The day that Doris Day died, I did something irrational. Instead of driving straight home from work, I went out of my way and visited her childhood home.
Maybe I was half-expecting a small crowd of mourners. Elderly men and women in overcoats on a damp, overcast evening, sharing their grief over the passing of another icon from their youth.
Of course, no one was there but me. The red-brick house appeared shuttered, as did the entire neighborhood. I wondered, Do the current residents know they are living in Doris Day’s house? It’s a much different neighborhood now than in 1922, when she was born. An interstate highway rips through the center of Evanston, Ohio, now part of downtown Cincinnati. You can see the semi trucks from her front yard. Most of the residents are African-American, not German-American.
Perhaps I was the only visitor all day. But I like to think that my sentimental journey provided a smile for the girl christened Doris Mary Anne von Kappelhoff, wherever she might be right now while tossing pastel pillows back and forth with Rock Hudson.
I was only a year old in 1959 when the movie Pillow Talk was released. As the 1960s progressed, I knew little about what was happening in the world. I received news of the Kennedys, Martin Luther King Jr., Cuban Missile Crisis, Vietnam War, Haight-Ashbury, and the Watts riots via “trickle down” effect. The Cold War, for me, was Boris and Natasha from The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle and Friends. I’m not really a child of the Sixties. Much as I often hate to admit, I’m a child of the Silent Majority.
Doris Day was a Silent Majority cultural icon. She was conservative 1950s who spilled into the 1960s before they became “The Sixties.” She was middle-class, nuclear-family, Caucasian America; traditional, familial, uncomplicated, and safe. With her ever-present smile, twinkling eyes, golden-blonde bob haircut and California tan, she was sunshine and, in my imagination, is always clothed in canary yellow. The ending of her film Move Over, Darling says everything: she jumps in the backyard swimming pool—fully clothed—to join her husband (James Garner) and two kids. Their laughter and splashing, after finally being reunited, are as good an antidote to late 20th and early 21st century anxiety and cynicism as you’re likely to find.
Day’s close friends called her “Clara Bixby.” Rock Hudson, her romantic co-star in three of her most well-known films, called her “Eunice.” To her parents she was Doris Kappelhoff, and to everyone else, Doris Day. Names that are simple, non-glitz, and (though she hated the term) girl-next-door. And despite her great beauty, difficult personal life, and professed dislike of her chaste image, that’s how she presented herself in her movies. It’s telling that she turned down the juicy role of “Mrs. Robinson” in Mike Nichols’ The Graduate because she found the script “vulgar and offensive.”
Doris’s father was a philanderer who walked out on the family when she was young. (One night, in her bedroom, little Doris was a traumatized earwitness to her father’s sexual relations with a party guest in the next room.) She was married four times. Her first husband, a jazz trombonist, tried to force her to abort their unborn child, then beat her when she was eight months pregnant. She divorced her second husband, a saxophonist, because he was jealous of her success. She was married to her third husband, Martin Melcher, for 17 years. But despite producing some of her best films, his blind faith in a fraudulent attorney left her bankrupt when he died. (She fought for years to finally obtain a $6 million decision.) Her fourth husband divorced her because he was jealous of her “animal friends.”
There was the tragedy of Rock Hudson’s death from AIDS. They were good friends offscreen, and his last public appearance was in 1985 when, looking extremely frail and telling her he had no appetite, he visited “Eunice” at her home and was filmed for the short-lived cable show, Doris Day’s Best Friends.
Her biggest sorrow was the death of her only child, Terry Melcher, from melanoma in 2004. They were only 20 years apart and like brother and sister. Melcher was a talented music producer, working with the Byrds, Beach Boys, and Paul Revere and the Raiders, assisting with music for his mother’s movies, and producing the 1968-73 sitcom The Doris Day Show. He came close to producing songs by Charles Manson, but backed out after visiting The Family at their ranch. The house Melcher had earlier shared with actress Candice Bergen was the site of the 1969 Tate murders (although Manson denied he was targeting Melcher).
By the mid-1970s, Day had had her fill of Hollywood. She moved up the California coast to Carmel Valley, taking in stray pets and establishing the Doris Day Animal Foundation. She was also part-owner of the pet-friendly Cypress Inn. In the last few decades, she politely but steadfastly refused requests for appearances, even after receiving a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award.
That’s the private Day. Doris Day the entertainer took her alliterative stage name in 1939 after a song, “Day After Day.”
She became a popular ballad singer with Les Brown and His Band of Renown, scoring a huge hit with the WWII homecoming theme, “Sentimental Journey.” She had a confident and clean singing style, modeling herself after Ella Fitzgerald. She was a natural. In a rare audio interview with Turner Classic Movies, she said she never experienced stage fright, either while singing or acting.
As great a recording artist as she was, though, it is her 1950s musicals and 1960s romantic comedies that she is remembered for, especially the latter. They’re G-rated, but sophisticated; light and fluffy confections, with upbeat music, colorful clothing, and animated opening graphics, maybe a little Day singing, and lots of playful romance. (Called “sex comedies” when they were filmed, the word “sex” referred more to gender than physical lovemaking.) The plots generally revolve around a trite and temporary misunderstanding between Day and her partner.
These innocent predicaments allow Day to skillfully shift emotions between domestic contentedness and exasperation or outrage. The humor comes because you know what will transpire before Day’s character does. Then, when the revelation hits, you get to see her puff her cheeks, swivel her head sideways, plant her hands on her hips, and stomp away briskly, her back stiff as a board.
While Day is the undisputed focal point in these movies, a key humorous element is her leading men. As a foil for her, they had to be handsome, but in a warm, non-threatening way. Rock Hudson (Pillow Talk, Lover Come Back, and Send Me No Flowers), James Garner (The Thrill of It All and Move Over, Darling), and Rod Taylor (Do Not Disturb and The Glass Bottom Boat) all fit the bill, because they have a puckish playfulness, especially Hudson, who was extremely adept at light comedy.
But it is Doris Day who carries these films. The great Steve Allen called her “one of the very best comedy actresses of all time” but one who “hasn’t gotten the critical appreciation to which she is entitled.” Steve, you are correct on both counts. And longitudes predicts she will ultimately get this recognition.
Since her recent death at age 97, some male writers have grappled with just how sexy was this “World’s Oldest Virgin,” as she was mockingly labeled (though she actually advocated living together before marriage…four marriages might have something to do with that). Sex and sexuality are an obsession in our post-sexual revolution age, when mere pillow “talk” is considered boring. I won’t dwell on this topic, other than to assure the aforesaid writers that—while I never knew Day before she was a virgin—in my testosterone-soaked eyes she was hot, in both looks and personality, and she got hotter as she got older. Anne Bancroft is talented and beautiful, but it’s a shame adolescent males couldn’t enjoy Clara as “Mrs. Robinson.” And if you writers don’t agree, you can click this.
As with The Lawrence Welk Show and Petticoat Junction, which I’ve also profiled on longitudes, Doris Day’s films are a safe harbor for me. They carry me back to a time of innocence, to family and fireside. It’s not because I’m a “male animal” who pines for the days when women were merely Pollyannaish partners to the “stronger sex.” (My career-minded wife and liberated daughter also love her films and introduced me to several. My macho son, on the other hand, is a different story.) It’s more because they are uncomplicated, wholesome, funny, and fun. They are a shelter from the storm, and we all need shelter, especially in these turbulent, less rational times.
While I’m thankful for the “The Sixties” and the Kennedys, Martin Luther King Jr., Grateful Dead, détente, civil rights, equal rights, gay rights, copyrights, etc., I’m also thankful for animal rights and Doris Kappelhoff of Greenlawn Avenue in Evanston, Ohio for the safe harbor she’s given us.
Que será, será!
After retiring from the spotlight in the 1970s, Doris Day devoted herself to the cause of animal welfare. I gave a small donation. If you’d also like to help, here’s the link: Doris Day Animal Foundation.
17 thoughts on “Doris Day: On the Sunny Side of the Street”
A great tribute Peter! MASH Colonel Potter remembered Doris Day’s Sentimental Journey nostalgically…the movie he saw a dozen times but never let his wife Mildred know about it. I also enjoyed Doris Day, especially one of her early movies, “It Happened To Jane” which was a romantic comedy over the top with Jack Lemmon and 300 lobsters. I want to think she was as lovely in real life as she was on the screen.
300 lobsters?? I’ve got to see that one, especially since the great Jack Lemmon goes up against Doris. Thanks!
Another great article. Thanks for stopping by her childhood home for those of us who were too far away. I too love those movies. In addition to everything you mentioned I love all the cultural history. She was one of the last of that generation left and will be greatly missed.
You’re welcome, WL. Yes, she was the last one, sadly. And she really was symbolic of a lot of what was going on then.
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Doris Day as Mrs. Robinson? Wow. That would’ve blown everyone’s mind.
Yes, that would have been a jolt. I think if she’d have taken that role, she’d have had the world at her feet. Thanks, Tad!
Read your tribute with a certain 50’s nostalgia
Growing up in the hippy, yippie, zippy New Haven, Bobby Seale era, Jane Fonda as Barbarella was more of a cultural touchstone.
Later, better educated, taking a film class at NYU she showed her chops as an actress alongside Jimmy Stewart in “The Man Who Knew Too Much”. Hitchcock, with his attraction to Blondes, knew that she had what it took for the part. Perhaps because of that infatuation he found a way for her to sing “Que Sera Sera”.
Her cultural esteem went up a notch or two when you found out that her son, Terry had a major musical Svengali touch with the Byrds, Paul Revere, Beach Boys.
A very small note – Doris was born in 1922 – Terry @ 1942.
20 year, not 17… 😉
Keep following your Breslin, Terkal, Royko muses.
Gosh darnit, I goofed with Melcher’s age. Will fix, and thanks for the heads up. I think that came about because Doris’s birth certificate was dug up only recently, adding a few years to her life, which shuffled things around.
Thanks for following my dribblings, but Breslin, Terkle, and Royko are heavy company! Speaking of newspapers, though, you might enjoy my next post.
I think celebrity gossip media parallels our social issues and I like how you connect Ms. Doris’ relationships to the changes in the social fabric of the times!
Hi Newsography. It was fun writing about Doris Day. I wasn’t thinking so much “celebrity gossip media” as how she and her movies reflected a certain time in U.S. cultural history. There were negatives then, as we all know, but in other ways it was less complicated than now. Thanks for your comment!
Just discovered your blog via Thom Hickey’s Immortal Jukebox. Enjoyed reading this very much and will be back! Regards, Enda Sheppard (endastories.com)
Cool, thanks for reading, and the compliment. I’ll check out your own stuff.
That was really interesting! Thank you for the post! I love the old movies that you see on cable. It is sad that she had such a hard time even as a child living with a dad that she had. But she was good in her movies. Clean cut and a good singer too in her generation! Have a blessed day!
Thanks for the comment, JJ. I love the old movies, too, and watch a lot of TCM. They show Doris Day movies quite a bit. Take care.
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