You Have No Idea: A Famous Daughter, Her No-Nonsense Mother, and How They Survived Pageants, Hollywood, Love, Loss (7 page)

My parents’ reaction to Johnny Carson was “Well, we can’t shelter you anymore, Ness.” I hadn’t realized until then that I had lived in a nice bubble. I knew about racism, but I never really experienced it blatantly. My mom always told me that the color of my skin would cause some people to treat me differently, but now I was being reminded of it on a daily basis! My mom knew: “It’s going to be rougher than we thought.”

On
The Phil Donahue Show
, a woman in the audience stood up and stated: “You won because the lighting was different to make you look more white. You didn’t look black at all.”

What? Are you kidding me?
I spoke as calmly as possible: “Did you actually watch the pageant? Did you hear me sing?”

There were also death threats—many of which I didn’t know about because my parents didn’t want me to spend my year in fear. But Mom would call me up and say, “Ness, be aware. There are people who are upset a black person won, and you have to be careful.” My mother was not an alarmist. She’d say very calmly, “Listen, Vanessa, these are some of the phone calls we’ve gotten.”

My parents refused to let Miss America rule their lives. They wouldn’t change their phone number or become unlisted, so they’d get these crazy phone calls at the house. Stalkers would also knock on the door while I was out on the road. My dad would calmly talk to them on the porch and they’d eventually leave. Once, police picked up a disheveled looking man along Route 100, near my home. He called himself Mr. Bill and he’d come all the way from Chicago to visit me and harm my mom because she had hung up on him. The cops took him to the police station and then directly to a mental institution nearby.

My mother received death threats because she wouldn’t put these crazy callers in touch with me. One caller wrote my mother saying
he was saving money to come to Millwood and chop off her head. He’d send weekly updates on how much money was in his bank account: $484.15, $515.83, $520.75. It was insane—death threats on layaway.

When I made appearances in the South, I was always nervous. My mind flashed to my fellow Miss America contestant Deneen Graham, who was a brilliant ballerina. The year we competed, she’d been the first black Miss North Carolina. After she won, she came home to a cross burning on her lawn.

When I was in Selma, Alabama, an armed guard was stationed outside my hotel room. My chaperones would get calls to be on alert. They’d say to me, “When you go into your hotel room, do not open your door for anyone, even room service.”

On top of the constant paranoia, there were times when I just wanted to walk away. I was asked to sing the national anthem at the Liberty Bowl in Memphis, forfeiting part of Christmas vacation at home. I told my dad I was too exhausted, too tired of worrying. I was close to quitting.

“I’m doing my best and there’s so much negativity.” I wasn’t black enough for black people and I wasn’t white enough for white people.

“Hey, this is your job. You can’t quit,” my dad said.

As rough as it was, the rewards were really amazing. After my triumphant runway strut, I returned to my room at Merv Griffin’s Resorts Casino. The phone rang and my chaperone told me to pick up.

“Hello, Vanessa? This is President Reagan. Congratulations. This is a great thing for our nation,” he said.

“Thank you very much, Mr. President.” It was an amazing moment. During my reign, I would meet President Reagan twice—once at a state dinner and again at an Oval Office photo op.

I was starting my leap into celebrity. Soon after I won I was at an event where I met the hottest star of the time—Eddie Murphy. I was
reduced to a giggling girl when he looked at me—I was and still am a huge fan. I was amazed that all of a sudden I was meeting and rubbing elbows with these people I’d always admired.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

“New York.”

“Can I get your number?”

“Well, I’m on the road,” I said. (There were no cell phones back then.)

He smiled at me. “So, you’re
always
on the road? Don’t you have any time off?”

“No.” Did I really just say no to Eddie Murphy? But it was true, I had no time off. “I’m on the road every day in a new city for almost the entire year,” I explained. “I fly in, do a gig, and fly out. I’m leaving for somewhere in the morning.”

So I never went out with Eddie Murphy, although he’ll always be the first big celebrity who asked for my number.

In October, I traveled to the White House for a state dinner with Karl Carstens, the president of West Germany (this was during the Cold War, when Germany was still divided into two countries). I wore my Miss America evening gown—the ivory Grecian dress that Vicki had bedazzled. A military guard escorted me up an elaborate stone staircase, and my name was announced along with the name of my handsome African-American soldier.

I was on my own—and nervous. In the receiving line before me was the legendary designer Halston and two of my dancing idols, Martha Graham and Ginger Rogers. Then it was my turn to shake hands and be introduced to Ronald and Nancy Reagan. They were such a regal couple. I couldn’t believe how tiny Nancy was—she had the narrowest shoulders I’d ever seen. Next I shook hands with George and Barbara Bush, who took me under their wings and made sure I felt comfortable. “We’re proud and excited for you,” Barbara said.

During dinner, Sonny Jurgensen sat to my left and President Reagan was on my right. I had the best seat in the dining room. The conversation was a mix of sports and current events, but mostly the golden days of Hollywood. President Reagan would sigh, smile, and tell stories about the movies he’d been in. It was all unreal to a twenty-one-year-old.

VANESSA’S PRESIDENTIAL ENCOUNTERS

When I hung up my congratulatory phone call from
Ronald Reagan
, I had no idea that that was just the beginning of my presidential encounters, and that I would also get an official Oval Office visit.

Dining at the state dinner with President Reagan and Mrs. Reagan was a fairy-tale evening. You can’t help but feel like you’re in a movie when you’re in their presence. They were elegant and glamorous. The president and Mrs. Reagan couldn’t have been nicer.

At that same dinner I met
George Herbert Walker Bush,
who was vice president at the time. I will never forget how welcoming Vice President Bush and his wife, Barbara, were to me. They chatted with me and were loving, inclusive, and warm. I saw George again when he was president. I sang “Save the Best for Last” at the Ford Theatre for him.

By the time
George W. Bush
left the White House I felt that we were old friends. I’d attended five events during his two terms, and he’d always greet me with a warm smile. He even commented on one of my dates—who was twelve years younger than me—at Eunice Kennedy Shriver’s White House birthday dinner: “Who’s that young guy you brought?”

I took my mom to my first Kennedy Center Honors in 2005, where I sang for the honorees and President Bush. At the preshow reception I told my mom, who didn’t agree with his politics, “Keep your mouth closed—please!” You never know with my mom. But she shook his hand and kept moving. Whew! As far as I’m concerned, it’s an honor to be invited. Respect the office …
always
!

I sang “Save the Best for Last” at
Bill Clinton
’s preinaugural concert. I also sang at a Very Special Christmas concert with the Special Olympics featured artists from the Christmas CDs the night before he was impeached. After he left office, Bill Clinton moved to Chappaqua, about a mile and a half away from my home. He called me right after my dad died and said he was so sorry to hear about it. He told me that even though his mother had been dead for many years, he still picked up the phone each Sunday to call her. (When I told my mom about his call, she said, “Why didn’t he call me? He was my husband!”)

I met
Barack Obama
on a Capitol Hill visit when I was campaigning for the Special Olympics. He had announced his candidacy and I had a brief sit-down in his office. After he won, I was one of the hosts for ABC’s coverage of Obama’s inaugural ball. I was there for the first dance, for which Beyoncé sang “At Last.” I was just in awe of him and what he had accomplished. While I watched him dance, we all swooned at how passionately he loved his wife.

I met
Jimmy Carter
, my dad’s favorite because of their similar childhoods, along with
Gerald Ford,
at Emory University in Atlanta, when I was invited as Miss America. I always had a particular fondness for Carter because my dad felt a kinship to him. He bought his autobiography and said to me, “His background is very similar to how I grew up.” They both loved farming and had warm memories of their childhood. They had similar views on ecology and justice. They married strong women, were protective of their family, and were very open and honest.

But through it all, my mother’s voice echoed in my head: “Whatever you do, get the president to sign your menu,” she had told me.

“What? Now how am I going to do that?” was my response.

But Mom had been adamant. “It’s something you’ll always have. Keep a journal, too. Write this stuff down.”

In between courses, before dessert, I said to President Reagan, “My mom will kill me if I don’t get your autograph on the menu.”

President Reagan chuckled. “Of course.”

The things you do for Mom! At my next state dinner at the White House, I had President George W. Bush sign the menu along with the rest of the table.

That Thanksgiving I sang “New York, New York” from the top of the Big Apple float in the Macy’s Day Parade. I waved to the crowd in my beige-and-ivory mink coat with a fox collar. (The coat wasn’t a gift; Miss Americas received tremendous discounts.) Growing up, I’d watched that parade every year on television while helping prepare dinner, so to be actually on a float was a wonderful moment for me. (The other actress with the same name, Vanessa Williams, was mistakenly sent the check for my performance, but she graciously forwarded it to me.)

On the Fourth of July, I sang the national anthem on the USS
Intrepid
, the aircraft carrier. I took a helicopter to the event with legendary artist Ray Charles. I sang with Bob Hope on his college special from Syracuse University’s Carrier Dome. I was serenaded by Ben Vereen at his concert in Texas. I had a guest appearance on
The Love Boat
, where I played myself as Miss America, along with
three other past winners (Marian McKnight, Nancy Fleming, Jean Bartel). It was the first time I’d been to a television studio lot. The show was past its prime, but it was still a television staple.
The Love Boat
was such an iconic show. I smiled through every scene, I was so jacked.

And even though I had been nervous about sniper fire during my parade through historic Selma, Alabama, I was connected to the city’s rich civil rights past. Now I had become a part of history. In Atlanta, I was introduced to Dorothy Height, a civil rights hero. Here I was, a symbol of opportunity, change, and tolerance. This was something I had never imagined.

Now, back to the abrupt ending—six weeks before my final walk.

I continued my speech. Ramon was next to me, looking over my shoulder as I read. His presence calmed me. With him there, I didn’t feel so alone. I’d only known him for a few days, but we had gone through the fire already.

“I feel at this time I could expend my energies in launching what I hope will be a successful career in the entertainment business.”

Looking back, would I do the pageant all over again? I know I’m supposed to say, “Yes, because it made me who I am today.” But I don’t always do or say what I’m supposed to do or say. And the truth is, I wouldn’t do it again. But in this life, you don’t get do-overs.

For years and years I’d walk into an audition or meeting and I could feel the judgment. They thought I was a beauty queen devoid of talent and intellect. Actually, not only a beauty queen—I was a scandalous Miss America. I was Vanessa the Undressa.

But I silently thought,
You have no idea who I am and what I can do. One day the dust will settle and you’ll see what I am made of. You’ll accept me for who I really am.

What a difficult day for the family, but it was a relief, too. I knew once Vanessa made a decision, that would be the end of it. She doesn’t dwell on things. I was very proud of the way she conducted herself.

There were hundreds of photographers on our lawn. It was driving me crazy. One day I said to myself,
I’m going to have a little fun.
I drove to the Maryknoll Sisters convent in Ossining, a few towns away. I watched as the paparazzi followed me. Then I stayed in the gift shop for a half hour. When I left, they followed me in their cars. The next day the papers wrote that Vanessa was hiding out with the nuns. I had a good laugh—Vanessa in a convent? It was a ridiculous thought. I had to think of things to do to take the seriousness out of the situation. We tried not to let this take over our lives—we didn’t close the blinds and we came and went as we pleased, almost ignoring the photographers. But for my husband and Chris, it was just such a difficult, difficult time.