to be pretty hot. Not too hot for Dodd or me, however."
The dining room, floored with beige tile, holds one of Sandra's favorite possessions, a yellow commode antiqued in white; drawers at the bottom, glass-doored cabinets on top. "This," she explained, "was an extravagance. When I saw it in a shop I went slightly mad for it. I still am. So maybe it really wasn't an extravagance."
"The black table and chairs I had when I was married. The chairs were then covered in a beige silk, so perishable even water stained it. I had them done over in this rough green and yellow fabric, which doesn't show dirt."
She nodded at the beige curtains. "I'm not fond of them. They came with the house. But until I know exactly what I want I'll live with them."
On the table, green candles flanked a bowl of yellow and white spider chrysanthemums. On the wall across from the commode, between gold sconces with more green candles, hung a porcelain mosaic. A bowl of white and yellow flowers--carefully chosen by Ross Hunter not only for its beauty but for Sandra's decor--sits on a low teak table.
In the hall, between the dining room and the door to Sandra's suite, a skylight of many flat panes lets in a flood of California's golden sunshine.
The living room, at the front, is a dramatic contrast to the rest of the house. It would appear to be left over or, perhaps, a hang over, from the days when Sandra lived elegantly with her mother and wealthy stepfather. Or of the elegance with which she was surrounded during her years as Mrs. Bobby Darin.
It's a very elegant room, carpeted in white velvet. A gold sofa, piled with gold pillows and a little needlepoint pillow of a blue and yellow butterfly, fits around the bend in the wall. A coffee table follows the sofa's line. At either end of the sofa gleaming crystal chandeliers hang low. On the floor, in front of the coffee table, are two large tasseled yellow velvet pillows for those who like to sit close to the fire which, on party nights, burns in the marble fireplace set in an antiqued mirrored wall.
Adjacent to the fireplace is another of Sandra's treasures--a floor lamp with an iron base that separates into slim branches reaching in all directions. Each branch is tipped with tiny, winking and blinking lights; red and green, white and yellow.
"It's crazy and beautiful," she says. "It's my all-year-round Christmas tree!
The store in which I saw it didn't have it for sale, just for display. I convinced them they'd had the display and it was time to sell it--to me!"
We asked Sandra if she had worked the butterfly pillow. She nodded. "Last year. I had to do something! For months I hadn't worked professionally. And when you've worked, as I have, practically ever since you can remember, you get used to having something to do when you wake up in the morning. When you don't you're at odds with yourself. Was I ever at odds with myself!
"I had offers. But I was scared to start again. I'd never learned how to handle myself, go after the job I wanted. That was my big problem. Everything I'd ever had or done had been dropped smack in my lap. Sounds great! Maybe it was, for it got me started. But it didn't prepare me to square my shoulders for a change. Which is no good at all!"
Both personally and professionally everything always was dropped in Sandra's lap. Things happened to her the way they happen in romantic novels.
At 12 she was discovered by Harry Conover when she was modeling at a Girl Scout fashion show.
At 13, dancing at the Waldorf with her stepfather, Eugene Douvan, she caught the eye of Huntington Hartford who promptly bought her modeling contract from Conover. She caught the eye, too, of Oleg Cassini, who invited the Douvans to his table and asked her to model one of his originals at a society fashion show, and, incidentally, wear a $165,000 diamond necklace. Naturally, Sandra couldn't say no.
The Saturday Evening Post selected her as one of America's ten top models. And, in rapid succession, she appeared on the cover of seven national magazines. At 14 she was asked to take the screen test that resulted in her Universal contract and her starring role in her first movie.
At 17, in Italy for Come September, with Rock Hudson and Gina Lollobrigida, she met and fell head over heels in love with Bobby Darin who fell head over heels in love with her too. And, despite the protests of her mother and Universal studios they were married.
At 18 she was a mother.
At 20 she was a divorcee.
Then there were the years of not doing much at all, and feeling pretty sorry for herself. Until Karen Valentine convinced her to appear on Hollywood Squares.
"She told me," Sandra reported, "that I wouldn't have to worry about a thing, they would give me a bluff for any question I couldn't answer.
"When I went on Squares I felt pretty scary. With Karen off on a summer tour there wasn't anyone to reassure me. Then, unbelievably, in Karen walked. She was on that show, too.
"The two of us sat there clucking like a couple of hens."
"When I got on stage I did hope they'd let me sit back and get used to it. Paul Lynde, such an angel, saw I was jittery, and kept talking to me. I was so interested I didn't hear them call my name. When they repeated it and I realized I was the Secret Square my mouth went 'Awk!'
"But I'd made the break. Again I was out in midstream. Before long I was doing TV movies, like Love American Style and The Daughters of Joshua McCabe.
"Most importantly I was happier than I'd been when I'd confined myself to talk shows, where they say 'How are you?' and you answer 'Just fine!'
"To sit back, as I did, get off the beam, has to be a mistake. I don't expect ever to make it again!"
Dodd came into the living-room, his mustache larger and blacker. Sandra asked "Do I have any eyebrow pencil left?"
"Lots!" He flopped down on one of the big floor pillows, burrowed into it like any young animal.
"Dodd! Get up! Your mustache will smear that velvet!'
Instantly he raised his head and examined the pillow. "No harm," he answered. Then, loping back to his room, he called, "Be sure to let me know when Grandma gets here!"
It's obvious he cooperates with his mother not only because you should obey your mother but because you like to please a friend.
Sandra said, "This room is used only for entertaining. It provides a lovely background for friends and me when we put on our party faces and long skirts or dinner jackets. Otherwise I'm never in here. Nor is Dodd."
Dodd's room, next to the powder room, is ideally located. He and his friends can play the drums, his guitar, his stereo or his TV with no worry that they'll disturb anyone. They're off by themselves.
"Not," said Sandra, "that they spend too much time in here. When a friend comes for the weekend they descend on me as soon as I sit down on the terrace with my morning coffee. Since my terrace adjoins the terrace outside of the den I can't fault them if they just happen to be out there and, seeing me, come over to say good morning. They can on occasion have such impeccable manners!
They want to know what they're going to do. They may hanker for another trip down to Laguna Hills and Lion Country. They may prefer to go ocean swimming, at Malibu or Santa Monica. They may want to go to the movies. Whatever and wherever I chauffeur them, like any mother. Which is why I drive a four--door sedan instead of a sporty model.
"Last weekend when Dodd and a friend decided on a movie I said, 'Great! I've been wanting to see that!' They had the grace to look embarrassed when they explained it would be quite alright for me to see it, provided I didn't walk in with them or sit with them!"
Dodd's twin beds have Peanuts spreads. The top of the chest that faces the beds, with a built-in TV, is piled with Sports Illustrated, every issue published since he turned 8 years old. On his bedside table, neatly stacked around an orange-pink lamp, are ball-player cards. He must have a hundred.
Sandra said, "Despite this room being so jammed the guitar and drums have to be kept on the floor, he knows if any card is out of place."
Dodd's bath, blue and white, has no tub, only a stall shower. "He never takes a bath anyway," said Sandra. "Neither do I!"
Her pink bath, however, is spacious and feminine, and not only has a glassed-in shower but a pink sunken tub. A long marble vanity has two basins. The lavatory is enclosed. There's a pink rug, deeply piled. A little chair is practically and charmingly upholstered in pink plastic.
"This bath is definitely another favorite thing," Sandra announced. "Feminine without clutter!"
The small hallway between bath and bedroom is carpeted in the brightest green, like the bedroom itself which also is uncluttered but feminine.
The cover on Sandra's white Queen-size bed is gay with wild flowers. The twin white lamps on the bedside tables have sapphire blue shades, an attractive accent in that pink room. There's a long chest of drawers, in antique white, and a low barrel chair in front of the large window-wall that opens to her terrace, the blue pool and the pink roses.
The more life crowds, the way it crowded Sandra, the more difficult it is for any individual to find themselves. Only recently has she come to be on intimate terms with herself, to know surely what she wants and how she wants it. To all this her house bears witness. It is a dramatic reaction to every other house she has ever lived in, and is planned for comfort and charm, freedom and fun. For Dodd and especially for her.

Adele Whitely Fletcher

Home | Updates | Sandra | Career | Fun & Fans | links
SandraDeeFans.com
� 1997-2006 bobbydarin.net/bobbydarin.com, All Rights Reserved.