It became clear what a small town LA was. While I was shooting these odd little TV projects, I was actually six degrees from some seriously talented people. Di Pego wrote a screenplay that Reynolds had decided to direct himself. Goldie Hawn’s first husband, Gus Trikonis, directed me in a TV movie with Stephanie Zimbalist (whom I adored). Gus had acted in the movie West Side Story, and his wisdom about the business made an impression on me. He told me, “Work is work. Just try to be the best thing in whatever you’re doing.” I tried to take his advice to heart, even though what I was doing seemed weak and wasn’t drawing a significant audience. I gathered, therefore, that it must have been agents, producers, and casting people talking about me and my potential, regardless of my recent work, that brought me the first audition for a project I thought was truly special.
In the pre–O. J. era, the Jeffrey MacDonald murder case was a big media event, on par with the crimes and trials of Jean Harris, Charles Manson, and the Menendez brothers. In 1970, MacDonald, a US Army surgeon assigned to the Green Berets at Fort Bragg, was accused of killing his pregnant wife and two daughters in their home. The author Joe McGinniss responded to an invitation from MacDonald to tell his story, and ended up writing the bestseller Fatal Vision, in which he submits that his subject is, in fact, guilty and labels him a “narcissistic sociopath.” NBC was producing a TV movie based on the book, and I got a call to audition for director David Greene to play MacDonald. Greene had directed the forgettable TV movie I did with Kelly McGillis and the more well-received Rich Man, Poor Man, among others.
On an overcast New York day in 1983 as I headed to my audition, the thought of being considered for this job made my head spin. The prospect of working with Karl Malden, Eva Marie Saint, and Andy Griffith, who had already been cast, was overwhelming. Before the meeting, I headed into a bar down the block. I quickly belted down two Canadian Club and sodas, steeled myself, went to the appointment, and nailed it. When Bloom called me to tell me I’d landed the job, I was deliriously happy. Dramatic acting roles were always the goal, and now a great opportunity to play this cunning murderer was in front of me. But then Bloom informed me that we had an interesting dilemma. The producers of the CBS prime-time soap opera Knots Landing had also called and wanted to meet with me about joining the cast. Knots was perched in the top ten every week and therefore I would simply go along for the ride. Bloom was deliberate and clear. “No question, you should do Knots,” he said. “It’s already a big hit and you will be seen by many millions every week. The TV movie will get aired once with a rerun and be gone. The MacDonald role is great, but Knots comes with an added bonus. The role is Julie Harris’s son.”
Working with talented people is one of the great gifts of show business and an area in which I’ve been lucky over the years. A few of these people, however, have stood out above the rest. Some are famous; others are not. Some are bright, compassionate, and unpretentious; others are not. But no one I’ve worked with during my career has come close to Julie Harris, in terms of the reservoir of humanity, talent, and professionalism that she embodied. It was Julie, and all the feelings that she provoked in me, who made my decision to sign up for Knots an easy one. (And a good one. Later, when I ignored those instincts to work with the right people, bad things happened.)
Julie appeared on the show for eight seasons as a series regular. She approached the job like she did all of the stage roles that had garnered her five Tony Awards on Broadway between 1952 (I Am a Camera) and 1977 (The Belle of Amherst). She took the work seriously. She was professional every minute of every day. The crew moved around her as if she were the queen. She elevated the work of the other cast members. When I read the upcoming scripts and saw that I had scenes with Julie, I was excited to go to work.
My character, Joshua Rush, was Julie’s character’s estranged son, who became the love interest of Lisa Hartman, the show’s young ingénue. Joshua was a mess. He had mommy issues and daddy issues. He was a minister’s son who was a preacher himself and eventually jumped off a building. My scenes were a bit overcooked, and I was still trying to figure out how to work around the cast of actors who had built this show into a hit without any help from me. I learned that any screen time on an ensemble show is time taken from someone else. Some of the other actors aren’t so happy about that.
When the camera rolled, I simply focused on Julie, and she took you where the scene needed to go. When encountering her warm eyes and her soothing voice, I sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a mother that present, that soulful. But comparing my own mother to Julie was, obviously, unfair. Julie was an actress being paid to express those feelings. Nonetheless, confusing acting with reality can be an occupational hazard. I would make small talk with her in her dressing room, and we became friends. She would occasionally invite me to the Brentwood home where she stayed while she shot the series. After the show wrapped, she’d return to her home in Chatham, Massachusetts, or go off to do a play. Knots was a job. It was a good job. But the theater was her life.
Manipulating their public relations was a large order of business for the cast of Knots. One day, sitting in the driveway of a home where we regularly shot, Julie sat quietly, knitting. As I was discussing with Lisa and some others the question of which publicist I should sign with, Julie looked up and said, “Oh, Alec. Don’t get a publicist. Let the work speak for itself.” How I’ve wished, over the years, that I had taken her advice. Publicists, and the courting of the media that goes hand in hand with them, have created as many problems as they have solved in my life. If only I had followed Julie’s lead in all things. While Julie taught me that there was nothing to be ashamed of in doing jobs simply to make a living, so long as those jobs fueled other creative efforts, the other actors on Knots were all big TV stars who saw things somewhat differently.
Working with someone as iconic as Julie, I wondered what impressed her. Julie’s career cut a swath through the heart of twentieth-century theater, film, and TV, and I wanted to learn what memories stood out to her. In her dressing room one day, I asked her what the most special moment of her career had been. What was she proudest of? She paused for a long moment and said, “I’m one of only two actresses to kiss Jimmy Dean in a movie.” Julie had done so in East of Eden, the other actress being Natalie Wood in Rebel Without a Cause. Over time, I asked Julie about Raymond Massey, Claire Bloom, Elizabeth Taylor, and Brando. Of all that galaxy of names and experiences, kissing Dean was what lingered.