This article, written by Beverly Ott, appeared in
the March 1961 issue of Motion Picture Magazine.
In the Italian village of Santa
Margherita Ligure, they roll
up the sidewalks early. Still,
Italians love music and they smiled
as the song drifted their way
through the warm, starlit night.
From their windows, they could see
the group of young people ambling
along the deserted cobblestoned
street. The boy who led them was
singing. Then, suddenly, he glanced
down at the small blonde at his side
and grinned, "You're on!"
The girl sang the next few lines
in a clear, sweet voice and, finally,
the rest of the crowd joined in. For
all the citizens of Santa Margherita
knew, the kids might have been a
group of carefree, touring collegians from the States. No one
recognized them as a part of Hollywood's Come September cast, nor
did anyone know that the boy was
Bobby Darin and the girl whose
hand he held was Sandra Dee.
They hadn't known each other
long, these two. Back in California,
it would have been hard to imagine
a pair of co-stars less likely to be
found together off the set. Yet,
Bobby Darin and Sandra Dee had
met when they needed each other most, when each could
give the other something no one else could give.
A few days earlier, Bobby had arrived from
Rome by train, the quickest way to reach Santa
Margherita. As the wheels had clacked their way
north, he had tried to relax. But he hadn't been
able to control his nervousness. Come September
was to be his first movie role, a lead at that.
Hardly anyone knew it, but he'd wanted to act
since his days as a slum kid—long before he'd
fallen into the music world. Now, he really had
to produce the goods.
He sat staring out of the compartment window, seeing little, and knowing he should look.
He'd wanted a change of scene, a change of pace.
He'd been told that Italy had a kind of magic,
a way of making people forget. Well, maybe. . .
When Bobby reached the location, the Darin
grin came as readily as ever—for friends, for fans, for photographers. But there was no trace
of laughter in his eyes. . ..
Sandra and her mother, Mary
Douvan, drove from Rome. "Oh,
Mom, it's beautiful," Sandra had
said, stepping out of the car. "I've
never seen anything so lovely. . .."
Her glance fell on a crowd of
young people, clowning it up nearby. Her eyes lingered on the boy
in their midst. "That's Bobby
Darin," someone told her. "The
guy who's going to be in the picture with you."
She thought, "He looks so
smug." Then, "He seems to be so
at ease with those kids, so self-assured . . . the way I've always read
he was."
"Sandy . . ." The porters had gathered
up the luggage. Her mother and the studio
people were waiting.
"Coming," she smiled, and they went into
the hotel.
Sandra Dee was a girl who'd had everything. Almost. She'd lived in a world of
glamour and grownups. From the day she'd
chosen modeling, she'd never really had a
chance to belong, to be a part of a crowd
close to her own age. She'd never known how.
Now she was 18 and the months were slipping
past . . . 19 next . . . then 20. . . . Her life
was wonderful, yet she knew she was missing
something important and soon it would be
too late. She knew she could never go
back. . . .
"It's time you two got acquainted. . . ."
Producer Robert Arthur started to make
the introduction, but Bobby took over. "I've
always enjoyed your pictures. Miss Weld,"
he told Sandra, his face straight, his voice
earnest.
Without blinking, she answered, "And I
always buy your records, Fabian."
"She's all right," Bobby thought. "This
kid's all right!"
They went into rehearsals almost immediately—Sandra, Bobby and the four other
boys and five other girls playing their pals
in the film. Bobby seemed as self-assured as
the magazines always said he was.
"This must be awfully different from making records and personal appearances," she
said to him one day.
"Oh, I've been acting for years," he told her. "I was a smash from the start."
"Oh?" Well! "And just where was the
start?"
"I played a wicked Indian chief, touring
the elementary school circuit for a children's
theater," he explained loftily. "I knew I
was great because the kids used to line up
at the stage door to kick me in the shins
after performances! "
"The brash Bobby Darin!" she thought.
The weeks passed. As the film progressed,
Bobby found himself thinking, "She's a real
pro." And again, "And a nice kid."
That night Sandra picked up her script
and started to say good-by.
"Hey," he called.
"Aren't you coming with us?"
"Well, I. . . ."
He'd taken it for granted that she knew
she was included, but maybe she'd been
thinking of the lines, hadn't heard when
they'd made the plans. "We're going to scout
around for a cafe for dinner, maybe go to
Portofino..."
Still, she hesitated.
"Won't mother let you come?" Bobby teased. Sandy
did look like a beautiful child,
and he'd read about how close she and her
mother were.
"I haven't needed written permission since
I left grammar school."
"How many days ago was that?" he asked
softly. She couldn't help laughing.
That was the way it started. He took her
by the hand and led her into a world she'd
only watched before. She held his hand,
sometimes shyly. sometimes tightly, and followed.
There was no romance, not then, not even
a hint of it. They were always with others.
"It was the first time in Sandra's teen-age
life that she'd been with a lot of young
people," one of her friends from the location
remembers. "The first time she'd had a
chance to realty know anybody. And she
was tearing--around all over the place, having a ball."
It was true. Until she was 18, her movie'
making hours had been carefully supervised
by the Child Welfare Board. The hours were
limited by the law, but they were jam-
packed. When she wasn't in front of the camera, she'd studied lines, gone to school, given
interviews, posed for pictures, rested. Then,
home, where there were other things to be
done. When she'd made Romanoff And
Juliet, she'd learned what it meant to be of
age in movies, especially on a foreign location . . . long hours, crazy hours, 5:00 a.m.
calls, exhaustion.
Now, the work was just as hard, but she
seemed to have energy to spare, energy no
longer sapped by shyness. She wanted to see
everything, do everything, go everywhere.
"Let's take a boat ride . . . let's explore . ..
let's. . .." Now, even her dates were different.
Of course, they weren't actually dates, were
they? She didn't brood, "What will I wear?
What will I talk about? Will he like me?
Will I get along with his friends?" She was
With Bobby and they weren't really dating
and she didn't have to worry.
Sandra Dee, the little lady of the Thunderbird, Cadillac and Just-Stepped-Out-of-
Bandbox fame, became Sandy Douvan,real
live teen-ager, apt to come tearing past on
a motor scooter, her hair flying. Apt to have
beside her, on his own Lambretta, Bobby
Darin. With Bobby and Joel Grey, she made
up the trio who'd launch into song evenings
at the hotel when Mr. D. got out his guitar.
She was one of the record addicts who'd sit
around on the floor, quietly listening. Bobby
had brought a record player. At first she'd
thought, "I love the company, but can I take
the music? It's bound, to be Rock and
Roll!"
Bobby had already put a record on the
machine, when he turned to her, "I should
have asked what you like."
"Something with lyrics that mean something," she'd answered. And promptly paniced. "Oh, dear, now I've put my foot in
it," she thought. "It probably is R & R". She'd
hastily added aloud, "I like profound lyrics,"
she smiled. "Like Splish-Splash." There, now
the whole thing was a joke,
He grinned. "No words on this one,
but. . . ." He started the disc spinning. She
blinked. Why, he'd chosen a piano concerto!
And to her surprise and delight, she discovered that he had a large collection of
classics. "I have a lot to learn about Bobby,"
she thought.
Some nights, they'd all go to the little
place in Portofino after dinner, for guitar
music.
Sometimes, as the guitarist played, Bobby
would glance at Sandra and think, "This is living. Here we are and I've never really
asked her for a date." He'd always hated the
formalities of dating, the big before-the-
evening buildup that two people always gave
each other in their minds, the let-down when
they'd both get so worried over making an
impression that they'd forget to relax and have fun. He'd hated the ties that dating
could lead to, the taking for granted. And
he had the funny feeling that somehow
Sandy had understood from the start!
Sometimes, as the guitarist played, Sandra
would glance at Bobby, the expression he
wore when no one seemed to be looking.
Was it the music? A memory? She'd read
about him and Jo-Ann Campbell, too. She
knew how hurt he must have been. "I'll
cheer him up," she thought. "Make him
laugh. It's the least I can do. . .."
She kept him jumping. Both of them had
cameras and took pictures of each other like crazy. He was napping between scenes one
day, the guitar on his lap when he heard her laughter. He looked up. "You didn't!"
"Yes, I did! It's a priceless shot!"
"You wait. Just wait," he warned her.
She waited until he fell off his Lambretta. Click. He waited until some wag had taken
a broom and made a ridiculous sunshade for
her. Click. And until the wind combed her
hair with the care of an eggbeater and she'd
eaten off her lipstick. Click!
Came the night of the big storm, when
the lights went out just before dinner. The
management placed candles in the rooms
and every few feet along the hallways. Lightning zigzagged its way through the sky and
the thunder roared, but it was nothing to
the eerie scream that pierced the walls of
the Douvans' room. Sandra grabbed a candle
and headed for the door, her mother a few
steps behind her. They discovered that the
other guests had done the same. And they
saw, careening down the hall, a ghost. It
stopped before Sandra and Mary. "Evening,
ladies," it wailed and took off again.
"Oh, that Bobby!" Mary howled with
laughter.
Sandra smiled. In the candlelight, she'd
been able to sec the eyes through the two
holes cut in the sheet. They were full of the
devil. Her smile broadened. And they were
happier. Much, much happier!
When the company was ready to move back
to Rome, Bobby took the train again. "Got
some business to take care of," he explained.
"Got to get there fast." It was the next day-
when he called Mary at the Hotel Excelsior.
Sandra was at the studio. "Where in the
world have you been? We've been worried,"
Mary told him.
"My fast train was ten hours late," he
groaned. "All the rain . . . there were floods!
What's new after all these years?"
The kids of the cast were scattered now.
all living at different hotels. When Bobby
and Sandra weren't busy at Cinecitta Studios,
they were doing publicity layouts. They rode
through the park in an open carriage...
dined and danced at the elegant Hosteria
dell'Orso. . . drove to Ostia Antiqua to explore the ruins.
They were in Rome for several weeks before they had their first date alone together.
They went back to the Dell'Orso, for dinner
and dancing minus the flashbulbs. They
found other spots. Bobby could always come
up with a new and fascinating place. They
listened to music. They talked about their
backgrounds, so completely opposite. Bobby
told her of the flat on 135th Street, the cardboard crib, the shame he'd felt at having to
live on relief through his boyhood, "Show
business," he said, "I figured as the best and
fastest way out of our neighborhood.",
She told him of her childhood, with her
mother and Eugene Douvan, the stepfather
who'd made living like a fairytale. She talked
of the happiness of her mother's second
marriage, of the loss they'd felt when he
died. "He was so protective," she said. "He'd
always made the decisions."
"Always?"
"He was boss," Sandra said gravely.
"Mother wouldn't have dreamed of objecting. He was boss, you understand."
"A wonderful one, I guess."
"Oh, yes... . ."
"That's the way it should be, if a man's
going to feel like a man," Bobby said, almost
to himself. "But I guess there's a difference
between being boss and being bossy, isn't
there?"
"Daddy knew that, too," she answered.
"I . . . I think I read he had a heart condition."
"Yes, for a long time. For years. Then the
doctor told him he had only two years to live...."
"But he made them full years?"
"All of them, Bobby. He wouldn't have
been Daddy . . . he wouldn't have really
felt alive if he'd given up. He lived all those
years the way he had to live them. . . ."
"A man has to . . ." he said.
Their eyes met. "She understands," he
thought. "She understands the way it has
to be. She's been there."
Opposites they were, yet it was strange
how they had mutual memories. They'd
reacted differently, but still. . . . There was the shyness that made Sandra withdraw,
made Bobby lash out in a frenzy of clowning. "They laughed and I belonged," he
told her. "Then one day I decided I didn't
want to be a clown all my life and I took
up drumming," He grinned. "Our little
group never played the Waldorf, but I got
to be a pretty big wheel at school!"
She grinned back. "I didn't do too badly
when we lived on Long Island . . . but in
New York. . . well, once I started modeling
I was so busy that there just wasn't time
for friends. Oh, I guess there were other
things, too. The girls I seemed to meet . . .
they all pushed so hard. It was all so cut-throat...."
Bobby smiled at the girl to whom everything had always come easily. He hoped it
always would. But he said, "Sometimes you
have to push, honey. Push or stay put. And
when you think of staying put in a kind of
hell, you push all the harder. . . ."
"I didn't understand then, Bobby. . . ."
No, not then. She giggled. "It's funny. . . .
I've always been shy about dates, too. You
know, what'll I say? All that. And here we
are, me talking my head off, and if this isn't
a date, what is it?"
"A date," he announced. "Miss Dee and
Mr. Darin are definitely out on a date. I
pronounce it official."
"Then why are you looking so bewildered?"
she smiled.
He didn't smile. His face was more serious
than she'd ever seen it. "Sandy, are you afraid
of love?"
"No," she said. "I want to love. I want to
be loved. Oh, I know about the heartbreak
it's supposed to bring, especially in the movie
business. I hope I won't be hurt by love,
badly hurt. But to be afraid, not to let yourself love, know love. . ."
"Yes, Sandy. . . ."
"If it comes, I'll pray that it will last the
rest of my life. But I won't question it, or
sidestep it, whatever it might bring. . . ."
The candle flickered. It had burned low.
A guitarist was playing "Arrivederci". Finally,
she said, "It's late. We've 5:30 calls in the
. . . this morning."
He paid the check and they left, hand in
hand.
At the studio, there were denials of romance from everyone. No,Sandra wouldn't
give an interview on Bobby exclusively. Nor
would Bobby talk about Sandra exclusively.
"You know how people build these things
up into big romances." Yet, Bobby's name
crept into Sandra's interviews. Sandra's name
found it's way into Bobby's conversation.
Casually, of course. When one did a scene,
the other was more than likely just outside
camera range, watching. To provide encouragement, or to learn—naturally.
There was the look that passed between
them when the director called "Cut" on the
love scene and they came out of their clinch.
There were the tender glances . . .fleeting,
but undeniable. There was laughter.
There was the good-by, when Bobby
wound up his role and flew to Washington
to accept an entertainment award. There
was the hello at Idlewild when she flew-in
from Rome and Bobby was there to meet
the plane when he brought the fantastic
emerald-cut diamond engagement ring.
There were the wiseacres' wagging tongues,
the tsk-tsks which began so shortly after her
first call to a friend in California to say, "I'm
engaged. I'm going to marry Bobby Darin."
There were the pronouncements. "How
could it happen? How can it last? Emotionally, they're both still children." ..."Look
what happened with Jo-Ann. That guy only
thinks he knows what he wants— for a while."
. . . "What happens when he's out belting
around the country on p.a. tours and she's
stuck in Hollywood on a picture?" . .. "What
goes when he figures he's had enough of the
career caper—her career, that is?" . . . "How
will Miss Sunshine handle those blue moods
and dark brown studies that lad goes into?"
- Sandra knew what they'd be saying. Sitting in her New York hotel room, somehow
she knew. But there were things "they"
didn't know . . . that with love and understanding and trust,two complete opposites
could find a middleroad and walk it together, hand in hand, with hope,
"I'm not afraid," her words came back to
her. Now she murmured, "Who needs a bed
of roses anyway!" She reached for the telephone and asked the operator for Los Angeles again. She listened to the buzzing and
crackling on the line. Then she said, "Hi . . .
it's Sandy. I'm back. I wanted to tell you the
news myself. I'm engaged. I'm going to marry
Bobby Darin. . . ."
She looked down at the diamond on her
third finger, left hand. There was a smile
on her face. "Yes, it's really true." She
thought, "It's really true." And there was
no fear in her eyes. No doubt. In her eyes
and in her heart, there was only room for
happiness and love.
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