by John O’Dowd 2019
When word came on April 27, 2011, the world had lost this beloved lady (whose physical remains were found in her home by a neighbor, many months after her passing from heart disease), I froze in complete shock and disbelief. That initial feeling of sadness was quickly accompanied by an overwhelming sense of horror once the circumstances of Yvette Vickers’ passing became fully known. More than eight years later, it is still painful for me to know that someone who had been my friend for a solid decade — someone whom I have great affection for — left the world in such a haunting and solitary way.
I am sure everyone who ever met her will agree Yvette Vickers was an absolute joy to know. And to the many fans of her cult films who have always wondered what the real woman was like, I can state unequivocally that Yvette was a very down-to-earth and compassionate lady, with a personality that was extremely endearing. We were introduced in the fall of 1998 by a mutual friend on the west coast named Jerry Mezerow, and almost immediately, became regular telephone buddies. From our very first phone call, Yvette’s voice exuded immense kindness, intelligence and warmth. Our conversations flowed effortlessly, in fact, and she never failed to ask me about my family and friends; she wanted to know all about them, as well as what they did for a living; it wasn’t “all about her.” I’m sure I don’t have to point out to anyone how refreshing that was.
A few interesting facts: Yvette had a strong, independent spirit, and was keenly concerned about world events. She watched the news channels CNN and MSNBC religiously, and was not at all shy about sharing her (sometimes scathing) opinions about our national government. Yvette was a longtime fan of professional tennis (Andy Roddick was a personal favorite), and we enjoyed many marathon phone conversations over the years where we talked about everything from Old Hollywood and the Olympics, to astrology, nutritional supplements, health food, and especially, our love for our companion animals. What always stood out to me was how energetic and positive Yvette was. She and I also had similar tastes in music, and although she was above all a jazz fan, she enjoyed contemporary and classic rock music almost as much. For instance, we both followed the bands Guns N’ Roses and Santana. Sometimes we would listen to their songs, “Sweet Child ‘O Mine” and “Smooth,” over the phone, and rave about them to each other. With her light, bubbly personality, and easy laugh, Yvette was a very young and vibrant septuagenarian.
Yvette had a slightly bawdy side to her personality, but I must say I very rarely saw it. For some reason, she never displayed much bawdiness or irreverence with me (although she most certainly could have). For instance, I seldom ever heard her swear, or talk badly about someone. There was absolutely no bitchiness or hardness in Yvette, and she was not a cruel person. When we spoke, she was warm and gentle—and in a way, almost maternal— and always supportive and encouraging. Yvette never hesitated to let me know she cared about me, and our friendship, and she often told me she believed in my writing talent, and in my potential . . . both as a writer, and as a human being. As you can imagine, those things simply meant the world to me.
Yvette’s earthiness was extremely appealing. She was playful, funny, sensitive, and very savvy about people. She was also very honest. If she detected any nonsense coming from anyone, believe me, she never hesitated to let that person know she didn’t like it. That included me, by the way! Yvette did not suffer fools gladly, and I loved that about her.
I know, without a doubt, Yvette cherished her fans. I remember her saying that although she knew her acting career had never reached the heights she had hoped it would, she was perfectly content knowing a segment of the public had enjoyed and appreciated her work. Yvette also found comfort and strength in meditation, and for several years, she regularly attended a spiritual center in the Pacific Palisades called the Self Realization Fellowship. One only had to see how deftly she handled the problematic situations she sometimes had to contend with in her life to know Yvette talked the talk and walked the walk of everything she learned at the Center.
In the years since her passing, I have listened to several of the interview tapes Yvette recorded for me when she and I worked together, and hearing her voice again is always a comfort to me; albeit, a bittersweet one. I’ve also kept every one of the handwritten birthday and holiday cards, letters and faxes Yvette sent me during the ten years I knew her, as each one shows the love, kindness and support she extended to me, and everyone else she cared about. She was a sweet and genuine lady, and the kind of friend we would all be lucky to have.
I want to send up my thanks to Yvette in Heaven for allowing me to be one of the dozen or so writers she collaborated with in the twenty years prior to her passing, on the recounting of her life story. Mostly, though, I want to thank her for her friendship. I enjoyed every wonderful moment of it. What follows is one of three interview projects she and I did together in the early-to-mid 2000s (this one, being our last collaborative effort). I hope you will enjoy it.
She tangled with a 50 Ft. Woman and tussled with blood-sucking slugs, and in the process, won her way into the hearts of movie fans everywhere. Yvette Vickers combined a sensual screen persona with a lot of drive, preparation and hard work, to secure her place as one of Hollywood’s best genre film Bad Girls of the 1950s. Blonde, blue-eyed and gorgeous—and blessed with more curves than a mountain road—Yvette shattered the cliché of the beautiful but untalented starlet by revealing some serious acting chops. While her now-legendary icon status clearly came from her roles in the unforgettable cult films Attack of the 50 Ft. Woman and Attack of the Giant Leeches, the former Playboy Playmate actually had a lengthy acting career, even though her many other professional accomplishments often fell under the radar. For years, a busy performer on the small screen, Yvette also sang and danced in several Los Angeles stage productions, and later released two albums of classic jazz tunes.
Although she was often cast as a heartless hussy in her film and television roles, the real Yvette Vickers was compassionate, insightful and intelligent—qualities that only add to her already rich legacy. Her incredible heart and humor resonated in everything she did, even when discussing the many setbacks she faced over the course of her career. “So many of my fans want to know why I disappeared from films in the 1960s and why my movie career didn’t go further than it did,” she told me in the early 2000s. “A lot of them think I just wandered away from it. They don’t know there were some things that happened in my life I had no control over. It will all be covered in my autobiography, which I’m currently working on. However, I certainly don’t mind setting some things straight, right here––I don’t have anything to hide.” (laughs) On the contrary, as the following interview will reveal, one of the industry’s most adored femme fatales was more than happy to share all the details of her Hollywood journey—including her intriguing evolution from a 1950’s cult movie queen, to a sultry, jazz-singing mama!
Yvette was born Yvette Lola Vedder on August 26, 1928 in Kansas City, Missouri. Her parents, Charles and Maria, were professional musicians who toured successfully with their act for many years, starting in the 1930s. From their daughter’s earliest days, the Vedders saw that Yvette was raised in a safe and loving environment. “I had the best childhood,” Yvette said. “Both my parents were decent and wonderful people. We moved from Kansas City to Malibu when I was six months old, and I remember music being an absolute constant in our lives. My folks rehearsed a lot, and they always had jazz records playing somewhere in the background. Dad played the tenor saxophone and my mother played piano, and they performed in lounges all over the country. In those years, Malibu was a magical place for a child. I had this huge sandbox, not to mention, the ocean, right in my backyard, and I was a total beach baby. My parents and I lived in the beautiful mountains of Ramirez Canyon in a kind of artists’ colony. There were a lot of actors and musicians around us, and it was a very creative and nurturing place in which to grow up.”
As professional jazz musicians, Yvette’s parents befriended many famous players of the day, including such greats as Woody Herman and Charlie Parker. The group would often gather at the Vedders home after their nightclub gigs, and jam all night. Yvette remembered joining in the fun while still a toddler. “I was weaned on jazz, so I know it like the back of my hand. Those musician friends of my parents were the coolest, friendliest people. As a very small child I would sometimes wander out into the living room while they were playing, and do a little song and dance for them. They loved it. (laughs) They were perfectly respectful, too. There were no drugs around (and no drinking, either). My parents weren’t into that scene, so when the guys came over, it was all about making music. Looking back, I think that whole period of my life was almost a form of schooling for me. I learned a lot from those guys, and just soaked up every bit of their music that I could. Even though my primary dream as a young person was to be a writer, music was always important to me, and I always knew one day I would do something, career-wise, with it.”
In addition to her interest in music, the art of dance was also an important part of Yvette’s life. “I started taking dance classes as a child, and later went on to perform with the Sonia Shaw national ballet troupe in 1954 and ‘55. I was so serious about it, and so disciplined, I took three ballet classes a week for several years. Music and dance touch my soul in the very same way as nature and Yoga do. They’re all part of what I call my spiritual journey, and they’ve all brought me a lot of happiness.”
Discovered by Billy Wilder
A student at the Academy of St. Catherine’s Catholic School in Los Angeles for twelve years, Yvette studied journalism and classical piano, and began acting in local little theater productions at age 15. “Eventually, I was discovered by Billy Wilder, who gave me a bit part in his classic film Sunset Boulevard. I’m one of the guests at the New Year’s Eve party, where I’m seen laughing on the telephone. Then comes my one line, to William Holden: ‘You can have the phone now.’ Hey, being in a big film like that was pretty exciting for a young girl just starting out.” Following this auspicious debut, Yvette agreed to change her last name to the more colorful-sounding “Vickers.” She said of the name change, “A producer of a play I was acting in at the time just kind of plucked it out of the phone book. I didn’t mind; I actually thought it suited me really well.” Armed with her new surname, the luscious blonde continued her theater work in Los Angeles.
In 1955, Yvette was performing in a stage production of the musical That’s Life when she was spotted by a Hollywood casting agent who got her a White Rain shampoo commercial. “I skipped along and danced in the rain with an umbrella, just like Gene Kelly did in Singin’ in the Rain. The ad was on national TV, and I was paid about one hundred dollars each time it aired. Since it wound up running for several years, the residuals were quite nice. I remember thinking, ‘Wow, if this is how show business works, let me in!’ (laughs) It was a high-profile spot, and a terrific springboard for me.
“By that time, I was already married to my first husband, Don Prell. A few months earlier, a group of us had been hired to do a show at Edwards Air Force Base, and I was introduced to Don on the tour bus. He was a very talented bass player, and a real nice guy. I was only 18 [sic] when we married, which I know now, was far too young. I admit, I was a little wild and hard to handle back then––I still had a lot of living to do. Don and I were married for four years, and our divorce (in the late 1950s) was amicable. Our marriage ended because I was busy concentrating on my acting career, and he was on the road a lot. There were no rip-roaring fights—we just never saw each other.
“My subsequent two marriages were much more difficult, and I would rather not discuss them. All I can say is, thank God for my work, as it has really seen me through some tough times. I was very driven in those days––very self-confident and ambitious––and that always gave me the impetus I needed to quickly get out of any unpleasant situations I found myself in. Focusing on one’s work is often the best thing to do when your personal life goes awry. And, in my case, with all the things I had to contend with later on, work was an absolute lifesaver.”
A College Degree—and James Cagney’s Short Cut To Hell
By 1956, Yvette had earned a Bachelor’s degree in theater arts from UCLA and was vigorously pursuing her acting career. She gained further professional ground that year when she won the part of the beloved barroom floozy, Cherie, in an L.A. stage production of Bus Stop. In a performance that both echoed Marilyn Monroe’s, and yet stood apart in its excellence, Yvette garnered great reviews and was later hand-picked by actor James Cagney for her second film. At the time, Cagney was making his directorial debut in a Paramount Studios crime film for producer A.C. Lyles, titled Short Cut to Hell, and he felt Yvette would be perfect for the flashy role of a snippy, rooming house tramp named “Daisy.” It was a typical, 1950’s B-movie that gained some much-needed luster from Cagney’s creative involvement. “The film was a remake of the popular Alan Ladd picture, This Gun For Hire,” said Yvette, “but the finished product left a lot to be desired.” Although her character completely disappears from the story after the first twenty minutes, Yvette made a memorable impression—especially in the film’s opening scene, where the camera lovingly follows her super-sexy chassis as she saunters down a hallway. “That scene won me some attention,” she recalled, laughing. “A lot of photographers and cameramen back then were always trying to shoot me from behind.”
Despite the film’s disappointing box office, Yvette was grateful for the unforgettable experience of working with James Cagney. “He was probably the finest and most decent man I’ve ever known. James was generous, kind, and always had a marvelous twinkle in his eye. I absolutely idolized him. He very patiently worked with all of us in the cast, and on the set he was constantly sending journalists over to interview me. He would say, ‘This is a wonderful new actress, Yvette Vickers. Talk to her because she’s going places.’ Such a sweet and honorable man––and totally devoted to his wife, too. Trust me, the kind of marriage they had is not something you see very often in Hollywood. In short, I don’t believe they make them any better than James Cagney.
“After Short Cut to Hell in ‘57, I did a few more small parts in films (The Sad Sack, Juvenile Jungle) and I also had a pretty good role in Reform School Girl over at AIP. I was a tough-talking, teenage delinquent named “Roxie” in that one—a real heavy. There were a lot of girls in the cast, but there wasn’t any rivalry between us; we all got along fine. I was especially close to Luana Anders, who was a very intelligent person; a bit reserved, actually, but very sweet. Sally Kellerman and I already knew each other socially as we often palled around together at some of the beat clubs down on the Sunset Strip. Gloria Castillo, the film’s leading lady, came from an extremely wealthy family in Malibu. She was sort of quiet, and I was sad to learn several years ago she died at a very young age. Diana Darrin worked a lot at AIP, and she was something else. Wow, talk about bubbly! Whenever I would see her around town at parties and things, she would always scream from across the room, ‘Hi, Yvette!’, and then come running over to say hello. She was very nice. At the time I did Reform School Girl, I owned a beautiful white Jaguar sports car with blue leather seats that I used to drive all around Hollywood. You know, it was a real ‘movie star’ car. I loved it!”
It was on the set of Reform School Girl that Yvette met her next boyfriend, future teen idol Edd Byrnes (soon-to-be known throughout the country as “Kookie” on the hit television show, 77 Sunset Strip). “Edd and I had so much fun together,” said Yvette. “We went to a lot of cool, Hollywood parties with people like John Ashley, Nick Adams and (actor) Dennis McCarthy, and he also took me to some splashy movie premieres at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. Oh, and then there were those terrific lunch dates with Edd and Peter Brown at The Cock and Bull Bar, where we laughed and joked and drank bull shots for hours. Let me tell you, it was great fun being a young person working in Hollywood in the late 1950s. Edd and I had a blast together, and to this day, we’re still friends.
“You know, speaking of lunch dates, a lot of the young actresses back then would use the lunch date to fend off the guys we didn’t want to go any further with. Now, I’m not referring to Edd Byrnes here, because he and I did date for a while. I’m talking about the guys who would bug you for a date; guys you weren’t interested in. If you agreed to meet them for lunch (rather than dinner), usually they would get the hint it really wasn’t going to go anywhere. Anyway, that strategy always seemed to work for me. One guy I would meet for dinner, though, was Hugh O’Brian. I’ve known Hugh since I was very young, and we dated, off and on, for a period of several years. Although he’s always treated me wonderfully, I understand there are several women who have worked with him, who have since complained about his extremely healthy ego.” She laughed at that description. “Well, it’s true, he is an extremely confident guy, but as I said, he has always treated me with respect. When we dated, he was very protective of me, almost like a big brother would be. One thing about Hugh, though––when you were dating him, he was convinced after being with him you would never want to date anyone else again. He also believed (or hoped?) when the two of you weren’t together, you were at home by the phone, waiting for his next call. Believe me, I wasn’t! Hugh O’Brian is quite the macho man. (laughs)
“One thing I do think is important to mention is when I had a physical relationship back then with someone, it was absolutely exclusive. I might have dated other guys, but the physical stuff was confined to one guy only. You know, it’s funny, but because of the characters of “Honey Parker” in 50 Ft. Woman and “Liz Baby” in The Giant Leeches—plus all the other bad girls I’ve played on TV—a lot of people just surmised I was a husband-stealing tramp and a cheap little hussy in real life. I promise you, I wasn’t, and I’m not. It’s true that I’ve always loved to flirt, but I think healthy, innocent flirting is very normal (and fun)! However, I’ve never been the type of man-eating barracuda in my personal life that Honey and Liz were in those two films. Let’s be sure we get that across, okay? I just think it’s important that people know the real me.
Steve Cochran and Yvette’s Classic Cult Films
“A guy I did see exclusively for a time was actor Steve Cochran—although our initial meeting was less than favorable. In 1958, the same year I did The 50 Ft. Woman, I played a junkie in a crime film titled I, Mobster, and Steve was the leading man. I had one brief scene with him where he delivers some drugs to me at my apartment, and I try to seduce him. I’m sure everyone knows how good-looking and wild Steve Cochran was (and how charming he was with the ladies), but on the set, he was very cold to me––real aloof, and not at all friendly. However, I didn’t take it personally. I just accepted it for what it was, and figured he had his reasons. So it kind of surprised me one evening after we finished the shoot, when out of the blue, he invited me up to his house just off Mulholland Drive, for dinner. I was very curious about his change of attitude, so I went up there and we wound up having a wonderful meal together. I guess you could say he really fooled me.
“That night, Steve had two female servants waiting on us hand and foot, and I remember thinking, ‘Aww, what nice little old ladies.’ Later on, I learned (from more than one person) that those two wrinkled, old women were actually only fourteen years old. I was told they both looked so weathered because they would stay up all night, drinking and partying with Steve. Whew . . . I won’t comment on that!
“I began seeing Steve after our dinner date that evening, and ours was an exciting—if relatively brief—romance. He had his pilot’s license, and we flew up the California coast a lot in his private plane. Steve was a very handsome and sweet man. I remember him helping me when I was trying to get the role of the trashy, pregnant farm girl in the Universal film This Earth is Mine. He very patiently did line readings with me and helped me prepare, but I wound up losing the job anyway. Rock Hudson, the star of the picture, wound up pulling some strings, and he was able to get his friend Cindy Robbins the part. That was a real bummer—I felt I could’ve done some really good work in that film, and it broke my heart to lose the opportunity. I think my being in it would have built on what I had already done in the business, and it might have also kicked up the heat a little on my film career. As it turned out, though, it didn’t do very much for Cindy Robbins (although I have no idea why).
“Anyway, Steve and I split up after a while, but we always remained friends. I know his drinking habits got much worse over the years, which is a shame. I last saw him just a short time before he died. We bumped into each other at a marina in San Pedro, and he was very excited to show me his boat. It looked like an old pirate ship, and Steve just went on and on about it. It was clear by how he was acting, though, that he had been drinking very heavily that day. Well, just a few weeks later, Steve died on that very same boat while he was out at sea with a group of young girls. The way he died was horrible. He had a fatal heart attack, and for several days afterward, those poor girls had to float around in the middle of the ocean on that boat, along with Steve’s dead body. When I heard what had happened, I cried my eyes out. Steve Cochran was an outrageous and loveable rogue, and he was gorgeous, too. But, my God, his drinking really got the better of him.”
In the months following Yvette’s slinky bit as a predatory drug addict in I, Mobster, she made the two classic cult films for which she will forever be known. “I’ll never tire of talking about Attack of the 50 Ft. Woman or The Giant Leeches. My fans love those films and they’ve done an awful lot for me. I was offered the part of the honky-tonk harlot in 50 Ft. Woman the same time I was up for a really good role in a Lana Turner film at Universal (Imitation of Life). My agent, Jack Pomeroy, told me to take the part of “Honey” and worry about the other job later. Although I didn’t get the Turner film—Susan Kohner did—it was not because of 50 Ft. Woman. It all worked out the way it was supposed to. I mean, who would have ever thought back in 1958 that 50 Ft. Woman would still be a topic of discussion all these years later?”
A robust, if sometimes unintentionally hilarious, melding of space-age paranoia and pre-feminist revenge, the film’s cornerstone is a disaster-bound love triangle involving a warring married couple (played by Allison Hayes and William Hudson) and the husband’s sluttish, roadhouse paramour (played by Yvette). Whether shaking her hips to a hot, r&b sax blaring from the bar’s jukebox, or undressing behind a wardrobe screen in her tawdry bedroom, Yvette is tough and sexy—and makes the most of every scene she is in. Throw a flying saucer, a bald, male giant in a Nordic breastplate, and some cheesy special effects into the mix, and you have the stuff of which legendary cult classics are made! The irresistible combination of alluring female pulchritude, the stars colorful histrionics, and a fun script that featured a transparent Hayes prowling the California desert in a jumbo-sized bikini, has endeared the film to fans the world over. “People just can’t seem to get enough of it,” said Yvette. “If only we had known we were creating something so lasting when we filmed it! I loved working with Allison and Bill. They were kind and wonderful people . . . totally professional, and very serious about doing good work. We did 99% of our scenes in one-take. Since the picture was shot in just eight days, there was no time for fooling around. The special effects might have been lousy, but I think everyone’s acting holds up pretty well. I thought Allison, in particular, was very good. She played her role so believably, and so straight.”
The Giant Leeches followed in 1959, and it found Yvette once again enacting the part of the naughty tramp—this time, as a cheating wife in an isolated swamp village that’s been targeted by the titular creatures. “The Giant Leeches was another eight-day shoot. Roger and Gene Corman produced it, and they were adorable. They both have such an appreciation of actors; not to mention, a lot of respect. Believe me, those things make a big difference [to an actor].
“Once again, we were restricted a lot by the budget, as you can tell when you see the stuntmen writhing around in those plastic garbage bags! And yet, a lot of the film works, somehow. Those scenes where the leeches have a bunch of us stored (and ripening) in the underwater grotto, where they’re slowly sucking all the blood out of our bodies, were very frightening. It was also kind of haunting the way it took me so long to die. At first I didn’t understand all the prolonged moaning and groaning I was asked to do, but now I think it really added to the film’s overall creepiness. The down-and-dirty, white trash ambiance really worked, too. The characters were interesting and believable, and I think parts of the film almost resemble something Tennessee Williams could have written. I loved the character of Liz, and I appreciated the fact they took time to explain her history a little bit. She was married to this heavyset, middle-aged shopkeeper (played by Bruno VeSota), which on the surface, doesn’t make much sense, but then that two-shot by the water with (co-star) Michael Emmett, reveals the events that had brought her and Bruno’s character together. In my opinion, that one little scene really strengthened the film.”
When not fending off mammoth mutants and blood-slurping worms, the late 1950s found Yvette an active participant in Hollywood’s Beat scene: a gathering of poets, writers and artists that reveled in a liberating—and groundbreaking—environment of nonconformity and self-expression. Yvette said, “It was absolutely where I belonged at the time. The people I surrounded myself with all shared an interest in jazz, literature and social issues, and we all took our various career goals very seriously. In those days, there were a lot of beat clubs and coffee houses down on Sunset Boulevard, and I think I went to all of them. I was a bit of a nocturnal creature back then, so that whole trip suited me just fine. We were a fun loving group––very politically aware, a bit idealistic, maybe, and definitely rebellious. But we all had a passion for living that couldn’t be tamed. I know I did!
“You know, I’ve always done exactly what I wanted to do; whatever my heart told me was right. That’s probably what got me into eating health food.” (Being health conscious was a longstanding lifestyle of Yvette’s that sustained her for many years, until old age, and prolonged isolation, sadly took their toll.) “I can assure you,” she continued, “very few people in the 1950s were into eating right and taking nutritional supplements, but I intuitively knew those were things I needed to do to stay healthy, so I followed that regimen religiously. I had a health guru back then, a wonderful lady in town named Marie Deauville Ellison, who showed me how to prepare all these wonderful, vegetable juice drinks, and they helped me stay at the peak of my game. That part of my life—especially my involvement in the Beat scene —was very important to me (and to my growth as a person). It was an intellectual setting . . . very vital, very exciting, and absolutely alive with energy and ideas. It was great.
“I sometimes refer to that period of time (1956 to 1963) as my Hot Property Years. I worked non-stop during that stretch . . . doing a lot of television (especially), plus my stage work, some modeling, and of course, the two cult movies, and the other film work I did. Along with all of that, I was also taking three ballet classes a week, studying acting in various workshops, and having a ball in my personal life. So, it really was a jam-packed couple of years, but I loved it.”
Cary Grant, Friend and Lover
It was during this heady period in Yvette’s life that she entered into her next romantic relationship, this time with one of Hollywood’s most elegant stars, the classy and debonair Cary Grant. “I met him in 1959 through my friend Stanley Shapiro, who was a screenwriter we both knew, and I was immediately blown away by the man’s character. What a kind person Cary Grant was. He had absolutely no ego; he was just totally sweet and down-to-earth, and so funny. Cary not only had the best sense of humor, he also made you feel like you were the most important person in the world. I was young and spirited, and I think Cary was kind of fascinated with me. I really enjoyed our relationship, and if the timing had been better, maybe he would have even asked me to marry him.
“When we began seeing each other, though, I was still very gun-shy about marriage. I had already gone through two failed marriages, and I certainly didn’t want to take the chance of having another one, especially with a man as nice as Cary Grant. It wasn’t just me, though, who wasn’t ready; at the time, Cary said he didn’t want to get married, either. So we dated off and on, right into the 1960’s, and it was wonderful. And then one day when he did start talking about marriage, I began to panic a little—until he explained he didn’t want to marry me, he wanted to marry Dyan Cannon. So, there you go. (laughs) We roared over that one! Cary felt bad about it at first, but I told him it was perfectly okay because I still wasn’t ready to get married! Cary and I had so much fun together. He took me out to dinner a lot, to wonderful places like Madame Wu’s in Santa Monica, and The Luau in Beverly Hills. Cary was class personified, a gentleman through and through, and I still miss him. We were friends right up until he passed away, and I’ll always remember him with the utmost respect.”
Hollywood’s “Beat Playmate”
Surely one of the more exciting events in Yvette’s life during her self-described “hot property years” was her selection as Playboy magazine’s Playmate of the Month in July 1959. The subtly provocative spread, which revealed her Beat leanings—and her shapely, unclothed derriere—was photographed by Russ Meyer in Malibu, and also at Yvette’s hillside home in Beverly Hills, and was designed to promote Yvette as a sex kitten. For the rest of her life, she remained unsure if the layout helped, or hindered her overall career. “The whole objective behind it was to stir up some interest in me, and help me get better parts in films. It wasn’t an unusual thing to do at the time . . . several other young actresses posed nude for Playboy in the late 1950s (Mara Corday, Sally Todd, Dawn Richard, et al.) with the same goal in mind. Marilyn [Monroe] had her centerfold out a couple of years earlier, and the rest of us were hoping ours would get the same kind of reaction her spread had received. In retrospect, it didn’t help my film career—that much, I know—but I still don’t regret doing it. The layout was understated and tasteful, and the photo shoot was a fun experience for me. Russ Meyer is a great guy, and he was a complete professional. He later took some gorgeous photos of me in a kind of rustic setting up in the Malibu Mountains, which are just incredible. Russ is a genius with women.”
Following her splash as Hollywood’s Beat Playmate, Yvette headed to New York City in the fall of 1959 to co-star in a Broadway show called The Gang’s All Here. The actress was hired to emote as a fun-loving flapper beside an otherwise all-male cast of industry veterans (including Melvyn Douglas and E.G. Marshall). She recalled her New York sojourn with great fondness, and remembered the flurry of activity that surrounded her Broadway debut. “The fact I was a Playboy centerfold was not lost on the play’s writers, director and producers. In fact, they loved all the publicity I was getting. So I would say my doing the play was good for me, and good for the play’s business, too. We had a nice, healthy run of about a year, which may not sound like a long time, but I think we all accomplished what we set out to do. While I was in the show, I got into the New York social scene, and when I wasn’t on stage working hard, I was out having fun. Every day, a group of us would hit Joe Allen’s or Elaine’s Restaurant or Michael’s Pub, and we would have a blast. I loved everything New York City had to offer back then, and I took in all of it: from the museums and the nightclubs, to the stores and the beatnik bars in the Village. I was very young, and while I was totally dedicated to my acting career and loved working hard, I also enjoyed playing hard during my off time, too.
“My co-stars in The Gang’s All Here were all veterans of the stage and I was in awe of their talent. Melvyn Douglas was a dignified man in his late fifties, and he kept me enthralled with his stories of all the people he knew back in Hollywood, including my childhood idol, Greta Garbo. One night, Melvyn took me out for dinner and told me he wanted to get to know me better, but I nipped it right in the bud and he behaved just fine after that. I was flattered, but with me, the interest has to be mutual. Still, he was such a wonderful man. And what a brilliant actor!
“I met Ralph Meeker, the next man I was seriously involved with, while I was doing the show. He was a very romantic guy, and he took me to some of the most exclusive French and Italian restaurants in town. We hit it off right away, and wound up having a love affair that lasted for five years. Ralph was a real straight shooter, and he always encouraged me. He would say to me, “Don’t let anyone hold you back, Yvette. You go for it!” Ralph and I did everything together: we played tennis, worked out together at the gym, and sometimes took couples massages at a health spa. Even after the romantic side of our relationship cooled, we always stayed friends. Ralph and I were together for quite a while . . . both in Manhattan, and on the west coast.”
TV Westerns, Hollywood Stage Plays, and HUD
Although she received reams of favorable press during her stage stint in New York, upon her return to Hollywood in the early 1960s, Yvette met with some resistance from the industry when she attempted to follow up on her Broadway success with more film work. “I tried very hard to get some strong movie roles in those years, but unfortunately, it didn’t work out. The thing is, from about 1955 to the early ‘60s, I guest-starred on well over 100 television shows, so although my film resume may not be as extensive as I would have liked, I did work a lot more than most people realize. In the late ‘50s I did a lot of bad-girl roles on shows like Dragnet, Mike Hammer, and M-Squad, and then right into the 1960s I guest-starred on a ton of TV westerns (including Bat Masterson, The Rebel, Wyatt Earp, Tales of Wells Fargo, The Texan, Shotgun Slade, The Rough Riders, and several others). I did two or three episodes of each of these shows—the producers would often call me back, which always made me happy—and although a lot of those parts were different variations of the cheap, tough-talking tramp, there were also some nice exceptions. For instance, on one of The Rebel episodes I did, I played a sweet and sympathetic young girl who worked with a deaf child. I learned sign language for the show, and was quite happy with the way it turned out.
“I had a fun time on The Texan, which starred Rory Calhoun. We had worked together a few years earlier at Universal, in a western called The Saga of Hemp Brown, and we always got along great. Rory was an absolute doll, and he also had a terrific sense of humor. In fact, on the set of The Texan, he and the show’s producer, Vic Orsatti, busted my chops unmercifully. I remember one time, I was in my trailer getting dressed and they snuck up to the window and scratched and giggled and pretended they were peeking in. (laughs) Now, of course, they couldn’t see anything, but they sure as heck wanted me to know they were back there. Rory was happily married, so it was definitely all in good fun. I thought the way he liked to tease me was adorable . . . totally harmless fun.”
In 1963, Yvette felt a renewed surge of hope for her movie career when she was offered a good part in the Paul Newman film, Hud. “I thought, ‘This is it! This is exactly the kind of film I need to put me over’. I played “Lily Peters,” an unfaithful wife who is running around with “Hud Bannon” (Newman’s character), a nasty, no-good womanizer who treats everyone like dirt. I originally had four, big scenes in the picture that were just dynamite, but some very innocent flirting on the set between Paul and me apparently caused some shockwaves somewhere, and the powers-that-be responded by cutting my part down to nothing. Paul and I had been photographed goofing around together on location in Texas, and it upset some people who thought our onscreen interaction might come across as too intense. Obviously, that was a ridiculous excuse, but that’s exactly what [the film’s cinematographer] James Wong Howe told me later on. In the end, I was just left with one tiny scene at the beginning of the film, and that’s it. Believe me, I was crushed.
“But then, things in my life got even worse. Right after that happened, one of my ex-boyfriends got into a terrible screaming match with my agent, a man named Abby Greschler, causing Abby to have a near-fatal heart attack. The story spread like wildfire, and even my best girl friends in Beverly Hills, [actresses] Greta Chi and Jean Wallace, heard about it. The coup de grace, though, was when someone began planting vicious gossip all over Hollywood that I was selling myself on the Sunset Strip and picking up drunken sailors in bars. It was horrible––an outrageous lie. The damage that resulted from those two things was incalculable. Most of the interviews I went on after Hud were only for bit parts, instead of starring roles. So, just like that, my film career totally dried up. That was tough on my heart, it really was. I went back to working in the theater, and although I had several nice stage roles over the years, I never managed to pick up the pace and get back on the same track (in films) I had been on before. I did two more small parts during that time (1962-63). I was in a Sidney Poitier/Bobby Darin movie, Pressure Point, where I played a lush, and then I did a silent bit as a Yoga girl in AIP’s Beach Party. I must say, I was really duped on that last job. I had originally been signed to do a ‘celebrity cameo’ in the film, and I thought, ‘Why not?’ The producers told me it would be a lark to see me in leotards, doing a silent meditation. They said I would get special billing, and it would be a great gag. Well, the gag turned out to be on me because in the end, they stuck me way in the background with another girl (Sharon Garrett), and took away my special billing. Needless to say, during the early 1960s, I had much better luck with the work I did onstage.
“One such job was Grand Guignol, which was the umbrella title of two very scary one-act plays I did at The New Club in Hollywood. It was a very innovative production, based in part on the shock theaters in Paris that were very popular back then. The show was quite a grisly affair, and people came from all over town to see it. In the first play, I was a chi chi Hollywood reporter who is chased around onstage by a mad scientist and a gorilla, and in the second play, I played a nagging, trailer-trash-type wife who ends up being murdered by her husband. After he kills me, he cuts off my head and puts it in a potbelly stove––how’s that for gross? (laughs) My co-stars in the show were Tom Troupe and Charles MacCauley, two really good actors. The production values for Grand Guignol were very strong, and the director, Jim Collier, was wonderful. We opened in early 1963, and the show ran for almost a year. I remember it closed right after President Kennedy was shot. Somehow, all the money disappeared, and I’ve never heard another word about it.
“I’ve acted in over 25 stage plays, and Frenzy and Phoenix Too Frequent have always stood out to me as the two that were the most interesting. I produced Frenzy, which was an adaptation of an Ingmar Bergman film that had been translated by Peter Ustinov. It was about a college student named Bertha (my character) who is having an affair with one of her professors until she meets a concert violinist with whom she also falls in love. Everything explodes, of course, and I wind up getting killed in the end. It was a dark piece of work, and very powerful. Phoenix Too Frequent took place in ancient Rome, and I was in full regalia as a woman of royalty. My husband has just died, and I’m down in the catacombs with my handmaiden and a guard. Well, the guard and my character get drunk on wine and proceed to have an affair right there in the tomb. (laughs) I got totally lost in that role. I remember going on stage and immediately going into this deep, dreamlike state (which lasted for the entire show). It was a breathtaking experience. Both plays were extremely well-received, and I got some of the best reviews of my career.”
The Love of Yvette’s Life, Actor Jim Hutton
Yvette’s stage success during this time helped ease whatever frustration she felt over her stalled screen career, and her personal outlook was further elevated when she met the man she refers to as “the love of my life,” film and television actor Jim Hutton. Introduced in 1964, the couple went on to have a love affair Yvette described as “an intoxicating mix of two parts fervor with one part tempest.” It was a highly-charged, soul-baring alliance that bounced, rocked and sometimes sputtered along until Hutton’s death in June 1979. “Jimmy and I were caught in a wild and wonderful whirlwind that’s almost impossible to describe. We were friends, lovers, soul mates—everything but married! He and I often talked about marrying, but it never happened. However, we were together, off and on, for fifteen years. Jimmy was the stereotypical, Irish Catholic male—hard-drinking, chauvinistic, funny as hell—but underneath it all, he had the insecurities of a child. We clicked on an emotional level that was deeper than anything I have ever experienced. He and I took off for Malibu, and were happy to spend all of our time together. We walked along the ocean and had these really deep conversations that would last for hours. Jimmy was a highly intelligent and fascinating man. My acting career suffered in the late 1960s and all through the 1970s, partially because no one could find me. Then again, I guess I didn’t want to be found. I was in Malibu, laughing and loving with Jimmy, and believe me, it was all worth it.”
Early on in their relationship, the couple courted a potentially dicey situation when Hutton was signed to do the motion picture comedy Walk, Don’t Run, alongside Yvette’s former flame Cary Grant. “I remember thinking to myself, ‘Hmm, this could be interesting,’” Yvette recalled with a hearty laugh. “I thought maybe they would get together and compare notes, but it wasn’t like that at all. Cary was too much of a gentleman to bring me up [to Hutton], and besides, he had already married Dyan Cannon by then. He and Jimmy got along fine.”
It was during her years with Jim Hutton that Yvette took a few steps away from her acting career and turned to working in real estate sales and investments, a professional move that proved extremely lucrative for her. “Although I was still getting stage work and some sporadic jobs in television, I felt I needed a lot more financial stability in my life, so I switched gears and went down a whole new road. I was lucky I had some fine mentors in the real estate business who showed me the ropes and really helped me along. With their guidance, I learned very quickly that investing in real estate is where the big money is. For instance, you might make two to three thousand dollars on a sale, but if you invest in a property and it sells, you can make one to two hundred thousand dollars on the deal. In the 1970s and ‘80s, it was important to start building a nest egg for my retirement, so I really focused on the business and worked my butt off. I wound up doing pretty well for myself, too (thank God).”
In 1979, Yvette and Jim Hutton’s somewhat erratic union was once again challenged by the tragic news he had terminal lung cancer. Yvette said, “What made it even worse is he had found out about it during one of the times we had drifted apart. He finally called me from the hospital to tell me how sick he was. Jimmy talked about wanting us to be together again in Malibu, walking on the beach at dusk, and watching the sun go down into the ocean. He was later released, and we did get to spend some time together, but then his health took a turn for the worse and he had to go back to the hospital. Jimmy died there on June 2.” Speaking of their many valiant attempts to “get it right,” Yvette said, “The love was there, but for some reason, that wasn’t enough for us. Jimmy died at age 45, and I think in his case he was still sort of immature, and not quite ready for a lasting commitment. But maybe I wasn’t, either. After all, that goes both ways . . . doesn’t it?”
Ladies Green with Envy
With a personality totally devoid of malice, it is easy to see why Yvette got along well with the vast majority of her co-workers. Nonetheless, there were a few minor conflicts through the years, and as Yvette was quick to admit, “They were always with other women!” One such instance occurred at the wrap party for the 1971 period thriller What’s the Matter with Helen?, in which Debbie Reynolds and Shelley Winters starred, and Yvette had a small role. “We were all standing at the food table and I had started to say something to Shelley when she suddenly gave me the ‘once over’ with a dirty look on her face, and then turned and walked away while I was still talking to her. I thought that was very strange and it didn’t make any sense to me, but I didn’t pursue it because I don’t believe in bothering someone if they’re not receptive. It made much more sense to me later on when I learned Shelley had once been in love with Ralph Meeker and apparently blew up at him when he didn’t return the sentiment. I figured she must have known about my prior relationship with Ralph, and I guess she held it against me.
“Another time, Gene Corman signed me for a nice role in a 1976 Kris Kristofferson/Jan Michael Vincent drive-in movie called Vigilante Force. It was a very violent film, and I was cast as a madam in a small town bar. The character was a bigger-than-life, brassy babe who oversaw a stable of young hookers. They dressed me up in this huge blonde Afro, and a pair of tight-fitting jeans, and I was very excited and ready to do a good job. I had several powerful scenes in the script but soon after I arrived on the set up in Calabasas, my role suddenly began to shrink, and eventually all I was left with was a bit part (that lasted just a few seconds), and no billing. As it was later explained to me, Bernadette Peters—who had the second female lead, behind Victoria Principal—thought I looked ‘too good’ (her words), and she told Gene, ‘This (meaning me) just isn’t going to work.’ As a result, my role was almost completely excised from the film. That was tough to handle, it really was. I hadn’t done a thing wrong, except show up to go to work! It was very upsetting, and I thought, a very cruel thing for her to do. As for why she did it, I guess you would have to ask her.
“I originally had been signed to work on the film for six weeks, and although they honored my contract and paid me for the entire time, I wound up working only a couple of days. But you can imagine how I felt up there on location, knowing what had gone down. It was extremely embarrassing. However, I remember Kris Kristofferson being very kind to me. He didn’t get involved in any of the drama per se, but he made a few very sweet comments to me to let me know he felt bad about what had happened. In the end, the film turned out to be a tremendous turkey . . . just terrible. So, the whole experience was a fiasco.
“The only other time when things didn’t quite mesh with a female co-worker was when I worked with Karen Black in 1990, in the horror film Evil Spirits. It was my first movie in fifteen years, and after all that time I was very happy to be working again. I was given the juicy part of a nosy and extremely meddling neighbor of Karen Black’s. Her character, Edna Purdy, runs a rooming house, and her deaf-mute daughter is a ballerina who is systematically slaughtering the tenants for their Social Security checks. The premise sounds good, but the film didn’t turn out well at all! Oh my God, it was such a mess. My character meets a gruesome end when I sneak into the basement, and get devoured by a cannibal wearing a dog collar. After I go down there, all the audience hears is me screaming, and him grunting and chewing! (laughs)
“I originally had a few good scenes in the film, but for some reason, Karen apparently had some issues with me. For instance, she didn’t want me to wear any makeup in the film’s party scene (and I have no idea why). She never explained it to me, and since I couldn’t see any reason why my character wouldn’t wear makeup, I wound up wearing it anyway. I’m pretty sure that made her angry. In the party scene at the rooming house, Karen deliberately put her hand up in front of my face, knowing it would momentarily block my key light, and you can still see it, plain as day, in the film. Then, after we shot that scene, she took me aside and complained I had talked much too loud in it. (I had to project my voice, in order for my lines to be heard. It was a party scene, with lots of background noise.) Karen and I had lunch together a few times—in a group—and I wouldn’t say she was especially friendly to me, but that’s okay.
“I don’t know why these things happened, but they seem ridiculous to me now. All I can say is I’ve learned a lot through the years, and from now on, I will only respond to (and hang out with) people who are kind and accessible. I can’t second-guess these individuals’ attitudes or their motives, and I no longer try. Nowadays, I just accept things for what they are, and then I move on. I wish I’d had a better working relationship with these women (and more women friends through the years, for that matter), but it just wasn’t meant to be. I don’t like cruelty of any kind, and I certainly don’t want any trouble with anyone. I’m sure you’ve heard it before, but it’s true: life is too short.”
Jazz Singin’ Mama with A Heart of Gold
In the late 1980s, Yvette decided to pursue another adjunct career, this time exercising her creative self through her lifelong love of music. She entered a Hollywood recording studio with a small group of jazz musicians to cut an album of sultry, blues-flavored ballads, and the end result was a cassette her fans embraced. “We recorded that album very quickly, and I distributed it myself. I moved cautiously at first because I wanted to make sure I still had an audience. Well, I was absolutely amazed and very pleasantly surprised by the response the cassette received. A lot of my fans told me they loved it. The positive feedback I got really warmed my heart and gave me the confidence I needed to move forward with my re-entry.”
Unfortunately, no sooner had Yvette’s comeback as a jazz chanteuse commenced, when it was placed on a lengthy hold by far more crucial matters. As she explained, “I was working on my second album in the early 1990s, when my mother became ill. She had always been my lifelong inspiration, and my most loving ally, so I immediately put the brakes on my music to take care of her. My father’s illness followed in 1993, and the next couple of years found everything else in my life grinding to a halt because they both needed me.” While Charles and Maria Vedder would eventually succumb to their respective illnesses, Yvette’s devotion to the two people she called “the kindest and most wonderful parents in the world” stayed intact for the rest of her life. She dedicated A Tribute to Charles and Maria, her year 2000 CD of nine jazz tunes penned by her parents, to their memory, and had hoped an album she had scheduled to record in 2003––a project that, sadly, went unrealized––would continue to reflect her reverence for the style of music they had all loved.
Despite experiencing some rough spots in the road, Yvette Vickers never abandoned a tenderhearted spirit that remained quite rare and extremely poignant. Over forty years after the release of her cult films, she continued to bask in what was nothing less than an effusive outpouring of love from a large group of admirers—which includes in its ranks such industry notables as Stephen King, John Landis, and the late Marlon Brando. Yvette often spoke warmly about her fans, and about what their support meant to her, and one of her fondest memories of all was when she received a thunderous roar of approval during her performance of the Peggy Lee song “Fever” at the 1991 Fanex convention in Baltimore. “That was the song I did when I first came back into the public eye, after all those years away from the business,” she said, softly. “I’ll never forget the reaction I got that day from the audience; I felt so loved. I must say, the steadfast support of my fans is what spurs me on. I keep moving forward, and they’re right beside me, every step of the way. It’s unbelievably sweet—and extremely touching. I’m truly at a happy place now in my life. I feel great, and my writing and recording projects are keeping all my creative juices flowing. With a lot of positive thoughts and a lot of energy, I’m looking ahead to the future.
“As for the past, I would say that although I worked very hard at my acting career, I also enjoyed my private life to the hilt. I lived it up at times, yes, but I always tried to do everything with a touch of class. That kind of sums it all up now, doesn’t it? (laughs) Thus far, it’s been a pretty terrific ride . . . and I am very grateful.”
Some Final Thoughts about Yvette from John O’Dowd:
Following the completion of our last writing project together, Yvette and I stayed in close telephone contact, and even shared a delicious meal, and many laughs, at the now-defunct Trader Vic’s Restaurant in Beverly Hills, in 2006. I last saw her in person at a celebrity autograph show in 2008, and she was happy and healthy. When her neighbor, Susan Savage, discovered Yvette’s physical remains on April 27, 2011, several people who knew her came forward to say they believed she had become paranoid in the three years prior to her passing. While I cannot speak for any of their experiences — and am unaware of their individual dealings with her — I do want to make clear that in the ten years I knew Yvette, I never noticed any negative or concerning changes in her outward demeanor. Whenever we spoke on the phone, she never sounded anything other than healthy and lucid. Because of this, I will continue to remember Yvette as the person I knew: a clearheaded, rational and totally together lady. The changes in her mental health that were said to have occurred in the last two to three years of her life were not things I ever witnessed. Knowing about them now, however, breaks my heart.
Although Yvette and I spoke on the phone quite frequently from 1998 to the mid 2000s, our phone conversations noticeably lessened after 2008. I want it known, however, that I alone take full responsibility for that, as even when we spoke on a more regular basis, I wasn’t always as conscientious about returning her phone calls as I should have been. Yvette owned two homes: the one in which she died, in Beverly Hills, and the other, in the high desert of Pinon Hills, California. She often told me if I couldn’t reach her by phone at one house, it meant she was at the other, and to try calling her there. Sometimes, I would call both houses, and wouldn’t reach her at either one, but I also knew she traveled a lot (to England and Canada, and to a health spa in California, among other places), so I never thought too much about it. Often, in fact, she would sometimes call me days, weeks, and even months later, and then we would always just “pick up where we left off.” That said, Yvette and I last spoke to each other a few years before her passing, and it was up to me to return her last telephone call. Inconceivably, I somehow allowed the passage of time to put a distance between us; never imagining it would be forever. What a painful and sobering lesson I learned when I heard how Yvette had passed away (in reclusion, seemingly forgotten, and for many months before, and after her death . . . all alone). Yvette was sweet and supportive and kind to me, always. What was I ever thinking to allow this rare and wonderful lady to slip out of my life? I don’t believe I will ever be able to answer that question. All I can hope for is that she somehow knows about the deep regret I feel, and that she has forgiven me.
I have thought a lot about what I wish I could have done for Yvette in those last years before her death. I live on the east coast, but if I had known her health was failing (and that her daily life had become so unmanageable), I would have tried to get someone in Los Angeles to help her. For a long time after Yvette’s passing, I carried a tremendous amount of guilt that I had allowed our friendship to lapse. After all, in the ten years I knew her, we had never had a “falling out.” We had never once argued, nor were there ever any hurt, or hard feelings between us. I just foolishly thought there would always be more time to reconnect with her when I was “less busy with other things” (i.e., work projects, my personal life, and any number of things I now see were far less important than her). Yvette’s passing has taught me none of us should ever think there is always more time. There’s only today . . . and I will always wish I had made a stronger effort to keep in touch with her.
When I think of all the things I will forever remember about Yvette — her warmth, her constant encouragement, her tremendous sense of humor, and her unyielding compassion for people and animals — I realize it is her magnificent kindness I will continue to remember (as well as respect and admire) the most. She had a heart as big as eternity, and to me, that is, and will always be, her greatest legacy.
In this age of rampant narcissism, over-inflated egos, and people everywhere trying to outdo each other at every turn, it is especially refreshing to know a person who is totally devoid of pretense, and believe me, that was Yvette Vickers. She was a sweet lady, and a splendid human being . . . and I will always miss her.