ALTHOUGH I HAD stolen a few days from Camelot in order to do Carnegie Hall, I still had five weeks in the show before my contract expired. I suddenly received word that Walt Disney was coming to see us, and had asked if he could come backstage afterward to meet me. I was flattered, and thought it very polite of him.
When Walt appeared in my dressing room, he exuded natural charm and friendliness. After the formalities, he told me and Tony about a combination live action/animated film that he was planning to make, based on the Mary Poppins books by P. L. Travers. I was familiar with the title, but had never read the books.
Walt described it a little, and said that his staff at the studio were in the preproduction process. He asked if I might be interested in playing the role of Mary, the English nanny, and whether, after I was finished with Camelot, I would like to come out to Hollywood to hear the songs and see the designs that had been created thus far.
Apparently the co-producer and co-screenwriter of Mary Poppins, a dear man called Bill Walsh, had recommended me to Walt. He had suggested that Walt come and see the show, and Walt must have felt sure enough about my performance to make an immediate offer. I was overwhelmed by this sudden turn of events, but had to tell him that I was pregnant, and therefore it would not be possible for me to do the film.
Walt gently explained that his team wouldn’t be ready to commence shooting until some time after our baby was born. He turned to Tony and said, “And what is it that you do, young man?” Tony explained that he was a scenic and costume designer.
“Then when you come to California, you should bring your portfolio with you,” Walt replied.
MY FINAL PERFORMANCE of Camelot was on Saturday April 14, 1962. Mum and Dad Walton were in New York and attended that night.
I bid a loving farewell to the company. I had never missed a performance due to sickness through the entire eighteen months of the run, and my faith in my ability to survive the rigors of Broadway had been restored. Now that my tonsils were no longer poisoning my system, I discovered what it was like to actually feel healthy.
I spent the following week in midnight sessions with my chum Carol, recording the album of Julie and Carol at Carnegie Hall for Columbia Records. I then traveled to Washington to join Tony and see A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum in previews there. What a wonderful, joyous show Forum is! I still rank it among my six favorite musicals—West Side Story, Carousel, Guys and Dolls, Gypsy… and My Fair Lady, of course. But those are just the first favorites, for I have many, many more.
Tony’s designs were a riot of marvelous color. There was one curtain in the show that was a radiant, translucent red—almost a signature of his work. Burnt oranges, reds, and corals are particular palettes Tony loves to use, as well as midnight blues, aquamarines, and ocean colors. No one can equal his eye for mixing the tones so uniquely, not to mention his ability for creating drawings that appear utterly facile and free.
It’s a rare talent that makes everything seem so easy that it belies the dedication and hard work behind it. Astaire had it, Rubinstein, Baryshnikov, Segovia, certain painters, writers, and poets—the ones who convey the feeling that there’s so much strength and energy left unused. It’s a quality supremely to be desired.
Forum opened on Broadway on May 8, and received great notices. Two days later, on our third wedding anniversary, Tony and I flew to California to meet with Walt Disney, as arranged.
We stayed once again at the Beverly Hills Hotel, and had a quiet, celebratory dinner there that first evening. The following day, we were driven to the Disney Studios in Burbank. Walt proudly hosted us. We had lunch in the Disney commissary, famous in those days for its good food. People were on the lawn playing table tennis; there were trees everywhere; the streets were neatly signposted.
Walt had a grand office at one end of the animation building. On the walls of his inner sanctum, lacquered plaques told of his many films. There were awards everywhere, plus a huge board showing the grosses of every single movie he had ever made. It was mind-boggling to see the numbers.
Walt was a workaholic, arriving at the studios around six A.M., long before anyone else. He’d roam the animation building, checking the designs on people’s desks to see what was being accomplished. Nothing could escape Walt’s eagle eye.
The first day was all about meeting everyone, being shown the studio, seeing the storyboards of Mary Poppins. These were sketches of every scene in the movie, pinned around the office walls, so we were able to get a very clear idea of what Walt had in mind for this production.
The next day, a Saturday, Walt took us to the races. He was an investor in the Hollywood Park racetrack, and he invited Tony and me to join him and his diminutive wife, Lillian, in his private box. We could not have been more spoiled.
We were informed that there was a horse running that day called “Little Walt.” Because he had just been blessed with a new grandson who had been named after him, Walt put a lot of money on this horse, a rank outsider. Tony and I didn’t have much between us, but thought we ought to appear willing, so we put everything we had on it, crossed our fingers, and prayed. Amazingly, the horse romped home and we all made a bundle!
Sunday was Mother’s Day, and Walt took us to Disneyland, which had been attracting massive crowds since it opened, and was flourishing.
Seeing Disneyland for the first time is a riveting experience, but seeing it with Walt Disney as your guide was nothing less than extraordinary. He and Lillian had their own private apartment overlooking the town square of Main Street. It was a tiny replica of a Victorian residence, with a bedroom, kitchen, and offices, all in perfect scale, the furniture in proportion, pretty fringed velvet lamps strategically placed throughout. Apparently Lillian had wanted it that way, and Walt had humored her. Occasionally, for a special function or gala evening, they would gather with the family there, or perhaps even stay overnight in the early days. Nobody else ever used it. It was the Disneys’ private hideaway.
Walt took us on a tour of the park in his golf cart. People recognized him, and waved or ran up to touch his sleeve. “God bless you, Walt!” or “We love you, Walt!” they cried. He had the kind of celebrity that rock groups now have. I suppose his is one of the most famous and beloved names in the world. Has anyone, anywhere, not heard of Disney?
Walt took us on almost every attraction, including Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, a submarine ride which was quite phenomenal. It closed in 1998, but happily re-opened in 2007, and was renamed Finding Nemo. We drove through Tomorrowland and Fantasyland. We went on the Jungle Boat Cruise and into the Tiki Room. We ate a great lunch in a private restaurant called “Club 33,” which was for special clients and friends. Then Walt escorted us to his newest creation, the Swiss Family Robinson Tree House.
It was huge and completely man-made. Walt proudly told us how many leaves and blossoms it had. Children were scrambling all over it, climbing ladders, crossing bridges, and exploring the many little rooms.
With a twinkle in his eye, Walt said, “…and they say only God can make a tree!”
Later, we were invited back to the Disneys’ home, where Walt had a miniature steam train in the garden for his children and grandchildren. It was amazing to see the tiny railway line weaving in and out of the flower beds and to hear the shriek of the little engine, which Walt rode with enthusiasm. He always exhibited the delight of a child.
The day after Disneyland, we returned to the studios and listened to all the terrific songs for Mary Poppins, written by the Sherman brothers, Robert and Richard. The latter played the piano enthusiastically. I recognized in the songs a kind of “rum-ti-tum” vaudeville quality, and, in a flash, the value of my early years in music hall fell into place.
“Oh! I think I might know how to do this!” I thought. I suddenly realized that all the endless touring and hard work had not been wasted after all.
Concerning his request that Tony bring his portfolio to Hollywood, Walt took one look at his work and signed him on the spot, commissioning him to design the film sets for Cherry Tree Lane and the interior of the Banks household, plus all the costumes, for which Tony ultimately received an Oscar nomination.
Walt had an infallible gift for spotting talent in people. I should add the word “decency” as well. Down to the lowliest go-fer in his vast organization, I never met one soul who wasn’t kind, enthusiastic, and generous. The Disney aura touched everyone on the studio lot in those days, and anyone who didn’t have these qualities didn’t last long.
It was very easy to gasp a grateful thank-you to Walt and to accept his invitation to be in the film.