PATRICK SWAYZE

One last dance

Also by Wendy Leigh

Arnold: An Unauthorized Biography

One Lifetime Is Not Enough with Zsa Zsa Gabor

Liza, Born a Star

Prince Charming: The John F. Kennedy Jr. Story

Edward Windsor, Royal Enigma

The Secret Letters of Marilyn Monroe

and Jacqueline Kennedy

True Grace: The Life and Times of an American Princess

Life with My Sister Madonna with Christopher Ciccone

PATRICK SWAYZE

One last dance

WENDY LEIGH

Copyright © 2009 by Cabochon Diamond LLC

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in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights

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First Simon Spotlight Entertainment trade paperback edition September 2009

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Manufactured in the United States of America

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN 978-1-4391-4997-3

ISBN 978-1-4391-4999-7 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-4391-5530-1 (ebook)

This book is dedicated to Sandy Williams-Martel,

a true woman of substance

CONTENTS

Prologue    THE STAR

One            DEEP IN THE HEART OF TEXAS

Two           AN IMPRESSIONABLE AGE

Three         PRINCE CHARMING

Four         MY ANGEL

Five         EMERALD CITY

Six           TOP OF THE WORLD

Seven       DIRTY DANCING

Eight       SWAYZE MANIA

Nine       GHOST

Ten         BREAKING POINT

Eleven    THANKS FOR EVERYTHING

Twelve    DOWNWARD SPIRAL

Thirteen   FIGHTING BACK

               EPILOGUE

              ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

              SOURCE NOTES

prologue

     THE STAR

8:07 a.m., Monday, August 18, 1952

Maternity and Children’s Building

St. Joseph Hospital, Houston, Texas

The beautiful twenty-five-year-old girl was unconscious, her slanting dark blue eyes closed, her long, lustrous bronze-colored hair matted, her flawless olive skin covered in perspiration. Labor had begun unexpectedly and no one, least of all the girl herself, had been prepared for the agony she had just gone through. After all—like Scarlett O’Hara—she was of hardy Irish and Southern stock and this wasn’t the first time she had given birth.

But this baby was different, this baby was six weeks premature, so premature in fact that even the pediatrician was caught by surprise and wasn’t yet in the hospital.

The two nuns watching over the mother prayed silently that the pediatrician would make it in time and save the baby’s life, but they gravely doubted it. The placenta had come loose from the uterine wall before the baby’s head was delivered, thus depriving its brain of oxygen, and the baby was in danger of dying any second now.

They did everything possible to make the mother comfortable, but as for the baby, their only alternative was to pray that the poor mite would manage to breathe a few quick breaths rather than suffer such a cruel and untimely end.

Suddenly the maternity ward door swung open, and the hospital supervisor and surgical nurse strode in. Hospital supervisor Gladys Karnes (the former Gladys May Snell) was a champion swimmer, a woman of authority, a tough cookie not to be trifled with.

"We think we’ve lost the baby," one of the nuns said, her Irish brogue thick with emotion.

Gladys ignored her and reached into the mother and manually pulled the placenta away from her womb, freeing the baby to breathe for the very first time. As the two nuns wiped the mother’s forehead, Gladys lifted the newborn baby into her strong arms and began rhythmically but gently slapping it on its back.

For a second the baby let out a small breath, then nothing. Gladys pressed her mouth to the baby’s mouth and breathed air in, as much as she could, for as long as she could, infusing the tiny lungs with oxygen.

Then the pediatrician was by her side at last, caring for the baby, while the two nuns watched, mesmerized, not daring even to cry out It’s a boy when they saw that it was.

He was less than fifteen inches long—five whole inches smaller than the average newborn baby—yet it was clear to the nuns, to Gladys, and to the pediatrician that he was struggling to breathe on his own, fighting to live, to survive.

To their relief, the baby boy was starting to breathe regularly. And it was almost uncanny that, with his rosy cheeks, long black eyelashes, and one blond wisp of hair in the middle of his forehead, he didn’t look as if he had suffered any trauma whatsoever.

As the nuns gently passed him to his now-conscious mother, they were lost in wonder that he had survived and looked so perfect, so beautiful. Your baby was born with a star on his head, one of the nuns said to the mother.

Exhausted as she was, and as emotional, Patsy Swayze understood perfectly. Patrick had been born with a star on his head because he had survived one of the most traumatic births they had ever seen, she proudly declared years later, in her trademark throaty voice adding, "I’ll never forget the words of that little Irish nun. But I knew what she meant . . . that Patrick was our little miracle, because he had survived such a difficult birth."

He was, indeed, born a survivor. Born to fight, born to win. He was also born to garner the untrammeled love, undivided attention, and unbounded admiration of the female sex. Not just because he would grow up handsome, charming, and unimpeachably masculine, but because the die was cast from the very first few minutes of his birth, when he was surrounded by three women who already loved him unconditionally: Gladys, the hospital supervisor, was his grandmother; the pediatrician was his great-aunt; and his mother, the strong-willed Texas beauty who, because he had almost died but didn’t, would forever afterward love him with a love so passionate, so riddled with great expectations, that she would dominate his very existence.

And then there was that star . . .

one

     DEEP IN THE HEART OF TEXAS

Patrick Swayze was born in Texas, the second largest U.S. state—a state which, like him, is dramatically larger than life. But while he has always been universally regarded as the quintessential Texan, a close examination of his paternal roots tells quite another story.

While a large number of Texans boast Spanish, Mexican, or Indian ancestry, Patrick, in contrast, can trace his lineage back to England, where in 1619 his ancestor, John Swasey (sometimes known as Sweezy), was born in Bridgeport, Dorset. Christened at the church of St. Mary’s, Bridgeport, in 1633, John Swasey sailed to Massachusetts on The Recovery. There he became a planter and, in 1640, purchased four acres of land in Salem, Essex County.

In May 1650, John Swasey married Katherine Kinge of Essex, England. Some genealogists claim that Swasey was one of the earliest Quakers, citing this as the reason for his refusing to take the oath of fidelity to the colony of New Haven. Whatever the grounds for his refusal, not taking the oath made him persona non grata in Salem. Consequently, in 1658 he and his wife moved to Southold, Suffolk County, Long Island, New York. In 1706, at the age of eighty-six, he died in Acquefague, Suffolk County, leaving seven children behind.

One of those children, Joseph Swasey (born 1653), married Mary Betts and had six children with her. Samuel Swayze—later a judge—was born to Joseph and Mary in 1689 and was one of the first family members on record to use the modern-day spelling of the Swayze name.

In 1736, Samuel Swayze, his wife Penelope Horton, and their children moved from Long Island to Black River, Chester Township, Morris County, New Jersey, where they bought a parcel of land.

Samuel was a fervent Congregationalist, and in 1747 he and his fellow Congregationalists built their own meetinghouse with pews and galleries seating four hundred and worshipped there together. In 1753, Samuel Swayze Jr. (born in 1712) became the first pastor of the church, where he served as minister for the next twenty years.

In 1772, Samuel Swayze Jr. led a group of seventy-two families on a migration from Black River to the outskirts of Natchez, Adams County, Mississippi, where he formed a Congregationalist church. Soon he and his flock became known as the Jersey Settlers, who are today considered an integral and highly respected part of the history of the South.

Strangely enough, when Patrick made his big career breakthrough starring as Orry Main in North and South, part of the miniseries was filmed in Natchez. When Patrick received great acclaim for his acting in the miniseries, he gave masses of press interviews yet never mentioned that he is a direct descendant of the Reverend Samuel Swayze Jr., the most famous of all the Jersey Settlers, or brought up the coincidence of North and South being filmed in Natchez, the home of his ancestral forebears.

Nor did he ever broach the subject of his other celebrated relatives: Stalag 17 star William Holden, his seventh and eighth cousin (because Reverend Samuel Swayze and his brother Richard married their own cousins, who were themselves sisters), and Amadeus actor Tom Hulce, another, more distant cousin.

Patrick’s Texas roots on his father’s side begin only with his great-grandfather, James Wesley Swayze, who originally lived in Franklin Parish, Louisiana, before moving to Texas. From then on, the Swayzes were true Texans, born and bred. Texas is the birthplace of Patrick’s paternal grandfather, Jesse Elijah Swayze, and his maternal grandparents, Victor and Gladys Karnes—and his parents Jesse Wayne and Patsy Swayze, both regarded themselves as Texan to the core.

In many ways, Patrick was the embodiment of Southern pride. No matter how famous he would become, he never jettisoned his Southern values or his Southern manners. As a matter of fact, when he was on the threshold of becoming a star and his agent chided him for calling men "sir, he rounded on him indignantly and declared, That’s insanity, and in no uncertain terms informed him that he was brought up the Southern way and was proud of it. You hold the door for women, you pull their chair. It’s your job, it’s not a macho thing."

Then, switching tacks, with a characteristic twinkle he added a caveat: If you say ‘sir’ in a different context, it can be also very dangerous. ‘Sir, you mess with me one more time and I break every bone in your body.’

"There’s a real power to Texans. Texas gives you a belief in yourself, he said with considerable pride on a 1986 visit back home. There’s a lot of emotion involved in being in Houston. This is my hometown! These are my roots!"

The TV series Dallas has ensured that as far as most of the world is concerned, Houston has been relegated to the second-best-known city in Texas. However, Houston is a far more international, multicultural city than Dallas. Apart from being the location of NASA’s Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center, one of Houston’s other major claims to fame is that it boasts the second largest concentration of theater seats in any downtown area in the United States.

Horses, too, are the business of Houston, and Patrick’s paternal grandfather, Bud, was the foreman of the King Ranch—the largest horse-and cattle-breeding ranch in the Lone Star State, sprawling across six counties. When Patrick was a boy, his grandfather tied Patrick’s wrists to a ram’s horns and his feet to the ram’s belly and let him go. "By the time I got off, I was close to unconscious, he recalled. But I’ve always said since then, ‘If it’s got hair on it, I can ride it.’ " His father too was a horseman, a Texas state champion cowboy, so it was hardly surprising that Patrick grew up to cherish horses in all their glory.

A love of horses was in his blood, and so too was dancing. His mother, Patsy, (born Patricia Yvonne Helen Karnes on February 7, 1927), was not only a gifted dancer herself but would also become one of the most influential dance teachers and choreographers of her generation.

His father, Jesse Wayne Swayze—nicknamed Big Buddy—was a tall, muscular, handsome man with jet black hair and blue eyes who bore some resemblance to Cary Grant yet retained the veneer of a tough macho Texan.

When Patsy and Big Buddy met in 1944, Patsy was seventeen and spirited, Big Buddy was eighteen and dashing. From the first, the passion that flared between them was inevitable. She was on the threshold of graduating from the Incarnate Word Academy of Houston, the oldest Catholic school in that city (a school which she would later credit as having taught her that there is no such thing as failure), and Big Buddy had enlisted in the navy. After learning that he was about to be shipped overseas, Patsy and Big Buddy were married in Missouri City, Texas, on August 6, 1944, just two weeks before Patsy’s graduation day.

Their first child, Vicky, was born in 1949, followed by Patrick three years later. Like one out of every nine native Houstonians, including Kenny Rogers and Barbara Mandrell, he was born at the art deco–style St. Joseph Hospital, which was founded by the Catholic Sisters of Charity of the Incarnate Word in 1887. His brother Don was born in 1958 and Sean in 1962.

The Swayzes’ first home in Garden Oak was adjacent to their next home in the romantic-sounding Candlelight Wood area of Oak Forest, a large residential community in northwest Houston that was established in 1947, with most of the houses sold to World War II veterans for between $8,000 and $10,000. The Swayzes were to live there through most of Patrick’s childhood, right into his late twenties. Almost rural in character, yet less than ten miles from the heart of Houston, Oak Forest, situated literally in the midst of a forest, was safe, suburban, even beautiful, and the Swayzes’ two-storey Greek revival–style antebellum house on Del Norte was the ideal setting in which to raise a family.

However, even in the early pre-feminist fifties, powerhouse Patsy wasn’t about to become a desperate housewife on a Houstonian Wisteria Lane.

Fate in the form of a car had run her down when she was a child and caused her to take up dancing as a form of physical therapy. Soon—through her formidable will, one which she would share with her eldest son, Patrick—she became a dedicated dancer prepared to suffer the grueling hours of practice and hard work in quest of the joy of devoting herself to her art, her raison d’être and her lifelong passion.

Initially she studied with Marcella Donovan Perry, the formidable ballerina and Broadway dancer who infused both style and discipline into her dancing. By the time Patrick was born, Patsy was already well established as Houston’s premiere dance teacher and choreographer. A liberated woman far ahead of her time, she founded and directed the acclaimed Houston Jazz Ballet Company, helped to develop Houston’s High School for the Performing and Visual Arts, choreographed countless musicals, and ran her own dance company and dance studio, where she taught ballet, tap, and jazz to generations of students, including Patrick.

"I kind of came out of the womb onstage. I can’t recall a time in my life when I wasn’t dancing," he has said. And while he wasn’t exactly born in a trunk in the Princess Theater, Pocatello, Idaho, like Judy Garland’s Esther Blodgett in A Star Is Born, as a babe in arms he was carried onstage during an operetta, already in show business before he could even walk or talk.

When he was only eight months old, his mother took him with her to her dance studio, where he’d hoist himself up in his playpen and dance in time to the music, along with her pupils. And, whenever possible, she took him with her to the theater where she was choreographing a show, and he’d either watch mesmerized or sleep contentedly on the theater seats.

At three he had his first ballet lesson with his mother. The group photograph of him in shorts and shirt show him already gleeful and happy, standing with perfect posture among the other tots in the class.

Even at that early age, Patrick’s charisma was notable, as his pictures from that time testify. And out of Patsy’s four children, Patrick was the most outgoing, she said. At six he appeared in a children’s production of The Most Happy Fella . Soon after, she dressed him in a sailor suit, put tap shoes on his little feet, and taught him how to give an accomplished performance singing and dancing to Shirley Temple’s winsomely girlish hit, On the Good Ship Lollipop.

Above all, through his childhood, teens, and right through high school and into his twenties, his life would revolve around classes and rehearsals at his mother’s studio. There his hopes, dreams, ambitions, and the very basis of his character would be forged by Patsy, not only his mother but also his teacher, and set in stone.

two

     AN IMPRESSIONABLE AGE

Life inside Patsy Swayze’s studio on Judiway, and of course the phenomenon of Patsy herself, would have made the perfect case study for Malcolm Gladwell’s groundbreaking Outliers, his analysis of the complex elements contributing to large-scale success in life. The high success rate of Patsy’s students was such that during certain periods as many as three hundred of her pupils—who included Jaclyn Smith, Tommy Tune, Randy Quaid, and of course Patrick Swayze—were appearing in different shows on Broadway at one time. And those that weren’t were running their own dance schools or dance companies throughout the world.

And it is clear that the extraordinarily high level of success of her students was primarily due to Patsy’s iconoclastic teaching talent, philosophy, and innate grasp of child psychology.

Meld the Jesuits’ Give me a child until he’s seven and I will give you the man and the fictional Jean Brodie’s Give me a girl at an impressionable age and she’s mine for life, and you will have a sense of Patsy Swayze’s seismic impact on her young students and—above all—on her son Patrick, the performer and the man into which he would one day evolve.

Even five decades since they first started dancing with Patsy, mention her name to many of her former pupils and they veer between naked adoration, deep-dish fear, and sheer gratitude. One of her former students, Cookie Joe, who is now a celebrated Houstonian choreographer and teacher but was nine years old when she started training with Patsy, puts it this way: "She reminded me of Lauren Bacall, with her long wavy hair and her smoky voice." She was one of those rare breed of women who manage to be simultaneously glamorous and strikingly steely.

Far from being a girlie girl, Patsy was far more of a tomboy—muscular and athletic, with a strong well-defined body set off to its best advantage when she wore dance clothes or, away from the studio, bell-bottom jeans or her favorite black strapless vintage dress, which was reserved for important occasions and lent her the allure of a queenly mermaid.

Perhaps as a reminder to her young students—the majority of whom were girls ranging from two upward and into adulthood—of her illustrious past in tap, jazz, and ballet, along with her Hollywood-wattage allure, a velveteen portrait of her in a sequined belly-dancing outfit, a jewel stuck in the middle of her forehead, dominated the studio.

If Patsy was the queen bee reigning over her studio, Big Buddy reigned as king, albeit a benevolent one. "He took care of the organization at the studio and was looked up to by all the children. He was tall and towering and Patsy was gorgeous. Top of the wedding cake," enthused Danny Ward, Patrick’s lifelong friend who went to Waltrip High School with him and also sometimes accompanied the dancers at the piano during studio rehearsals.

"A dance studio is like a family. And having Big Buddy there was like having a daddy around, Zetta Alderman recalled. She had started studying with Patsy when she was ten years old, and her mother, Dorothy Shook, was Patsy’s best friend and receptionist. He would sit in the dance studio for hours, we would dance for hours and he would just watch us."

Big Buddy was like a big cowboy, only he didn’t wear a cowboy hat. You took one look at him and you knew that he could do anything and he knew how to do it, said Rick Odums, one of Patsy’s former pupils and now a world-renowned choreographer who for the past thirty years has run Les Ballets Jazz Rick Odums, his company and school in Paris. Big Buddy was mischievous and fun and very loving and kind, said Zetta Alderman, adding a note on the subject of the Tom Sawyer side of his expansive nature. "One time he got a bunch of rubber bands and, when Patsy wasn’t looking, he popped us with rubber bands from across the room. It didn’t hurt, he was just teasing us, but Patsy got so mad at him because he was