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REAL-LIFE MIRACLE
by Jan Landy
Modern Screen
July 1970
At that, Elizabeth Montgomery laughed at her sweeping generalization of motherhood and child-rearing. Shrugging, she added, "It's difficult, you know. One runs into little problems--and big ones."
Thus far, Elizabeth's problems haven't gained much stature, at least physically. She and her producer husband, Bill Asher, are now the parents of three, two boys and a girl. Their sons are Willie, 5, and Robert, 4, and daughter, Rebecca, was born June 17, of last year.
It is obvious by the look in Liz's eye that each of her children is a miracle to her--and a continuing one. Not that she gets treacly about the matter. Liz has far too level a head for the "goochy-goo" approach to motherhood.
"I've never talked down to the children," she said crisply during a recent interview on the Bewitched set. "I don't like baby talk and have never used it.
"But," she added hastily, as if fearing her listener might get the wrong idea, "when somehting comes up, we do talk about it. Straightforwardly. I think it's the only way that works."
Suddnely, Liz's eyes gleamed with that amused expression familiar to her TV fans, and she recalled, "Once, I was standing in the middle of the room, and Willie came up and said, 'Mom, I want to talk to you,' so I said, 'Okay.' But he answered, 'No, No...sit down...!"
"I sat down, but then I asked him, 'Why?' and he answered, his eyes on a level with mine, 'Because I want to talk to you like this.' I knew exactly what he meant. There was, all of a sudden, with me standing, this physical difference he couldn't overcome. Getting me to sit down made it less intimidating."
Elizabeth believes that straightforward, no-kidding candor carries over into almost all situations. She saw it illustrated another time not so long ago when her step-daughter, Liane, with whom Liz has an exceptionally close relationship, was at the Asher home.
"Willie turned to Liane and asked where rain came from," Liz grinned, "but before she could answer, Robert popped up with 'Oh, God makes the rain,' and Liane said, 'No, honey, you see, what happens is that there are clouds...!'
"Well, they both just looked at her. 'Wait a minute,' she said, and came running to me. So I went to the boys and explained it was like a sponge, and all that. They both listened with big eyes and when I finished the explanation, Willie said, 'Mom, you know what? I like that one better.'
"So then I thought, 'Well, that's one for me.' It's how interesting you make a story that counts," Liz added wisely. "Even at that age, children want to know."
That's an attitude which is quite easy for Elizabeth Montgomery to understand in her children. It's a reflection of her own bright, eager, curious attitude toward the entire world and everything in it. Since her husband is cut, intellectually, from the same piece of cloth, what would be more natural than that their children should inherit that tendency? Yet, unlike many mothers not half so busy as she, Elizabeth never is too busy to answer her boys' questions, to take time for explanations, and just to talk if that seems to be what's needed.
"You know, so much depends on the personality of an individual child," she said solemnly. "I think that once a child has a fairly good idea of what is right and what is wrong--and is basically honest and kind and has a good essential set of values to fall back on--he can't get into too much trouble. People--and that's what children are, after all--really don't want to do anything wrong. It's tougher on them than it is on anybody else when they err.
For a moment, sitting relaxed and introspective in the midst of all the hub-bub around her, Elizabeth seemed completely unaware of where she was. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, she mused, "It's really difficult, until a situation comes up, to know exactly how to guide a child. I don't think you can necessarily raise a child by a book...or the same way you were raised."
Not that there was anything wrong--which she is the first to stress--with the rearing of one Elizabeth Montgomery. She was born, the daughter of noted actor Robert Montgomery and Broadway actress Elizabeth Allen, in Los Angeles. Her father's career already was zooming, and her mother dropped her own acting ambitions instantly upon marriage.
The Montgomery household was, therefore, as stable and "normal" as it possibly could be when the head of it was so famous. But that, too, came almost under the head of normality for Liz and her younger brother. In the area where they lived and went to school, many fathers were famous and rich; the two Montgomery children did not stick out like sore thumbs. And at home, they had a real family, not a series of replaced-annually step-parents.
True, just about the time Liz was in her senior year in high school, her parents' marriage did split, but it seemed to have little traumatic effect on either Liz or her brother. Despite the divorce, the sense of family remained for the brother and sister. Liz values that, even now.
"Kids really need families," she said softly. "They need people to fall back on. They need strength when they want it. I can call on any member of my family today and know he or she would be there if I needed help. It's a good feeling, and one I hope my children and my step-children will always have."
For Liz, the problem of parenthood was instantaneous--at least to some degree--the moment she wed William Asher. For he had two children by a previous marriage, Liane, now sixteen, and a son, Brian, now fifteen. And, since she wasted no time in producing Willie, Liz really was up to her lovley naturally-blonde coiffure in kids.
It never phased her. "I love Liane and Brian," she enthused. "They're both great, and they visit us often. They absolutely love the younger kids. And they're fabulous with them."
That took care of one potential hurdle neatly, and it is not unreasonable to assume that Liz's warm, but no-nonsense attitude did much to prevent problems.
Some of it may be that her schedule simply has been too busy to allow Elizabeth Montgomery the luxury of fussing over trivialities. She has to come to a situation--and a decision--quickly. The time she spends with her youngsters is, therefore, doubly precious...too much so to to waste.
"The two boys are totally different from each other," Liz commented. "Even when they were younger, that was true. Willie was a very independent little thing. He was not a cuddler. Robert was."
With a chuckle, she continued, "Willie has a funny, little quick flare-up kind of temper--like mine, I guess. Robert is very quiet. He might seethe about somehting--but he'll do it quietly.
"That's the worst kind to cope with," she added with a small sigh. "If a child comes out with it, you can say, 'Hold it,' and talk about it. But if he just sits there, and you say, 'Do you understand?' and he keeps just sitting there looking at you, well..." With another shrug, she flung out both hands as if to say, "What do you do then?"
In almost the next breath, Liz answered her own question with "I try to cope with that as best I can. I let him sit. But I say firmly, 'Okay, I'm trying to explain to you and if you don't tell me you understand what I'm saying, then you just sit there until you do.'
"Quite quickly he will then say, 'Oh, I do,'" Liz laughed.
"You know," she rushed on, a joyful ripple underlying every word, "different as they are, the two of them really get along very well. Of course, I laid down one rule about a year ago, just about the time they got big enough to beat each other up...
"I suddenly realized I was getting very tired of hearing 'Mommy, Willie hit me,' or 'Mommy, Robert hit me.' And I was getting tired of untangling them, too; that got to be a bore in a hurrry. So, one day," Liz chortled in fiendish recollection, "I just suddenly said, 'All right, everybody in the house!' And when they got there, I asked them, 'Isn't it more fun to play by yourselves? Do you want me watching you all the time?' They agreed it was more fun playing alone, so then I said, 'Okay, I don't want either of you yelling when the other one hits you. Hit him back.'"
Suddenly, Liz burst out into a full-throated, truly amused gust of laughter and said, "They replied with a sort of meek, 'Oh.' I guess they didn't like that idea too much. So I solved it further, since they really didn't want to get into a fist-fight. I told them, 'If anyone is bleeding a lot--or is badly hurt--come and tell me. Otherwise you settle it.'
"It worked out very well," she smiled. "They understood that if they wanted to beat each other up, I wanted to be left out of it. And they did not really want to beat each other up, so somehow, since then, they've come to some kind of understanding about it and each other."
Few women, whether they have careers or not, manage to approach motherhood with the combination of undiluted enthusiasm, intelligent analysis and good humor that Liz Montgomery does. Many who do work, no matter what kind of job, seem to have a built-in anxiety about either their job or their family, or both. Not Liz. Perhaps one explanation is that she works with her husband. Theirs is a relationship of rare calibre, and they obviously agree on how to bring up the babies.
Just ask Liz what the definition of a successful marriage is and with no hesitation--a voice that brooks no argument, answers, "OURS!
"We enjoy each other," she said simply. "Our interests are the same; I think our temperaments go together.
"It's a gossamer thing," she said softly, her eyes pensive, "and there are so many factors involved. They just mesh...and I certainly appreciate his talent. He's incredible."
Furthermore, as Liz enthuses thankfully, Bill Asher has brought just exactly the qualities to their union that she admits to needing in a man. "Strength," she said firmly, "tenderness...a sense of humor. Intelligence. Enthusiasm. But isn't that what all women really want?"
Perhaps, but perhaps not so much as did the tall, beauteous Montgomery girl. Or perhaps they were not in such good position to appreciate those qualities--and the man who possessed them all--as was Liz when she met and married Bill. She had tried matrimony before, and seen it fizzle. So had Bill. Therefore, when these two met and fell in love, they went into their marriage more determined--and more open-eyed about it--than most persons do. They were adult.
That, according to Liz, just may be the magic secret of their success at all levels.
"I think any marriage that works is an adult marriage," she said uncompromisingly. "There are people, true, who marry extremely young and are happy as clams all their lives. But I don't think it's an accident when that happens. I think it has to do with the values people bring to a marriage...and those don't necessarily have anything to do with age."
And she thinks the same thing about parenthood---that it's not for kids, nor for those still trying to be kids. "There is so much accent on youth," she said with a small uptilt of that famous nose, "that too many parents are busy trying to be as young as the kids. So they're not there when their kids need them."
Elizabeth's children certainly don't--and won't--have to face that problem. When not working Liz is almost always home. So is her husband.
The Asher home, happy as it is, has some built-in problems, too. No home with two little, energetic boys so near to each other's age can hope to get by without some uproar. Take that old psychologist's bug-a-boo, "sibling rivalry," for instance.
"Of course they compete," Liz laughed. "You know: 'I can do this better!' 'No, you can't.' 'Yes, I can!' But it's a healthy kind of thing. One is always saying, 'I can run faster than you can.' What he should be saying is, 'I can fall harder.'
"But one thing they don't have to compete for and never have--is affection. They both are loved very much--and they know it," Liz said turning serious.
As to their little sister? "They are absolutely beside themselves about the baby," Liz reported happily. "Willie always wanted it to be a girl, and now he looks at me as if I'm the dumbest creature he has ever met and says, 'I told you it was going to be a girl.'
"One thing I did not do before Rebecca came was keep saying, 'Won't it be fun when the baby comes?' I was afraid it might give them the idea that something was wrong with the way things were. We just talked about its coming, and it was accepted joyfully."
Of course, there still was the matter of everybody adjusting to the newcomer, and she to them. Liz has very definite ideas on that subject, too--"I don't believe in allowing a baby to interfere with the other children...not at all. In fact, the older children need more affection at that point than an infant."
She saw to it that both Willie and Robert got just that little special added attention, and that they both felt free to be around their baby sister.
When I brought the baby home, they were so intrigued, I didn't want to keep telling them to be quiet all the time, or not to go into the baby's room. Oh, I had to do a certain amount of it, of course; you can't have a racket all the time. But I encouraged them to play...allowed them to go into the baby's room to peek at her when she was asleep. And I let her get used to normal sounds.
"So," Liz grinned, as only she can, "it worked out well. The boys never felt they were in the way. And, Rebecca became accustomed to a certain amount of noise."
There's still that other problem of famed parents. But that's one Elizabeth knows how to handle expertly from her own childhood. The secret is: accept it, but don't make a big "thing" of it. It worked for her, and up to now, anyway, seems to be equally successful with her two boys.
For another moment, Liz was silent, a small, tender smile playing around her lovely, mobile mouth. Then she looked up with those wide eyes and said "I have never once heard that question, 'Am I your favorite?' or anything like it. My children are, I firmly believe, secure. That's all you can ask for."
Indeed, it is, but in too many instances, it's like asking for the moon. In Liz Montgomery's home, however, it is not. There are love and honesty--the most blessed situation possible for two little boys and an infant girl. If Liz and Bill have their way, this will not change, but only grow, as the children do.