Beautifully Bea! Bradford Noble Talks to Bea Arthur Written and Photographed by Bradford Noble

I sat down to coffee with Bea Arthur, my buzzing head full of pre-conceived notions about her long career, the struggles she must have gone through to get where she is and the knowledge about the business she might impart to those just starting out.

One thinks of the “starving actor” almost as an icon, a writ-of-passage for all
thespians and struggling artists.

In her deep raspy ”No you’ve got it all wrong darling” voice, Bea set me straight right away with her no nonsense demeanor, sharp wit, and impressive memory.
 
”While I was researching your career,” I said, “I saw that you were in the business, primarily theatre, for twenty-five years before you became famous to the television masses with your hit series Maude. For the struggling artists of today, can you tell me what it was like for you, going through your own struggles when things might not have looked so rosy?”

”Oh God,” she retorted. “Well you know that’s ridiculous! I never thought that things weren’t rosy! I came from a very small town in Maryland, moved to New York and went to a dramatic school and then just took any kind of acting job that came my way. I never really knew that I wasn’t successful or felt that I was struggling. I was just happy to be working and living in New York. It was the most exciting time in my life!”

Continuing she adds, “My friends and I used to sneak into the second acts of shows on Broadway so we wouldn¹t have to pay, and afterwards go out to the clubs where all the waiters there were just like us, all unemployed would-be actors. It was such an exciting time. I never saw it as a struggle.”

”You’re blowing my angle Bea!” I said almost in dismay, “Here I am thinking
I’d get your sage advice for all those struggling artists out there.”

”Oh for Christ’s sake,” she interrupts, “If they are struggling that hard, well then maybe those people aren’t that fucking good to begin with!”

”You’re killing me!” I said. “But surly you must have felt hard times at some point? Come on, even then New York wasn’t ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’?”

”You know I really don’t remember any of that. Everything was so cheap then. I was living in a fifteen-dollars-a-month-cold-water-flat and there was always something to do. You knew you’d get into an off Broadway show and I did get support from my family.”

”So okay,” I said. “You never felt the pain, but in today’s world things are very different, right? I mean it’s tough out there, some of us aren’t so fortunate, and a lot of people lose hope and give up.”

”Well then it’s it not that important to them!” She said as if the clouds had just opened, and the word of God had been uttered!

”Tell it like it is why don’t you Maude, Dorothy I mean Bea!” I said rifling through my notes with slightly trembling palms. She was definitely taking my interview on a detour.

”MED School!” I blurted, seizing on a highlighted “tidbit” in my notes about her past before she arrived in New York. “What was that about?”

”Oh God!” she explodes with laughter, “It wasn’t Medical School. It was a
school for Medical Technicians. It was only a year and then I went back home
and interned in the local hospital. Well, that was when I decided that there was
more to life than running urine! So I went to New York to try to get a job in the
theatre!”

”So then,” I continue, more or less pulling myself back together while
tidying up my notes again into a nice neat stack. “Ten years go by accruing
your impressive theatrical credits before you ever did a comedic role.  With
such an impressive range of talent from Chanteuse to Shakespeare, why then
comedy?”

”Well,” she began, “It was during a very lean period that I got a job as a
nightclub singer, because I have this very lovely deep voice you know.” We
both laughed. “Then the guy fired me three days into the run because he said,
”You’re so tall and seemingly in charge that no one is going to believe it if you
sing about how your man done left you, and you’re going to throw yourself into
the ocean. You really should try comedy!’”

Bea Arthur and Bradford Noble

”Comedy?” I thought. “Me? Comedy? So I retired as a singer and did my first
comedy skit at this little place in the Pocono’s where I got an explosive
response.” And I said, “This is TERRIFIC!”

”Okay,” I say feeling back on track. “Fast forward another fifteen years to
1971. You do a guest spot on All in the Family, a show I hated I’m sorry to
say. It was all about my father playing opposite my father in a dress. But you
play this character, and suddenly then there’s Maude! Who birthed that baby?”

”Well,” she began. “Norman Lear (creator of All in the Family) was married
at the time to a really militant feminist, Frances Lear, and the character
of Maude was based on her.  I did one guest appearance on All in the
Family' and apparently it caught on because we retained the character and
they gave me my own show.”

”So,” I ask. “After twenty-five years as a performer, you’re an overnight celebrity with a hit TV show. How did it feel to get hit in the face by fame?”

”I’ll tell you quite honestly,” she began with a sigh. “I don’t really know how to answer that. I mean, my marriage ended during that period. I didn’t feel I ever had enough time with my kids. You know there’s always a down side. Forgive me for saying it, but I don¹t know whether it was the right decision.”

”What?” I said aghast. “To do your show you mean?”

”Yes,” She said. “It’s a ridiculous thing to say I know, because MY GOD, if
it hadn’t been for Norman (Lear) and the shows, I never would have ended up,
well I mean I had a respectable career going in New York Theatre, but
certainly nothing like this!”

”So fast forward again to the present,” I say with brows aloft. “Pam Anderson? Friars Roast?”

”Comedy Central Roast, not Friars,” she corrects. “Not funny either.”
”I wanted to leave as soon as it all began,” she said. “No idea it would be so cheesy, but PETA sponsored it, and being their spokesperson I took part. It was so long and went on and on, and people like Courtney Love were there. It was ghastly. However, I loved it that a friend said, “Who else but Bea Arthur could get a standing ovation for saying the word FUCK!” But I was just reading from Pamela’s Memoirs, so to speak. She had written this novel of sorts. Anyway, we snuck out as soon as we could after I finished
my bit.”

”Well Bea,” I say. “You’ve certainly got a tale or two to tell. What’s next? Any plans for the future?”

”I never want to do eight shows a week anymore,” she responded. “I feel at this point that I like doing the occasional show, but the rest of the time, just hangin’ out. You know -with my kids and the dog...”

”Lastly,” I said assuredly putting away my notes and cassette tape full of commentary which was so beautifully Bea, “Milestones. What were they?”

”For me.” she said. “It was in 1954 when I played Lucy Brown in Threepenny Opera on Broadway. I got out on stage and started my song, and it was then that I realized that I was contributing something and it was good! No more kidding around, I thought it was good, and I had a right to be there!”

After a short reflective pause she added, “I’ve never forgotten that. “