Shirley Jones

A candid account by the stage, screen, and television star reveals facts about her two marriages, wild sexual escapades, high-risk brushes with the law, and relationships with "The Partridge Family" castmates.

Autorentext
Shirley Jones

Klappentext
A candid and provocative memoir by the Oscar-winning actress and beloved Partridge Familyicon, Shirley Jones.

Zusammenfassung
Shirley Jones is an American film legend of the first order, having starred in Oklahoma!, Carousel, The Music Man, and her Oscar-winning role as a prostitute in Elmer Gantrylong before the iconicThe Partridge Family.On the show, she portrayed the epitome of American motherhood, a symbol to generations of families in the 1970s, and she remains a cult icon today.

But for those who only think of Shirley as the prim and proper Marion the librarian or the chaste and demure Mrs. Partridge, a massive surprise is in store. Here, in this candid memoir, the realflesh and blood Shirley Jones is revealed at last.

In this hilarious and heart-warming, shocking and intimate memoir, Shirley dishes the raw truth about her own highly charged sexuality, her two husbands-the charismatic and deeply troubled Broadway star Jack Cassidy and the wacky TV comic Marty Ingels-her legendary Hollywood co-stars, and her interactions with the cast of The Partridge Family, including her rock star stepson David Cassidy.

From smuggling marijuana across the Mexican border to infidelity and her wild sexual escapades, movie and television icon Shirley Jones gives us an unparalleled look beyond the America's sweetheart exterior.

Leseprobe
Shirley Jones ONE

A Beautiful Morning
Although I was named Shirley after the saccharine child star Shirley Temple, I’ve always been far more full of spice than of sugar.

As a baby, instead of cooing away softly and then serenely sleeping all day in my crib, I screamed and screamed at the top of my voice until I got attention. My favorite pastime was chewing on my crib because I seemed to like the taste of varnish so much. I chewed so hard, and with such great determination, that chew marks were left all over the wooden rails of my crib.

I was sturdy, adventurous, and unafraid. When I was four years old, and playing in the family-owned Jones brewery, my grandfather promised me jelly beans if I drank some beer. I jumped at the opportunity, tried the beer, and hated it.

But I loved the brewery, and everything about it, primarily because it was my haven, my second home. My father, Paul Jones, and his brothers ran the Smithton, Pennsylvania, brewery, and from the time when I was three years old and we moved from Charleroi, Pennsylvania, where I was born, I spent much of my childhood there, playing hide-and-seek among the beer vats and the ice lockers, while my father’s employees all held their breath, terrified that I would accidentally lock myself in a freezer and emerge as a pint-size ice sculpture!

The Jones Brewing Company employed at least half of Smithton (population only 800), and it was started by my grandfather William B. Jones, who hailed from Wales. He immigrated to Pennsylvania, became a coal miner, worked himself to the bone, and saved enough money to buy a corner building in the little town of Smithton, a Norman Rockwell painting in living color. Then he converted that building into a small hotel with six rooms and called it the Jones Hotel. He was the bartender, and my grandmother Lulu did everything else necessary to make the hotel run smoothly.

The official story, the one that I grew up knowing by heart, was that the hotel was so successful my grandfather bought a building on a beautiful site on the Youghiogheny River, which flowed through Smithton, joined the Monongahela River, and then ran right into Pittsburgh, twenty-one miles away. In 1907, in that riverside building, he founded the Jones Brewing Company.

The unofficial story, one that I heard years later, was that William B. Jones, my grandfather, actually won the brewery in a poker game! According to that tale, the brewery had originally been based in Sutersville, Pennsylvania, and manufactured Eureka beer. After my grandfather won the brewery in 1907, he renamed it the Jones Brewing Company and moved it to Smithton.

Whatever the truth, I’m sure of one thing, the origin of the name of Jones brewery’s most beloved beer. According to family lore, one of my grandfather’s earliest customers was an African-American man who regularly visited the brewery along with his bulldog, Stoney.

My grandfather grew to love that dog so much that after the dog died, he declared, “From now on, my name is Stoney Jones.” And he named the beer he brewed Stoney’s beer after the dog he loved so much.

Since then, the Jones Brewing Company, Stoney’s beer, and Stoney’s Light beer have been featured in the movie Striking Distance, starring Bruce Willis, and in the TV shows Northern Exposure and My Name Is Earl.

Although I never knew my grandfather well, I inherited his love of animals and, as a child, raised mice, birds, squirrels, and had no fear of snakes or spiders. No fear whatsoever. In fact, my biggest ambition was to become a vet and look after animals of all types and sizes. Then, fate took a hand and I became something quite different.

My grandfather died of diabetes aged only fifty-six, after having his leg amputated, rumor had it, because he drank too much beer. Sometime before he died, he tried to reverse his diabetes by instructing that Stoney’s beer be manufactured without sugar. Sadly, that didn’t help, and he died anyway. Nonetheless, even today, Stoney’s beer is still manufactured without sugar or preservatives.

After my grandfather’s untimely death, my formidable grandmother Lulu inherited the Jones brewery, and my father and his brothers ran it for her.

Despite his responsibilities, my father was a relaxed, generous, and happy man, with a heart of gold. From the first, he was the love of my life. When I was in the crib and screamed until it felt as if my lungs would burst, he would immediately rush into my nursery at top speed, lift me high in his strong, muscular arms, then place me on his barrel chest, whereupon I would promptly fall into a deep, contented sleep.

In contrast, my mother never came to my rescue when I screamed. She just let me go on screaming and screaming. She was much too busy running our home, or entertaining guests. But while my father was always the life and soul of the party, my mother was not.

Her name was Marjorie, and she was born Williams, of English descent. Her father was a telephone lineman, she had two sisters, and when she met my father, she fell in love with him at first sight.

That love was to last a lifetime, but from as far back as I can remember, my mother continually appeared to be suffering from a deep and abiding disappointment. As I grew older and got to know my mother better, it became eminently clear to me that when she married my father, of the Jones Brewing Company, she had expected far more out of life and, forever afterward, desperately longed to get out of Smithton and move into the big city.

But despite my mother’s unfulfilled expectations, she loved my father unconditionally and adored him unreservedly. I never saw her fight with him, and even though he sometimes came home drunk, I never saw her get angry with him. Drunk as he was, she would undress him, g…

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