Priceless Memories - Bob Barker [86]
Please don’t picture me sitting around staring off into space, doing nothing. I do plan to do some of that, if I ever get time. Actually, I feel as if I am starting a new, completely different, and very exciting phase of my life, one that I hope will be productive and pleasing to others, as well as to me.
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As I write, I have been retired from Price for more than a year. One of the things that has kept me busy is writing this book. I had been approached several times over the years by agents who wanted me to write a book, but when I announced my retirement, I received an attractive offer from one of the top publishers. I accepted, but before we could sign the papers, the deal collapsed, through no fault of mine or the publisher.
Norman Brokaw, chairman of the board of the famous William Morris Agency, and I have known each other since Sol Leon was solving all my problems. When I told Norman that my book deal was no more, Norman promptly said, “Bob, I’ll get you a publisher if you want to write a book.”
I said, “I’m not sure I want to. Let me think about it.”
About a week later, while I was thinking about it, Norman called and said, “Bob, I have an excellent offer for you from an excellent publisher.”
“I guess I am going to write a book,” I said. And, you know, I have thoroughly enjoyed writing this book. To me, it’s a lot like talking to an audience. Of course, I’m writing about me, and I’ve always liked talking about myself.
Dorothy Jo and I used to have what we called chat time. At the end of the day, before dinner, we’d sit down, I’d pour a couple of glasses of wine, and we would chat. One evening we sat down, I poured our wine, and Dorothy Jo said, “Barker, tonight let’s talk about anything but you.”
I couldn’t think of a thing to say.
Dorothy Jo was a very funny lady, often at my expense. One time she was being interviewed by a newspaper reporter who asked, “How have you and Bob remained happily married for so long—particularly here in Hollywood, where so many people go through one divorce after another?”
Dorothy Jo thought for a moment and answered: “Our marriage is based on love. I love Barker, and Barker loves Barker.” Dorothy Jo had to pour her own wine that evening, and I talked about myself during our chat time.
As I recall these remarks of Dorothy Jo’s, I am reminded that I haven’t written anything as yet about the grand old house that we bought in 1969 when we moved back to Hollywood from the San Fernando Valley and in which I sit as I write.
The first home built in Hollywood, an adobe, was located on the lot on which our house now stands. Eventually, Harrison Gray Otis, founder of the Los Angeles Times, bought the adobe. He named it the Outpost and lived in it until he died.
Our house was built in 1929. It’s a Spanish Colonial Revival style with the original tile in all the bathrooms, leaded windows, stained-glass windows, a hand-carved padre’s walk (balcony) the length of the house, and a decorative hand-painted coffered ceiling in the entryway.
Dorothy Jo loved this house. She decorated it herself and chose every piece of furniture for it. When she was terminally ill, she said, “I hope this house doesn’t end up as an apartment house some day.” And I am delighted to tell you, it won’t. At least, not for a long, long time.
I submitted the history of this house and its features to the Los Angeles Cultural Heritage Commission and requested that it be declared an historic cultural monument. After an inspection by the commissioners, the house that Dorothy Jo loved so much and wanted protected was named historic cultural monument number 673. That means no changes without the commission’s approval.
I know nothing is forever. But it’s the best I can do.
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As I have mentioned earlier, my involvement with animal rights has become a more important part of my life with each passing day. As proud