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#16 |
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Ann's Adventures in 'Toyland' Second of Three Columns |
 Ann Jillian, age 10, enjoys the "wrap party" for "Babes in Toyland" at the Disney Ranch with the immortal Walt Disney himself. |
Working for Disney was like
having a daily adventure
By ANN JILLIAN
of TheColumnists.com
OUR
FAMILY was taking a ride the other day. My son was happily chattering
to his father, and I was viewing the splendid countryside surrounding
us. I pressed the button to lower the window and let the air
stream in. It felt 'familiar' somehow. The crispness of it, the
smell of it, the look of the sun's glorious golden rays spreading
over the vista.
Somewhere in some distant time before, perhaps even through this
stretch of land, the day was exactly as it was this day and it
had affected me in the same way. The heart recalls what the mind
has stowed away for safe-keeping.
While it was perfectly "right" that there was a child's
voice filling the automobile with silly, wonderful discourse,
and two parents were lovingly indulgent, hanging on every word,
momentarily, my son was not the only juvenile in the vehicle.
I was a kid again and I couldn't shake the feeling (nor did I
want to).
Suddenly I was thrust back to a time of new adventures. I was
about 9 years old. My Mama and I were on our way to a "location
shoot" for an automobile commercial in the country. It was
a time when a car (a Chevrolet) would turn into a carriage, and
I, a princess. It also was a time when a "highway"
was a place I could go and play...and did, during lunch time.
You
see, in those days what's now one of the busiest highways in
the world--The Ventura Freeway section of California's Highway
101--was still in the process of being constructed. Access was
blocked off, but there was an empty expanse of smooth cement
highway right in the middle of the orange groves.
Whatever it was that triggered this reverie didn't stop there.
Soon, my mind was gliding over a vast field of memories ripe
for harvest. There were so many "drives" with my family.
Loving, happy weekend excursions and vacation journeys, it was
good to remember them. My pilgrimage from Boston, Mass. to Los
Angeles, California on a train at the age of 5, was, no doubt,
a sign of countless trips to come--trips to work or to auditions.
As we drove along, my thoughts leaped back to those mornings
in my childhood when I would go to work instead of school like
most other kids my age. They were particularly special mornings.
Walking through the gates at Disney Studios in Burbank, after
exchanging smiling greetings with the guards, my mother and I
would weave our way toward the back of the lot, amid the sound
stages, to the wardrobe and makeup departments, the school trailer
or the actual set where filming was going on.
The year was 1960. I was 10 years old and I had successfully
completed numerous auditions for the coveted part of Little Bo-Peep
in Walt Disney's version of the classic, "Babes in Toyland,"
which actually began production on my birthday. Now, I was entering
not only the gates to the studio but my future, as well.
It was here that, at Walt Disney's urging, I was given my "show
business" name: Ann Jillian. I was hired under my real name,
Ann Nauseda. If you're having trouble getting your mouth around
that name, well, that's the very reason Mr. Disney himself suggested
to my mother that it ought to be changed.
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in "Babes in Toyland" |
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Now, my mother may have come from another country (Lithuania), and had an accent, but she was well educated and nobody's fool. A call came from Mr. Disney's secretary requesting that we meet with the boss, and the next thing I knew, we were sitting in front of the legendary Walt Disney, and the director of the film, Jack Donohue.
Walt Disney ruled his kingdom with a strong and wholesome hand. Everyone in the company loved him. He was a father figure. He took the time to know every one of his employees by name. That's what I was told by so many on the lot, and what I witnessed, first-hand. From the make-up department to the cafeteria, the animation department to the "property captain," from publicity to the music department, all of them had nothing but the highest regard for their employer.
And the children who were under contract before me: Kevin and Brian Corcoran, and grown-up Annette, all ran to hug him whenever he visited the set. I was privileged to be newly included into the hug.
"Mrs. Nauseda, please know that we don't think there is anything wrong with your name," he began, "However, the public, for the most part, will have difficulty pronouncing it. I know I do, and we feel that your Ann has a future in this business. A last name that could easily be read and spelled, and look good on a marquee, would be a good idea."
He
leaned forward over his desk, "What do you think?"
"You are de boss, you know de best!" she quipped. It
didn't take long for her to jump on the bandwagon.
He smiled, "I knew you'd make a wise decision. Good! Jack,
here, has some ideas..."
Jack Donohue was a distinguished gentleman in appearance and
demeanor (Mr. Disney would not have it any other way, being a
gentleman, as well). I recognized this man from a visit he had
made on the set of a musical television program in which Frank
Sinatra sang "High Hopes" (I had the enviable position
of sitting and singing right next to "ol' blue eyes"
amidst a group of children). Obviously friends, they exchanged
some humorous repartee and little did I know the important part
he would play in my career in the near future.
Kind and quick-witted with a full laugh and tall, rotund body
that appeared to laugh right along with him, he made everyone
feel at ease. Though he was very well versed, and often loved
to throw out Latin and French phrases to the children, he was
never intimidating because of his good-natured personality. We
learned a lot listening to him. I loved the way he dressed, too,
wearing crisp shirts with ascots and sporting a well-trimmed
mustache, and neatly cut salt and pepper hair. He would be equally
at home on the polo field, as he was playing hide n' seek with
the kids. His background was impressive, too, spanning Broadway
to Hollywood. In a deep, resonant voice he presented my future,
professional name for my mother's approval.
"Ann's first name, of course, will remain the same,"
he said,"I think of her as being melodious (I sang a lot
as Little Bo-Peep), so her name should be the same. My own lovely
daughter's name is 'Jill,' so I put the two first names together:
'Jill' and 'Ann' to make 'Jilliann.'"
We all sat there, rolling the name over our tongues to see how
it felt. The decision was unanimous. From that moment on, I would
be known as Ann Jilliann in film. If you ever catch the movie
during the Christmas holidays, you'll see the credits with my
last name spelled with two "n's". In the years that
followed, I got tired of writing the second "n" and
dropped it to form the "Jillian" you may be more familiar
with today.
The film is now a Christmas classic and I have such fond remembrances
of it: The Forest-Of-No-Return, where we danced and sang with
moving and singing trees. Ray Bolger, who, complete with the
villain's regalia, taught me, between scenes, how to dance the
tango. (Later at the "wrap" party at Mr. Disney's ranch,
Ray fell in the lake from an overturned canoe and I felt close
enough to precociously ask him if it was a publicity stunt or
the real thing?) Sidney Sheldon who, together with Henry Calvin
had been a comedy duo in many Disney films, taught me to "cross"
my eyes individually moving them back and forth...a noteworthy
accomplishment, I know, and it's not easy. Try it!
My parents had always been subscribers to the old adage, "Empty
vessels make most noise." They taught me to have fun, but
to be observant and attentive. That piece of advice served me
well over the years. Mama, who was always my guardian on set,
expected that I strictly adhere to it. As a result, I quickly
gained a reputation as a cooperative, "quick study,"
and my mother and father were welcomed wherever I worked.
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in the lake at the 'Babes in Toyland' wrap party. |
I learned the importance of promotion from observing Mr. Disney oversee the production of a separate, "special" episode of the TV series "Disney's Wonderful World of Color." It was really no more than an on-air advertisement in the form of an entertainment celebration by all the characters in the film "Babes in Toyland." The life of a film doesn't end with just the filming. There is a whole "life" before actual shooting and another one long after.
So many times when people have asked me for some good advice for entering this industry, I tell them Jack Donohue's words: "Be prepared for the opportunity when it arises, because it doesn't come often," and "...don't give up at the 11th hour."
Suddenly I felt the car stop, jolting me back to the present. My son was excitedly chattering away about the "turkey shoot" he and his father had found, sponsored by one of the local civic clubs. (They didn't actually shoot a turkey, for those of you who are worried. They gave it as a prize for the best target practice.) I gazed through the window at the spectacular day surrounding us and, briefly, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass. It's not the face of the little girl I had been, but a woman now, a wife, a mother, with a trace of a smile.
My contemplative journey ended as swiftly, it seemed, as it had begun. It had been sweet, but was interrupted by something sweeter... my son's "glee." It was a nice departure, this private little trip into my childhood recollections, and I'm sure I'll be going back there again, for there's so much more to tell.
So much more...
© 2001 by Ann Jillian
Murcia. The images are from Ann Jillian's private collection.
You can comment on this column or contact Ann Jillian with an email to: talkback@thecolumnists.com
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