Hollywood Gays (46 page)

Q: Small wonder, with church and state reinforcing that 24 hours a day.

A: Much worse than today. Today it’s only bad. Then, it was terrible. But, about acting, I had a better chance than my mom ever did, being a guy. Plus with television around. Although in her day they also had radio. That provided a lot of work for a lot of people. Still, men get more roles, and get them for more years than women do.

Q: Yet during Hollywood’s golden era there were as many female stars as male ones.

A: Yes, but it changed after the war. And television, if you look at almost any show, has more masculine characters than female ones.

Q: Which, now you mention it, is true of the old movies. Even when they starred women, or a woman and a man, the supporting cast is usually primarily male. Did you ever think you were going to be a movie star?

A: I felt the odds were against it. I was more…cute than handsome. Even in college, I was informed I wasn’t aggressive enough for certain roles. But I enjoyed the acting, and my mother was kind of an inspiration to me, my family had a few connections, and I wanted to see if I could make a living at it. I really couldn’t imagine any more fun way to support myself. Besides, not every movie star was devastatingly handsome. (Grins.)

Q: Somebody told me that in the 1950s you often went to the Café Gala, which was a gay nightspot (on the same site as the later Spago restaurant). Those were horrible times, politically, and in every way for gay people.

A: Right. The McCarthy era, with the witch hunts and blacklists—

Q: Which primarily targeted liberal Jews and gays, period.

A: I guess it would be even worse if someone was gay
and
Jewish.

Q: Like Jerome Robbins,
né
Rabinowitz. But he got to save his career by cooperating with the witch hunters (this author’s
Broadway Babylon
includes a chapter on the notorious choreographer-director).

A: A hell of a decade. The few gay bars and clubs there were, like the Café Gala, were routinely targeted. Police raids happened all the time. The discrimination and brutality from police…it was condoned, even applauded. Even so, just to be in a place with other people like yourself, that was special. Even exhilarating. To not have to keep pretending and lying.

Q: You’re one of the ones who resisted the industry pressure to marry a woman.

A: Right. I felt it was one thing to act at work. Another to act in your private life.

Q: Yet if you’d become a big star, the pressure would have been that much more intense, like for a Cary Grant. Do you think in such a case you might have succumbed?

A: Very unwillingly. Didn’t Rock…when Rock Hudson married, it wasn’t for very many years, as I recall.

Q: Yes. One marriage, no kids. Versus a Cary Grant with five marriages and finally one child—the media of course never asking why he didn’t become a father in his twenties or thirties or forties, via his first or second or third wife, etc.

A: Right. Sweep it under the carpet, then jump up and down on the carpet to flatten it out again. That’s the media’s style.

Q: And that of Hollywood—where the truth lies. Still.

A: Very still. (Both laugh.)

Q: To get back to the Café Gala, which is now legendary, could you have a good time there with such anxiety and risk via the police?

A: We had lots of good times. Didn’t Shakespeare say, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”?

Q: First line of Charles Dickens’s
A Tale of Two Cities
. We had to read it in school. But the line fits. Were you often afraid of being outed?

A: Not in the sense of somebody writing about it. First, I wasn’t a star. Stars often ran scared. And such things almost never got published. After
Confidential
magazine was crushed, the surviving gossip magazines became very tame again. Anyway, they only went after big names. I wasn’t a big name.

Q: So you didn’t have the big worries.

A: Not till
Bewitched.
Then it changed.

Q: Being gay and unmarried (Sargent smiles sadly and briefly; to be explained later), was there pressure on you to date females and stay deep in the closet?

A: Staying deep in the closet was common sense for anyone with an important role on a series or in a movie. The pressure to date was less than it had been when studios ran the scene. But the network and sponsors certainly expected you to keep your nose clean….Interestingly, when there were interviews, and there really weren’t that many, the publicity was often slanted so that the woman in my life, even when they were interviewing me as Dick Sargent, not as Darrin Stevens, was still Sam. How did I get along with Elizabeth Montgomery? My answer would be, and fortunately it happened to be true—but it would be the stock answer anyway—that she was lovely and a dear and we got along terrifically.

Q: Were there many comparisons to Dick York?

A: Lots! At first. It died down, but it was always a helpful publicity angle to fill in the gaps where my private life would be. I really became very used to acting and speaking as if I had no private life, just wonderful relationships with Liz and the rest of the cast and crew.

Q: No pressure, then, to marry?

A: No. Certainly not from people who knew me.

Q: Would you, long after
Bewitched
but before you came out, have agreed to be interviewed like this?

A: You mean just a year or two ago? (Shakes head.) I’m not sure. A lot depends on the outlet. If you’re being interviewed for a Sunday supplement, something that mainstream, I’d feel almost out of place bringing up my sexuality. Or even my romantic inclinations. That’s how they make you feel. It’s something we need to challenge. In a tasteful way. But of course, those mainstream publications wouldn’t bring up any gay angle themselves. Now that there’s a growing gay press, and now that I’m open to it, I’m glad to be honest. It feels fresh and liberating.

Q: Are the questions from gay journalists more original than the usual ones?

A: Without any question (snickers), they are! If you’re known for one thing, as I am for
Bewitched,
then that’s at least half of what they’d usually ask me about. They might ask why I didn’t make it in movies, ask about some of the big stars I worked with—but didn’t necessarily share a scene with—or ask about what I did after
Bewitched.
They might try and get some insights into what I do with myself, my hobbies, likes and dislikes, but I was never very keen on talking about myself…personally.

Now that I’ve come out, a few inquiries have come my way about writing a book. I don’t think so. I’m not extraordinary. My life hasn’t been that extraordinary. I’m happy, for the most part. Maybe happiness isn’t the best thing for a good autobiography, where you have emotional traumas and scandals, tragedies—you know, something Shakespearean. Any tragedies I’ve had, I prefer to keep to myself. Don’t get me wrong, I like being interviewed. But how long does that last? Long enough to be pleasant, as I’m enjoying myself right now, with you.

Q: Absolutely likewise.

A: (Smiles warmly.) But a book…a book goes on and on. I’d get bored with myself, and maybe embarrassed, and if it flopped I’d really feel my life had been dull.

Q: It’s not generally known you were the first choice to play Darrin, and as with anyone who takes over a role in a popular series, there was some media and fan resentment when you came into
Bewitched.

A: Quite a bit of resentment! As if I’d pushed Dick York out. It might have helped, some, if the sixth-season publicity had given more press to the fact that I was the first choice. What hurt was that after I’d been Darrin for a year or two, there were still some complaints. There was even a small but vocal movement to “Bring Back Dick York!” Even though the man could not come back, health-wise or contractually. That hurt too, though I have to admit it goes with the territory.

Q: Still, it must have been a coup for you, and perhaps a relief, to secure such a high-profile role after so much effort in movies and on TV, right?

A: Right! Oh, yes. Almost 40, I was, and finally a leading man. It was very gratifying, although—again that best and worst of times thing—it was very dicey as to whether the show would continue, whether the public would accept a new Darrin.

Q: Your three years in the role is as long or longer than some popular sitcoms run today.

A: Ooh, today…these are scary times for TV and for sitcoms. It feels like it’s all going downhill. But let’s not get into that. I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining about changing times and about all them young whippersnappers. (Wide smile.)

Q: You may have been almost 40 when you joined
Bewitched
but you looked far younger.

A: “Baby-face” Sargent, reporting for duty! (Mock-salutes.)

Q: Very cute and boyish. I liked
Bewitched
—oh, and speaking of replacements, I felt the second Mrs. Kravitz never came close to wonderful Alice Pearce as Gladys Kravitz—but the Darrin character reminded me of Ricky Ricardo, always trying to stifle and limit his wife. When you joined the cast, your character of course did the same thing, but you didn’t seem as pushy or obnoxious as the first Darrin. And when I found out you were gay, I made the connection. Your Darrin is somewhat nicer.

A: You preferred mine? (Adds quickly.) Be honest, Boze!

Q: I preferred yours as a character and because of your looks. But yes, your Darrin, when he got mad, it didn’t seem like it might erupt into something more.

A: One reviewer wrote that I got “cross,” and Dick York got “angry.”

Q: Exactly. That’s well put. Now, as a gay man, did you sense that the central premise of
Bewitched,
that Samantha has to pretend to be what she isn’t so she can fit in with the dull majority, was key to gay viewers and the gay experience?

A: I did. It came across less in the scripts, somehow, than when you just watched the program. With Dick York or with me. The husband wants only his lifestyle to be the one she follows; he won’t let her stand out or be different.

Q: Which to me or any child—and probably most adults—made no sense, because here Samantha had these wonderful powers that could save so much time and work, and she’s not supposed to use them? And she agrees not to use them? Even though they’re not hurting anybody? Why on earth? Just to be…ordinary?

A: Television pushes the norm. Always has, and I suspect it always will.

Q: Leaving Bewitched behind—

A: Must we? (Pause.) I’m kidding. I did do a lot—a lot!—of television work. Way back in the day, I remember hearing a lot about how television was destroying the movies and TV’s the big bad enemy. To me, it was a lifeline! If I’d had to depend on movies for employment, I might have given up being an actor.

I didn’t get leads, and I was too good-looking to be best friends. I’m not bragging. It’s just that if you’re funny-looking or have a comedic way about you, you can get hired as the male lead’s pal or neighbor or co-worker. He’s meant to make the lead look handsomer and more stable than the pal or neighbor, etc.

Q: And you’re sure Cary Grant didn’t put the make on you?

A: (Wide grin.) Boze, he wanted to. I know that. He wanted to take it…something held him back.

Q: Caution?

A: Well, it wasn’t prudery, I can tell you that. (Clears throat.) Now, then.

Q: Now a new topic…? (Sargent nods, grinning.) Most actors associated with a prominent role in a popular TV series become irrevocably typecast. Like Bob Denver as Gilligan or Robert Reed as Mr. Brady on
The Brady Bunch
or Vivian Vance on I
Love Lucy
. How frustrating was that for you?

A: It was the frustratingest of times, and it wasn’t that frustrating—at first. I’ve done series you’ve never heard of. Do you know Tammy Grimes? Yeah? I was her twin brother Terrence on
The Tammy Grimes Show
. I was in
Down to Earth
with three little tykes, I was in
Broadside
…I did guest shots—not necessarily as a “guest star”—on dozens of programs:
Playhouse 90
,
Gunsmoke
, oh, so many…I was in an early-’60s sitcom called
One Happy Family
, a regular on that. Later, I guest-starred on
Taxi
,
Family Ties
,
Murder, She Wrote
…this could become a long, boring list.