"BARBARA WHITING, 1931 - 2004
A Tribute
by Laura Wagner
When Barbara Whiting passed away on June 9, 2004, I lost more than my favorite actress. I lost a friend. She had every reason to feel that she was above me when I first approached her for an interview in August of 1999. Her father was the great songwriter Richard Whiting, known for the standards "Hooray for Hollywood," "Too Marvelous for Words," "Till We Meet Again," "Beyond the Blue Horizon," and countless others. Her sister is legendary singer Margaret Whiting, who has had an impressive 50+years career. Barbara herself had a successful run (1948-54) on radio's Junior Miss, and appeared in ten movies (Junior Miss, Home, Sweet Homicide, Centennial Summer, Carnival in Costa Rica, City Across the River, I Can Get It For You Wholesale, Rainbow Round My Shoulder, Dangerous When Wet, Beware, My Lovely, and Paris Follies of 1956). With Margaret, she appeared on Those Whiting Girls, 1955 & 1957, a little seen today, vastly underrated television series. Barbara wasn't what they called an A-list star, but she was known.
My love for the acting of Barbara Whiting started when I was young. From the minute I saw her as Fuffy Adams in the underrated Fox comedy Junior Miss (1945), I was hooked. Her natural presence was a riot. She stole the show and had the best lines ("Tell her I'm too drunk to talk," she growled to Peggy Ann Garner when her mother calls looking for her). When it came on AMC in the late '80s, I didn't have a VCR, so I set my clock to see EVERY showing. I wasn't about to miss her performance. And you know what? After, God-knows-how-many other viewings (I have it now on video), it still remains fresh. She and Peggy Ann, best of friends off screen, still look to be the perfect comedy team - Fox really goofed when they didn't team them in a series (Home Sweet Homicide doesn't count; they do very little together in that).
I so identified with Barbara on screen that I once told a friend - part in jest, part in denial - that Barbara was better than Vivien Leigh. "She was more natural than Leigh. Can Vivien do comedy?" My friend was incredulous. "Laura, are you okay?" Barbara laughed at this when I told her. Her sister, Margaret, didn't. "Absolutely. I know what you mean," Margaret dead panned, meaning every word.
I was so nervous when I was first given her number. But, from the minute we talked, I felt like I had known her for years. Some forty years separated us, but we chatted and laughed like old friends. One memorable early conversation centered on reincarnation, and if possibly I had known her in the 1940s - before I was born. Barbara, clearly having fun, and being thoroughly silly, rattled off some names - to see if they rang a bell with me. Or the time she called me on a Sunday morning. Her message on the answering machine: "This is Barbara. You're probably in church right now . . . YOU'D BETTER BE!" Her messages were always fun. She'd ramble on about Nancy Walker, Ruth Terry, anything that popped into her head. My brother recorded a new message for our answering machine, and wanted to be funny. He imitated, what he thought, was a nonchalant person. It was absurd. Few got the joke. Barbara did. Her message: "That person sounds VERY bored."
I didn't, by any means, know her as well as longtime pals Fred E. Basten from Los Angeles or Chicagoan Robert Rosterman, both of whom she prized as friends. But, with Barbara, she made you feel like you were her dearest friend. And she was a faithful one. She subscribed to both Classic Images and Films of the Golden Age to help me out. "I want to support what you do," she told me. But she got mixed-up. Every time she got CI, she would leave lengthy messages on my answering machine about the "Letters to the Editor" section. When we talked, she'd highlight certain letters that she enjoyed and the editor's response. After three months of this, I asked her, "But what did you think of the book reviews?" Her response was classic: "What book reviews?" It was then I knew - she thought I worked on the letters section every month. She even bugged poor Elmore Leonard, the famous novelist, who lived across the street from her. Jamming her foot in his door, Barbara made him read parts of my article on her father (also in FGA). She told him about me, asking him what he liked about my writing style. It was thrilling to me. It's nice to have friends like that.
I started out interviewing her for Films of the Golden Age. The interview, interrupted many times, lasted eight months. She loved talking about her career, and her humor was just incredible. She could make anything funny - her timing and delivery were superb. I totally believed her when she told me that when Lucille Ball visited the set of Those Whiting Girls, she told Barbara that she would take her place someday as a top comedienne. Barbara had the talent, but she just didn't have the drive. Watching episodes of Those Whiting Girls today, you can see her effortless slapstick and her expert verbal abilities. Instead, she loved to work best on radio - and even there, she was excellent; her voice was very flexible, and would remain that way for the rest of her life.
What was most evident about Barbara (on screen and off) was her likability. Everyone liked her. She was someone you wanted to be with, to laugh with and to just know. She is one of the few who got along with Susan Hayward on the set (of I Can Get it For You Wholesale). Never known for warmth and humor on movie sets, Susan nevertheless responded to Barbara. As my friend Doug McClelland, who wrote a Hayward bio, told me, "Susan could spot phoniness. She knew Barbara was real." I remember one time I heard a noise in the background when we were talking on the phone. "Oh," she said. "That's just the nurse. She's using the leaf-blower in the backyard." Only Barbara.
After awhile, I came to know her as just Barbara Smith. She ceased to be Barbara Whiting, the actress, to me. It's a strange feeling, but she appreciated it very much. The first time she called, she told my mother she was Barbara Smith. My mom, not knowing who she was, told her I wasn't home. When I called her back immediately afterwards, realizing the mixup, Barbara laughed. "What were you doing, hiding underneath the bed?"
She was so thrilled with the two-part article on her life and career that I did for FGA. She bought multiple copies, putting extras in her car's backseat, "in case the man at the gas station wants one." Once, after buying plants, she had a man from the store help put her stuff in the car. The man noticed the magazines side-by-side. "Is that you?" he asked, pointing to the little picture of her on one of the covers. He got a set of magazines.
Barbara Whiting was, and always will be, an important part of my life. I'll miss her infectious laugh, her zest, her knack for seeing something funny in almost anything, her singing whenever the mood struck her (when she wanted me to hold on a minute, she would sing one of her father's songs, "Give Me a Moment, Please"), and her loyalty. Barbara Whiting was a very special actress and a very special lady. My many memories of her are precious, our talks, her phone messages, her notes to me. Knowing her was a pleasure.