Jennifer Grant, the only child of Cary Grant and Dyan Cannon, was the Chamber of Commerce’s special guest speaker at its annual membership breakfast last Friday at the Aldersgate Lodge. Grant shared stories about her father with the sold-out crowd, and read from her book, ‘Good Stuff: A Reminiscence of My Father, Cary Grant.’ Before delving into the book, Grant passed on a message from her four-year-old son, Cary Benjamin Grant, who had given her a picture of his soldiers to bring with her: ‘I want you to share with them that I have these soldiers. And that one day I’m going to write a book too.’ Grant also has an 11-month-old daughter. Cary Grant was 60 when his daughter was born, and died in 1986, when she was 21. Having been raised in Bristol, England during World War I, the elder Grant was fiscally conservative his whole life. He wanted his daughter not only to know how to earn money, but how to hold on to it. ’He knew that at some point he was going to be passing some money along to me. But he wanted me to know what it was like to make a buck, because he made his way in the world.’ Grant reminisced about her time in Pacific Palisades, when she worked at The Village Store on Antioch Street. The store’s owners, Dale and Nancy Van Vlack (who closed the business in 1998), attended the breakfast with their daughter, Kristin. ’The Palisades has a special place in my heart,’ Grant said. ‘I worked here when I was in seventh grade. My father was very pleased about it, because he wanted me to be gainfully employed. ’Kristin and I met at Marlborough, and we were fast friends from the seventh grade. So Dad used to drive me to the Palisades a lot, and he was sad when I would spend the night at the Van Vlack’s. ‘Oh, I’m going to lose her for a night,’ he would say. And Christmastime, when I told Dad I would like this, that or the other for Christmas he’d say, ‘Well, you should get a job then.’ ‘What kind of job am I going to get in the seventh grade?’ ‘Well I don’t know, but you should get something.” Talking in the direction of the Van Vlacks, who were sitting at a table close to the lectern, Grant continued. ‘So the Van Vlacks put me to work at their clothing store. Thank you for doing this so I could get all the things I wanted to get at that time.’ Grant’s book took five years from conception to completion, ‘because my family is a very private family.’ She didn’t seriously consider writing the book until she approached her stepmother, Barbara Harris, who, much to Grant’s surprise, said, ‘Oh, what a marvelous idea.’ Grant spent considerable time going through her father’s personal archives, which included videos, cassettes, audiotapes and Super 8 films, a treasure trove that ‘brought back a lot of memories.’ Before opening up the floor to questions, Grant read from her book, including a passage about music. In their home on Beverly Grove Drive in Benedict Canyon, Grant would play contemporary rock & roll, which her father referred to as ‘rubbish. Any moron could write that. Baby, baby, love ya, love ya, need ya, need ya.’ Grant continued, ‘In our home the most profound and habitual music was silence. Silence meant independent thought. Silence meant we were digesting ideas.’ Outings with her father, who retired when she was born, included Dodger games, where they often sat in the owner’s box with the O’Malley family; teaching her dad ‘The Bump’ during an Elton John concert; trips to Fox Hills Mall, where the star went unrecognized; and visits to the Brentwood Country Mart. Sharon Lusk spoke from the audience about her love of Cary Grant. ‘I am a movie buff because when I was a kid the only luxury we had was to go to the movies,’ Lusk said. ‘I could walk from our home to the theater and one time I saw ‘An Affair to Remember’ eight days in a row.’ As a child, Grant was unaware of her father’s legendary status, and she told a humorous tale about he first time she saw one of his films, at the home of family friends. ’We’d all gone into their den to watch ‘An Affair to Remember.’ And Deborah Kerr was about to kiss Dad. I didn’t really understand movies, and I’d never seen Dad kissing anyone else. And there he was on the screen. And I jumped up off the sofa, ran over to the TV and slapped her. That got a huge laugh. And Dad then had to explain to me what he was doing up there kissing this strange woman.’ Lusk interjected, ‘I wanted to be that strange woman!’ which also drew a big laugh from the Chamber crowd. Chamber Director Arnie Wishnick spoke about his Cary Grant sighting, in the early 1960’s. ‘I was driving down Melrose near the Paramount Theater,’ he said. ‘And I saw your dad crossing the street. He was wearing a white suit with his dark tan. Nobody moved; they were all watching.’ Grant confirmed her dad’s reputation of being an everyman. ‘He was a regular guy who dressed very well. But he treated everyone he came across in the same way. There was no distinction. Whether it was our busboy or the queen, he took the same amount of interest in each person. He didn’t see a difference between himself and others.’ After watching ‘Arsenic and Old Lace’ as a teenager one night on television, Grant raved to her father the next morning, ‘Dad, I’m so proud of you. That was so wonderful. You were so funny in that.’ He responded in typical fashion: ‘If you were watching one of my movies, you were up way too late.’ Towards the end of Grant’s talk, Madame Wu, 97, made her way into the room, dressed impeccably in red. Grant became excited to see ‘Auntie Sylvia,’ who lives in the Palisades. Her celebrated restaurant, Madame Wu’s Chinese Garden, was Cary Grant’s favorite place to take his family, and he was the one who asked her to create a Chinese chicken salad. She had the chefs prepare one immediately. He loved it and wanted to take some home, but Madame Wu warned him, ‘It won’t be good tomorrow.’ The following morning, she received a call. ‘You’re right, Madame Wu,’ he said.
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