Then Again Part 2

The Neighborhood Playhouse School of the Theatre cordially invites you to attend Dark of the Moon, a program to demonstrate the work now in progress, February 16 and 17, 1967.

Mom and Dad ... Doesn't this crack you up? They sent this to me instead of you. Get back here quick so you can come see it. I hope you like my interpretation of Barbara Allen. I sing that Joan Baez song. It's beautiful. Richard Pinter is brilliant as the Witch Boy. I hope a lot of agents come.

Love, Diane And they did. The several agents who came seemed interested, but no one signed me up. At the end of my two years at the playhouse, Sandy Meisner sent me into the world of auditions with a nod, saying, "Someday you're going to be a good actress."

Hair After the Neighborhood Playhouse, I hung out with other second-year students who were panicked about the future. We didn't know where we would live, much less how to become working actors. Richard Pinter, my Dark of the Moon co-star, became a very close friend. Sarah Diehl and Nola Safro were around, and so was Guy Gillette, whose band, the Roadrunners, occasionally featured me singing songs like Aretha Franklin's "Respect." (Insane, and a complete disaster.) Luckily, Hal Baldridge from the playhouse got me a job at the Woodstock Playhouse, where I appeared in The Pajama Game and Oh! What a Lovely War. It was the Summer of Love, and somehow I met my first famous man, Peter Yarrow of Peter, Paul and Mary and "If I Had a Hammer" fame. He sort of took me under his wing for a couple of days. We were hanging out at his manager Albert Grossman's place. I had no idea Peter was a political activist who organized peace festivals or that he marched with Martin Luther King. I felt awkward and uninformed with such sophisticated people and left early. He must have known I wasn't ready for the big time, because I never heard from him again. To be so close to stardom and so far away was exciting but challenging and disappointing at the same time.

When I got my Actors' Equity card, it was the end of Diane Hall. Apparently there was a Diane Hall in good standing. I decided to use Dorrie's name instead of Di, Danielle, or Dede Hall for the part of "Factory Worker" in The Pajama Game. Snapping out of what must have been a self-induced stupor, I realized it was ludicrous to borrow my sister's name, so I became Cory Hall for the stellar role of "Ensemble" in Oh! What a Lovely War. Cory and Dorrie? That's when it dawned on me I could keep it all in the family by using Mom's maiden name. Keaton. Diane Keaton.

Dear Gang, I had an audition last night for a rock musical called Hair. I go back tomorrow for the final elimination. I've got my fingers crossed. I really hope I get it. I'm also supposed to try out for some sort of TV pilot, which doesn't pay unless it sells. We'll see.

I'm frantically looking for an apartment, but it's so hard. The cheap ones go fast, even though they're located in the worst, most rotten areas. Today I went to the Upper West Side. No luck. I'm thinking of going to a real estate broker. I know, I'll have to pay a fee, but in the long run it's probably better. This is more of a ha.s.sle than I expected.

Dorrie and Robin, I've started listening to Tim Buckley and Mimi and Richard Farina. Are you into them?

Love, Diane h.e.l.lo, all you Halls, We're in our 2nd week of rehearsal. Things are shaping up slowly, but I suppose that's part of it. Get ready, it's a really weird show, to put it mildly. I have three verses of a solo in a song called "Black Boys." I'm just glad I haven't been fired yet! Acting doesn't seem to be a concern to the director, Tom O'Horgan. We look like hippies; we sing like hippies; we're the turned-on youth of today. It doesn't really appeal to me! I just wish I had more to do in the show.

Anyway, I love you all.

Diane Hi, Everyone, Well, I'm in a hit, we opened the 29th. No Woodstock this summer. A real job, and on Broadway.

After the show tonight, Richard Avedon is photographing the whole cast for Vogue magazine. Now, is that astonis.h.i.+ng or what? And big stars have come to see it, like Warren Beatty (remember my crush on him from Splendor in the Gra.s.s) and Julie Christie, who is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and Liza Minnelli, and Terence Stamp, and Carol Channing. Apparently Hair is the in thing to see. People stand in lines every day to get tickets.

Things are pretty much the same. I'm certainly the same. Will I ever change? I'm still the dumbest person alive. One apparently does not grow out of stupidity. Oh, also I'm on a diet. Obese is an understatement. I've gotten carried away with the FOOD LIFE.

Dad, I hope you prepared your friend for Hair and the nudity. Is he coming soon?

Love, Diane

4.

BIG YEAR.

"Father Mother"

While I was watching fellow tribe members shed their clothes onstage every night, Mom switched from letters to journals. It was 1969. She had gone from a twenty-four-year-old woman feeling the newness of two loves, to an adoring mother who reaped the so-called "rewards" of being a homemaker in the fifties, to an adult who displayed hints of defiance in the sixties.

The process of learning how to explore her own unanswered questions came from the action of moving a pen across paper. How had she found time? Not while preparing the endless tuna ca.s.seroles and cheese enchiladas that became leftovers for four lunch boxes five days a week; not at the kitchen counter, with wilting Kellogg's Corn Flakes sprinkled with wheat germ waiting to be cleared. When was she able to grab a few minutes for herself? Not after Dad was at work or we were in school; not before figuring out the best way to stretch the budget so she could buy the extras everybody always begged for. Did she have free time between the dishes and laundry, and mending our clothes, and renewing her license, and helping Dorrie with her homework? No.

I have free time, time enough to have written this memoir while working on a product line for Bed Bath & Beyond and editing a book for Rizzoli Publications on modern architecture, time to leave home and act in a Larry Kasdan low-budget indie in Park City, Utah.

Even though Dexter, Duke, and I carry on the Hall family tradition of sitting down to dinner every night, our "It takes a village" version of the evening meal is unrecognizable from those days at the kitchen counter on Wright Street. My role as "Father Mother" (coined by Duke) is nothing like Mom's. I reside at the head of the table. Dexter and Duke flank me on either side. Members of Team Keaton attend, like Sandra Shadic-renamed Sance Underpants by Duke-on some nights, "La La" Lindsay Dwelley on others. Ronen Stromberg comes by too. I love our dinners, but I don't make them. Debbie Durand does.

As "Father G.o.d" (another of Duke's terms of endearment), I begin with the high points and low points of our collective day. Duke makes a face. I pretend to ignore it and attempt to expand our sense of community spirit by injecting subjects like Heal the Bay's annual report card on the worst beaches of Southern California. Dexter says, "At least it wasn't Santa Monica again." "Right, Dex. Thank G.o.d." On the sidelines, Duke teases Dexter about her interchangeable crushes on boys with names like Max and Matthew and Tyler and Corey and Chris B. and Chris L. Dexter responds by calling Duke an "annoying pest" and ratting him out, saying Duke's school pants got thrown into the shower after swim practice by him, not by Sawyer, as he claimed. Sandra reminds her to "give your brother a break." I end it with "Duke Keaton! Sorry, but, guess what? Fun freeze." Things get better when we begin the chat about Dexter's high point, her birthday dinner. She wants fried onion rings, chicken nuggets, b.u.t.tered pasta, the tuxedo cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory, and no GREEN of any kind at all whatsoever. Everyone joins in the cleanup. Dexter wants to use my iPhone. I give it to her reluctantly and begin talking about Elizabeth Edwards's tragic ending, even quoting a sentence from the New York Times obituary about "the disparity between public image and private reality." No one responds. Sandra, the fastest draw in the west, has put all the plates in the dishwasher before I can begin to get the milk to the refrigerator.

Mother's time opened up when I left for New York City and Randy got a job as an usher at the Broadway Movie Theater in Santa Ana. Dorrie and Robin were wrapping up their high school years as Mother sat down and began to explore her thoughts on paper. It took the beginning of an end, on the cusp of the next decade, before Dorothy found her voice.

New Year's Eve, 1968 I'm so excited for Robin; she got a job at Bullock's as a demonstrator for cosmetic items. Dorrie is taking a ceramics cla.s.s in Placentia. Jack and I have two Schwinn bikes we ride every other night to Baskin and Robbins 31 Flavors in Honer Plaza. So much fun. Randy's writing more than ever. I'm so proud of him. Jack won the best speaker award at Toastmasters. Randy goes too and loves it. Diane's coming home for a week. She got a break from rehearsals for Woody Allen's Play It Again, Sam. Apparently she'll be going to Hollywood for some auditions. She is now a light blond, very thin young woman. The total look is extremely GOOD! Everyone remarks about our beautiful daughters.

I started painting the kitchen. Jack's almost got the fireplace mantel finished. It makes the whole room look just the way we want it: rustic, warm, and light. I can't believe it's all working out so well. I finished my first paid photo a.s.signment today: 20 shots of Judy Weinhart in a book for $35.00. I hate to admit I'm pretty pleased. But I am.

I took a long ride in the industrial part of Santa Ana and had the greatest time looking at old rusty tin cans, wind-blown bottles, pitted rocks, toppled shacks, and torn signs. It was as if I could SEE the silence. Today Jack said that even if I divorced him, he would come home every night.... I loved that because that's our story; we are infinitely tied to one another.

Thank you, somebody! Everybody. Thank you, Randy, Robin, Dorrie, Diane, and Jack. Thank you, people, nature, animals, Goya, and Kernel, our cats. We have so much. I feel my life is very full of beauty and love. Lets see if 1969 can be even better.

January 30, 1969 Dear Mom, I moved yesterday; what a job! I wonder what it would be like if I actually had some furniture. Thanks for the box of goodies. I love the great teapot and the photographs. They're fantastic. There's no real place to put them except on the windowsill, which compensates for the LOUSY original stove. At least my stereo works. I've been playing Nina Simone and Morgana King, my favorite.

The rehearsals are going okay. Woody Allen is cute and, of course, very funny.

I know Dad wanted me to write down all my ideas concerning the money I owe him. Certainly I'm in no position to pay it all back right now. The landlord informed me that I owe him 29 dollars, and the telephone bills will be coming soon. When the play opens I want to take singing and dancing lessons. But tell Dad not to worry because next month I'm going to start to send 50 dollars every month until I pay back the 500 dollars I owe him. In the meantime, here's my list of my expenses.

1. Rent $98.32. 2. Phone $10.00. 3. Phone service $5.00. 4. Singing lessons $40 a month, I guess. (Ugh.) 5. Dancing lessons $30, about. 6. Food $100 a month (I guess). That's a total of $283 and 32 cents. It seems like an awful lot.

Love, Diane February 6, 1969 Jack and I flew all the way to New York City for the opening night of Play It Again, Sam. Jack Benny-Ed Sullivan-Walter Kerr-George Plimpton-Angela Lansbury-and other stars attended. We met Woody Allen afterwards. Oh my goodness. He was so shy and quiet, not like I expected at all. The play was very funny. Diane looked beautiful onstage-she wore a fall, which made her hair look really thick. She's on a thing these days, always chewing a big mouthful of Dubble Bubble gum or sucking candy-or eating. I wish I knew how she stays so thin.

Everyone was very kind to us. At Sardi's we sat at a table for 10 with champagne and cheesecake. We were told that Woody Allen's new leading lady was his new heart interest too. This gave us a real kick.

February 10, 1969 We're back home. I'm taking a cla.s.s at UCI. My goal is to work HARD on writing an article and SELL IT. According to my teacher, if you want to write, write. Maybe I could work on something personal yet universal, like the way the kids are growing up so fast? I don't know.

Seeing Diane was an experience. I can't think of how to explain her effect on people. Of course, I'm speaking as I see her and am not without total bias. She is a mystery. She is independent. At times she's so basic, at others so wise it frightens me that I got so far in this world without the benefit of such knowledge. I miss her.

February 18, 1969 Dear Mom, It seems like you were just here. How did it go by so fast? Isn't Woody hilarious? Did you really like the play? I couldn't exactly tell. Woody does a lot of let's just say unusual things onstage, things you wouldn't think a person of his stature would do. Last night, in the middle of a scene he suddenly started impersonating James Earl Jones in The Great White Hope. I tried not to laugh, but it was impossible.

I think I had a date with him. We went to Frankie and Johnnie's famous steakhouse. Everything was going well until I sc.r.a.ped my fork against the plate and made a normal, I stress normal, cutting noise. It must have driven him nuts, 'cause he yelped out loud. I couldn't figure out how to cut my steak without making the same mistake, so I stopped eating and started talking about women's status in the arts, like I know anything about women and the arts. What an idiot. The whole thing was humiliating. I doubt we'll be having dinner together anytime soon. Today he sent me a little note. I think you'll relate.

Love, Diane From Woody Beet Head, Humans are clean slates. There are no qualities indigenous to men or women. True, there is a different biology, but all defining choices in life affect both s.e.xes & a woman, any woman is capable of defining herself with total FREEDOM. Therefore women are anything they choose to be & frequently have chosen & defined themselves greater than men. Don't be fooled by THE ARTS! They're no big deal; certainly no excuse for people acting like jerks & by that I mean, so what if up till now there were very few women artists. There may have been women far deeper than, say, Mozart or Da Vinci but contributing their genius in a different socially circ.u.mscribed context. Note how I switched from pen to pencil at this moment because in Lelouch's film, A MAN & A WOMAN, he switches from color to black & White-So I underline my point using the same symbolism-Very clever? OK, then, very stupid.

Woody March 20, 1969 Diane was nominated for the Best Supporting Actress for the Tony Awards coming in April. Randy's writing teacher read two of his poems in cla.s.s. One, called "Out of the Body," was submitted to the school yearbook. He'll make it.

Out of the Body All the voices of my past are here in this gra.s.sy clearing At the foot of the mountain.

At first I thought it was the rattle of nesting birds, perhaps rocks falling from a cliff.

Like bells, the words took shape.

Paragraphs etched out of trees.

Stories of lives hung sadly in the air, like pages of failure.

I didn't want to listen I heard my own voice on the flat face of the mountain; small, and weak.

I heard the sound of myself dying in the cold, Another animal; An animal with the gift of language caught in the trap of distance.

June 14, 1969 Sunday night 10 p.m. The Tony Awards. Diane lost to some other gal. She was on TV, but we couldn't see her more than once, and it was fleeting.

July 7, 1969 A letter arrived from the draft board asking for verification from Randy's psychologist that he's unable to serve. It felt like a threat. Grandma Hall called. She thinks Randy was scared! Well, why not? He probably was. Who wouldn't be? "If we could learn how to prevent war, wouldn't that be enough?" he said. These are divisive times.

July 16, 1969 Department of the Army To Whom It May Concern: I have known Randy Hall for more than 15 years during which time I had the opportunity to observe the boy both as a neighbor and as a patient. Though he has never been mentally ill in the cla.s.sical, clinical sense of the term he has demonstrated a prolonged condition of emotional instability which, in my opinion, would make him unfit for military service. Recent observation of the boy would cause me to have no change in that opinion, though he has managed to develop some covering behaviors which may have the impression of greater maturity and development than actually exists.

As a psychologist currently working with the Department of Defense in an overseas setting I believe that this boy would not fit into the military service and would actually be a liability rather than an a.s.set to the military community.

William L. Bastendorf, PhD a.s.sociate Director Pupil Personnel Services More Positive Thinking Just in case we might have been looking for a little quick advice, Dad had several copies of Dale Carnegie's How to Win Friends and Influence People prominently placed throughout our house on Wright Street. Part of its appeal came from clever chapter headings, categorized in sections with quick-fix nuggets. "Twelve Ways to Win People to Your Way of Thinking: 1. Avoid arguments. 2. Never tell someone they are wrong. 3. Start with a question the other person will answer yes to. 4. Let the other person feel the idea is his."

Dad's letters were an homage to Carnegie's influence. "Dear Diane, Rule 1. January 5 is one of those days that make men older. A daughter 20 years old is not really an a.s.set to a young man like myself! Truth in government is a must, but truth in age is stupid. Starting now, you are 17 and I am 35. Love, Jack N. Hall, your father."

Next to Dale Carnegie's book was Norman Vincent Peale's The Power of Positive Thinking. Published in 1952, it stayed on the New York Times bestseller list for 186 weeks, selling more than five million copies. The country was in love with Peale's cozy quotes. "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade." "The tests of life are not meant to break you, but to make you." "A positive mental att.i.tude means you can overcome any kind of trouble or difficulty." Dad ate it up. He didn't give a d.a.m.n about critics who claimed Peale was a fraud.

At age forty, Jack Hall quit his job as Santa Ana City Hall's civil engineer to become the president of Hall & Foreman, Incorporated. He gave credit where credit was due, claiming every bit of his business ac.u.men had been enhanced 100 percent by applying Carnegie's and Peale's tried-and-true techniques. Mom must have been sick and tired of hearing Dad list the twelve steps he learned to be an effective leader. But guess what? Within a few years he was a self-made success.

By 1969, Dad's business was booming. Mom let her hair grow long and wore bell-bottoms. They began to drink socially. She became more liberal. He became more conservative. Even though they were attractive and, by Southern California standards, almost wealthy, it didn't make them happier.

The problems began when Dad started inserting his self-help solutions into the family dynamic, especially regarding Randy, who didn't have a firm handshake or "plan ahead" and wasn't always "positive." Toastmasters was still a form of torture for Randy, even though he told Mom he loved it.

PACE.

There is no record of how Dad discovered PACE, an acronym for Personal and Company Effectiveness. PACE was described as a method to help people better understand what it would take to make more productive use of their talents while further enhancing their personal and professional success. But he did. Everyone in my family went to San Diego for the two-week summits, filled with seminars guided by specialized counselors in the field; everyone except me.

Daniel Whiteside was the director of youth activities. Neither Randy, Robin, nor Dorrie has any memory of him. Years later I found his qualifications on a website, which stated that he has a master's degree in language arts from the University of California at San Francisco and the equivalent of a doctorate from the Interstate College of Personology.

Personology was developed in the 1930s by Edward Vincent Jones, a Los Angeles circuit court judge who took notes on the behavioral patterns of people who appeared in his courtroom. Judge Jones, a close friend of Whiteside's parents, eventually "proved" that he could predict people's behavior by observing their facial features. Examples of Personology correlations are: (1) Thick, unruly hair: less sensitive. (2) Thin hair: extremely sensitive. (3) Broad-jawed: authoritative in speech and action. (4) Square, angled chin: can be combative. (5) Heart-shaped jaw or chin: tends to be pa.s.sive.

Randy's jaw is wide. According to the principles of Personology, that meant he was confident, a.s.sured, and domineering. Robin must have been pa.s.sive and compliant because of her narrow chin. Dorrie's hair is thick and coa.r.s.e. Was she really less sensitive, even though her ability to understand and share feelings for others was unusually intuitive? Did Whiteside even notice the Hall family adolescents' facial features? Or had he put aside the research required for the equivalent of a doctorate from the College of Personology? Maybe he was in the process of creating his own "Three in One Concepts."

As for James W. Newman, the founder of PACE, Dad couldn't have cared less if he was a certified psychiatrist or psychologist. He bought the package hook, line, and sinker. Dad's decision to implement the principles of PACE as a replacement for help from a genuine psychiatrist backfired, like all of his attempts to guide Randy into the responsibilities of his role as Junior Jack.

As Emmet's nephew and Mary Alice's son, Dad was attracted to impostors, swindlers, and frauds. It was part of his DNA. He didn't question Dale Carnegie and Norman Vincent Peale. The thought that they might take advantage of the average Joe's need to believe in simple solutions to complex problems never entered his mind. Ironically, Dad became successful despite being gullible. He actually had a craft and a degree from USC. Little did he know it was his hard work combined with an ingenuous manner of being honest to the point of naive that made Hall & Foreman one of the most successful engineering firms in Orange County. His straightforward manner and lack of artifice worked wonders on everyone except his family.

August 15, 1969 Jack sent Randy to PACE for a retreat in La Jolla. Robin is going next week; Dorrie too. I just hope Jack is right and it works. He feels everyone in the family will profit from the benefits of PACE. We can't work Diane in because she's busy with her own life, but maybe later in the year.

August 22, 1969 "Hey, everybody, this is my mom and her name is Dorothy." Randy made me feel like a queen when we picked him up after a week at PACE. He said it was a sort of "mountaintop-unreal-experience that makes it hard to drop back down to the flatlands." That's where the test comes. Can "I" make it work with others who don't have PACE in their lives? "I" can if "I" try.

September 1, 1969 Robin came home from PACE. She loved it; Dorrie too. But it's a constant strain to keep PACE in practice. So many things distract us. I hope it will work and we will be better people because of our strengths. The kids are seriously hanging on to the PACE concepts. They continue to read the books and practice deep relaxation. Jack feels they've learned so much. He has a lot of confidence.

Five Against One My siblings survived PACE. Life went on. I stayed in New York. For Dad, it was the same. Number 1: Encourage everyone by making our faults seem easy to correct. Number 2: Try to make us happy about doing what he suggested. Number 3: Ask questions instead of directly giving us orders. And number 4: Talk about his own mistakes before indirectly calling attention to ours. He gradually gave up trying. After all, it was five against one.

September 5, 1969 Diane was on Merv Griffin tonight. She was Diane. Her walk, her laugh, her jumble of words. When she sat between Bob Hope and Merv, they teased her about dating. Bob Hope said, "All right, Diane, who is he?" She couldn't get her words out. She was nervous and giggly, but with Bob Hope next to her everything she said was unaccountably funny. He actually made a comedienne out of Diane. I can't exactly explain. Both Merv and Bob played off her all evening. I took pictures. Dad taped the whole thing.

September 18, 1969 I worked up enough nerve to call Bowers Museum to have the director look at my photos-whew! That took courage. I am trying to pull together enough good photographs to show him. I'm crossing my fingers.

Form Letter to Potential Magazine Editors Mr. John C. Smith Art Editor x.x.x Magazine (Address) Dear Mr. Smith: I can bring exceptional photography with strong natural character qualities to your magazine. The enclosed resume highlights a glimpse of my professional achievements in both photography and art, as well as my academic background.

The enclosed two photographs necessarily represent only a small segment of my scope of work. While I am flexible on subject matter, my emphasis on the natural persists in all my work.

I would like to accept a freelance a.s.signment for x.x.xX magazine and can promise photographic excellence, not only as a photographer but also as an artist. If you are interested in seeing more of my work, please contact me. I will be happy to submit additional material on request and discuss a possible a.s.signment for x.x.xX magazine.

I am looking forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely yours, Dorothy Hall With the letter, she included a publicity shot of the actress Diane Keaton.

November 6, 1969 I won first prize at the Orange County Fair last night for the giant collage I made with photographs of Robin and Dorrie. It was one of those thrilling experiences that give me hope. Today my new business cards arrived. I'm ready to go.

I got a letter from Diane about her appearance on Merv Griffin last week. She needs more confidence. "By the way, I saw my spot on Merv Griffin. It was horrible. I wonder why I do these things. It's so painful to watch myself trying too hard. I didn't get b.u.t.terflies Are Free either. Too tall and too 'kooky'-a nice way of saying strange."

Diane Minus-the-Hall Keaton DIANE KEATON, Mom's ma.s.sive extravaganza doc.u.menting my career from 1969 through 1984, is about as hard to grasp as Dad's belief in the healing powers of PACE. The cover, wrapped in s.h.i.+ny silver paper with giant black letters, spelled out my new minus-Hall name. The size alone (twenty by thirty inches) presents the kind of deliberation DIANE KEATON doesn't merit.

Kicking it off are two ticket stubs from Play It Again, Sam, glued next to a funny-looking caricature of Woody, next to a yellow Sardi's napkin, below several photographs of me with fellow cast members smiling in antic.i.p.ation of good reviews. Then comes the four-page spread in Harper's Bazaar that makes it crystal clear I was not the model I aspired to be. Sure, it was really "cool" to have Bill King (famous for all those jumping shots of supermodels like Lauren Hutton) take the pictures, but I look strange in midair, with my huge smile revealing the gold caps my Santa Ana dentist rea.s.sured me would last a lifetime. Headlines like DIANE'S STAR ON THE RISE or ACTRESS DIANE KEATON CAN'T BE PIGEONHOLED, with a handwritten note from Mom saying, "Barbara sent this from Cedar Rapids," seem sort of forced. First of all, who was Barbara from Cedar Rapids? And second, who cares? The awful review of my performance at the Ice House back in 1975 is a pathetic reminder of my stint as a nightclub singer. "She may be an adequate actress, but Diane Keaton is not a singer. Her musical selections are unvaried. Miss Keaton doesn't communicate with her audience. She uses oddly restricted facial expressions and poorly planned body gestures."

The headline from Orange County People stated, JACK HALL WAS RIGHT. HIS DAUGHTER DID GROW UP TO BE A MOVIE STAR.

Jack Hall's friends used to laugh when he said his little girl Diane would grow up to be a movie star. No one's laughing now. Not at all shy when it comes to praising their talented daughter, Jack and his wife Muriel will proudly tell anyone, "That's our daughter." Although they won't take any credit for Diane's talent ("She did it on her own"), it's entirely possible she inherited some of the moxie it takes to be a star from Muriel, who went back to college at 40 after raising four children and earned her degree with honors. Muriel has photographed a book jacket and an alb.u.m cover for Woody Allen.

Muriel? Please. It's almost as if Mother closed her discerning eyes and went for bulk; even the loss of her first name didn't stop her from including the article. Why? To be reminded she had no ident.i.ty other than as Jack Hall's wife and Diane Keaton's mother?

DIANE KEATON ends abruptly, with a two-page ad from the Los Angeles Times featuring photographs of Barbra Streisand, Farrah Fawcett, Liza Minnelli, Paul Newman, Burt Reynolds, John Travolta, and me smiling underneath the headline A CHANNEL 2 SPECIAL REPORT ... STARDOM: DREAM OR NIGHTMARE? It was the perfect place for Mom to call it quits. Her daughter, the little girl who sang to the moon as she stood on the driveway of her parents' Quonset hut right off Monterey Road in Highland Park, had become a movie star.

Stardom never became a nightmare, but it wasn't what I thought it would be. How can you think a dream? Not even Dale Carnegie could do that. As I closed DIANE KEATON, a Time magazine with "A Comic Genius: Woody Allen Comes of Age" on the cover fell out, along with a newspaper article featuring a picture of her holding on to Dad's arm. The caption read, "Parents of actress Diane Keaton are not averse to discussing her." The article went on to say, "Mrs. Hall, a stately, well-dressed woman who lets her husband do the talking when it comes to business, is more than glad to talk about her daughter, Diane. 'It isn't just Diane who is in the limelight, Jack and I are sharing in the glow too. It's been the most exciting time of my life. Everywhere we go with Diane we're mobbed.' " Mobbed? I've never been mobbed. Ever. Did Mother know what she was saying? Did she even say it?

Was it worth it? Did spending so many hours cutting and pasting the story of budding actress Diane Keaton-not Hall-ever feel like a waste of time? Why was Mother so engrossed with the process of validating my life? It's hard to know what to make of the parade of boring articles, interchangeable photographs, and pre-language quotes from me, like "Gee, I'm just so honored to even meet Betty Ford" and "Oh, yeah, sure ... I loved the Martha Graham dance recital. Woody and I are both taking lessons with her company. It's so much fun." Didn't Mom feel embarra.s.sed for me? Did she think cutting pictures into smaller squares and rectangles would be a different kind of healing? Was it numbing and nice? Was it a rea.s.suring if abstract way to reflect on the joys of the past?

Our story, Mother's and mine, will always and forever lie hidden in a past that can't be untangled by looking through a parade of clippings recording the journey of a young woman who became Annie Hall.

December 31, 1969 I always say my life is this family, and that's the truth. Today was no exception. Dorrie pushed all of us to get up and take a bike ride to Baskin and Robbins, just like last year. It was so much fun. It's true when they say it's the little things that matter.

I have a.s.sessed my happiness ratio and this is the result. I am totally content whenever the ones I love are happy about something little, big, insignificant, whatever. I just don't think anyone could possibly have the same wonderful, intense, compelling feelings that I have for this family of mine.

Jack asked me if it was a good day-the last one of the year-and I have to say it was. We tried to get tickets to see True Grit but couldn't, so Jack, Randy, Robin, Dorrie, and I went out to eat at Ma.r.s.e Restaurant and then came home to watch d.i.c.k Clark ring the New Year in. "1969 was a BIG year, huh, Dad?" "Sure, Dorrie, sure." I hope the same will be said of 1970.