Rock Remembered by Mamie Van Doren

Mamie Van Doren was an up and coming starlet in the 1950’s. She was a curvaceous, blond bombshell who was hailed as Universal Studio’s answer to Marilyn Monroe. In 1953 she had the pleasure of being Rock Hudson’s date to the Golden Globes (pictured above).

Mamie now writes a blog where she sells autographs and other memorabilia, and recounts some her encounters with some pretty notable names from the past, Tony Curtis, Steve McQueen, Burt Reynolds, Tom Jones, Elvis…. Also included is her story of the night she spent on a studio arranged date with Rock Hudson at the Golden Globes. The steamy story is below and warning it gets really explicit (NSFW) and is probably more information than the average Rock Hudson fan really wants to know!

“Rock Hudson, circa 1953, who was so sweet and kind to me during my years at Universal.” -Mamie Van Doren

Rock Hudson: My First Studio Date
© Copyright Mamie Van Doren

First-date jitters. Who hasn’t been there? Add the following to all that sweaty, frightened wondering about saying and doing the right thing: imagine that you have just been given a big contract at one of the most respected movie studios in the world; that you have been given a new name; that everyone is comparing you to

the hottest sex symbol of the day, saying that you are the answer to him or her; and that you have a date with the studio’s biggest star.

That was my dilemma on the night of the 1953 Golden Globe Awards. I had signed a 7-year contract with Universal Studios; my name had been changed from Joan Lucille Olander to Mamie Van Doren; I was being told that I was the answer to Marilyn Monroe; and my escort for that memorable evening for a studio-arranged date was none other than the dashing Rock Hudson.

Oh, there were rumors about Rock even then. Some of the other actresses under contract had told me that on a date with Rock, I would be as safe as though I was in my mother’s arms. It was, in fact, a publicity stunt on the part of the studio to get Rock out on the town with the newest sexy starlet in their stable. Of course, everyone in Hollywood knew about the rumors that Rock was gay. That practically no one outside of Hollywood knew about it attested to the fact that these events occurred, dear reader, in that innocent, pre-Clinton and, yes, even pre-Nixon time when a celebrity’s peccadillos could still get a free ride.

(Well, almost free. Not too long after I came to Universal, Confidential Magazine—the ancestor of today’s tabloids—had latched on to the Rock Hudson story and was ready to publish it. Universal’s executives first looked at Rock’s substantial box office, then began to look around for a fall guy. They found Rory Calhoun. Universal coughed up to Confidential the story of how Rory had done some jail time for a minor offense. Confidential printed it, Rory’s career was history, and Rock was saved.)

I was still living at my parents’ house in the San Fernando Valley. I had all the comforts of home, and I was around the corner from the Universal lot. I was ready when the doorbell rang at eight, done up in a prom-queen gown that the studio’s Wardrobe Department had created for the occasion. It had a strapless, beaded bodice and layer after layer of crinolines under the skirt. Not my style—then or now—but I was young and wanted to make nice with my new bosses, so I wore it. It wasn’t quite awful, at least.

The Golden Globe Awards were held at the Crystal Room of the Beverly Hills Hotel—a smallish venue by today’s G.G. standards, but elegant and impressive enough for a young girl from Rowena, South Dakota.

Rock and I sat at a table with Joan Crawford and her date. Joan was pounding down the booze with a vengeance, eyeing me from time to time the way a barracuda eyes a crippled grouper. I was a young, newly-minted starlet. She was the old guard, holding desperately to the last remnants of what then was glamour. She snubbed me totally except to loudly proclaim that I must have diligently fucked my way to the threshold of stardom where I then stood.

Rock, experienced and confident in his own right, did his best to deflect the hurtful barbs she threw my way, but it was a devastating experience. My mother’s favorite actress had been Joan Crawford. She had named me for her. Embarrassed and wounded by her sharp, drunken tongue, I squirmed uncomfortably in my crinolines.

At one point in the evening, Marilyn went on stage in a gold lamé gown to accept the Golden Globe for Best Newcomer. There was chemistry between us across the room, and we watched each other distantly. We knew each other by sight from Blue Book Agency modeling jobs and parties around town. And from a time when we had met at 20th Century Fox.

Later we ran into each other in the Ladies Room. By that point, Marilyn was a little tipsy when she smiled at me in recognition.

“I told you you’d make it somewhere.” She was referring to an occasion when I had screen tested at 20th Century Fox while Marilyn watched the screen test from the shadows of the sound stage. She had said those words to me in the parking lot afterwards. When I didn’t get a contract there I had thought for a while that Marilyn was responsible for it. Finally, I realized that 20th had little use for two blonde, sexy actresses.

Our makeup repaired, we made ready to leave the Ladies Room. “Welcome aboard, Mamie Van Doren,” she said to our reflections in the mirror.

“Thanks, Norma Jean,” I said.

“Norma Jean isn’t here anymore. Joan won’t be after a while either. You’ll see. This is what we are now.”

She was right. Joanie Olander was gone. Mamie Van Doren would be my life from now on.

When the evening was over, Rock took me home to my parents’ little ranch house. We sat in the car talking for a while, then went inside for coffee. My parents were asleep, and we tiptoed into the kitchen. I put the coffee on and went to the cupboard to get cups and saucers. When I reached up, I felt Rock’s hands on my bare shoulders. He gently turned me and kissed me on the mouth. Surprise, surprise! It was a deep and searching kiss. He pressed his body against me and I could feel his erection. This was certainly not what I expected, but it was far from unwelcome!

We necked, panting heavily, and sank to the kitchen floor. I helped Rock unzip his fly, only to discover that it was no pebble he was hiding in there. Zowie! Rock was sporting a boulder! He rolled on top of me, but found himself engulfed in a cloud of crinoline. “Jesus,” he muttered, trying to push some of the petticoats aside.

Every time I moved my back against the cold linoleum, the beads popped off my dress and rolled across the floor. The sound of rolling beads was punctuated by the plunk-plop of the coffee percolator and our muffled voices giving directions.

“Wait…oh…”
“I … just let me…”
“No…not there…”

I tried to guide him inside me but couldn’t reach him through the forest of underskirts. We slid on Mother’s waxed linoleum, struggling for traction and handholds.
“Mamie…I’m…ah-umph, ah-umphin…”

“What did you say?”

Rock let out a long sigh and his weight collapsed on top of me. “I said, I’m coming,” he groaned softly.

We got up and repaired the damage as best we could. It’s hard to wipe anything off of crinolines.

We had coffee and made a date for lunch the next day on the set of the movie Rock was shooting called Gun Fury. As he was leaving, Rock gave me a sheepish look. “I hope I didn’t ruin your dress.”

“No, no. It’s the studio’s dress anyway. They’re probably used to this sort of thing.”

Before I left for the studio the next day, my mother let me have it about the night before.

“The throw rug was pushed into the corner and the coffee pot was on all night. It’s a wonder it didn’t burn up.”

“Sorry.”

“And what’s the studio going to say about your dress?”

I studied my orange juice intently.
“What about it?”

“The beads, Jo. It must not have a bead left on it. When I came out into the kitchen this morning to fix your father’s breakfast, I nearly fell and broke my neck on all those little beads rolling round on the floor.”

I took the dress back to the Wardrobe Department and hurried out before they could look at it. For all I know it’s still hanging there in some dusty corner, un-dry cleaned forty-plus years later, mute and crusty testimony to Rock Hudson’s at least occasional bisexuality.

Rock, if you’re somewhere out there in cyberspace…I still love you!

This is a picture of Mamie from 2008. Can you believe this woman is turning eighty freakin’ years old this February!!!

Picture 5 courtesy of Classic Film Scans