There's a spot in Easter Parade where I let out such a yip, it's a wonder they didn't run me in for disturbing the peace. What probably saved me was that everybody else was whoopin' and hollerin' too. Only to them it was merely a riot. To us Garlands, it was all mixed up with old family stuff.

At one point in the picture, Judy and Fred Astaire are walking down the street, and she wants to prove she's as good whistle-bait as the next one, so he drops behind and tells her to show him. At first nothing happens, then all of a sudden, surprise! The heads start turning and you get the close-up of Judy pulling this face. The Bloopface, we used to call it. A little thing Judy stitched up one afternoon...

We were three kids in the back seat of the car. Nothing much on our minds. "Let's see who can make the most horrible face", said Susie.

Her contribution and mine are gone with the wind. But we both wound up hysterical over Judy, sitting there with her eyes crossed and her cheeks ballooned and the tongue-tip sticking out, sober as a judge. It was always like that. Judy could fracture Susie and me, playing it straight.

Just then the signals change, Daddy pulls up, and quick as a wink Judy has her face through the window. Folks in the next car do a bug-eyed double-take, but by the time mother turns round to see what goes, our little pet's snoozing peacefully in her corner. Anyhow, that's when the Bloopface started, and for years we used it to scare people in cars. Then we grew up and forgot it, till Judy pulled it out for this scene in Easter Parade.

That's one thing I like about my sister. Judy can no more help being funny than breathing. She'll look at you out of those mournful big eyes, describe a session at the dentist's where she really suffers, and have you rolling on the floor. Her comedy sense is something you have to be born with, and she'd rather play one clown than sixty-nine glamor dolls. She'll go out of her way to make herself look idiotic.

The day she reported to Wardrobe for the tramp routine in Easter Parade, they trotted out this form-fitting tailored jacket. "What's that for?"

"The tramp number. Of course it'll have to be torn up and dirtied, but at least it'll fit you".

Judy wafted it away. "Let's see what you've got in men's coats, size 40."

She and Fred were supposed to be dressed alike. He's not exactly the torn-and-tattered type, and he wasn't quite sure how far Judy'd want to go, so he'd try something on and ask: "D'you think it's too much?"

One day comes a double knock on his dressing-room door, and there stands a vision. Baggy trousers, oversize coat, crumpled silk hat on top of a fright wig, two front teeth blacked out. "Think it's too much?" asks Judy, and he falls apart.

That's after they'd been working together a while. Before they started, she wasn't quite so chipper. Judy has no vanity, and to her Astaire was something fabulous. She'd dreamed about a picture with him, but never really believed it. Of course Gene Kelly has no flies on him either, but Judy was used to him, Gene was like family. Astaire was like someone you read about in a book. Besides, she'd heard all these stories about Astaire - what a perfectionist he was. Not that Judy's ever been afraid of hard work. But it was pretty scary for a girl whose specialty is singing rather than dancing.

"I'm conserving my strenght," she told me one day. "They say with Astaire you rehearse eight hours a day. If you sit down, he hates you. If you collapse, he yanks you up by the hair, drapes you over his arm, and waltzes you around again willie, dead or alive. Oh, Jimmie, I'm petrified!"

Well, of course what it all added up to was that no one could have been more considerate than Fred, and the sweeter he was, the more Judy knocked herself out. He'd keep urging her to rest, she'd keep saying she wasn't tired, till it got to be a regular Alphonse and Gaston act. One day she came out with it. "Where's this whip you're supposed to crack?"

He grinned that cute grin of his. "Honest, Judy, I never cracked it over anyone but myself."

Man, woman or child, I don't know anyone more stimulating than Judy. Never will I forget our eight days in New York when nobody knew we were there but the family, and they weren't telling. At 4 o'clock we had no idea of going, at 6 we were on our way. That's how my sister operates when the mood takes her.

the lady is bored...

She called me that afternoon. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Well, come on over, I've got things to say."

I found her in shorts and bandanna. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm bored. Vincente's cutting his picture, and mine doesn't start for two weeks. What can we do?"

"Oh, I don't know. Let's run down to Laguna for a couple of days."

On that Vincente walks in. We tell him our problems. He solves them. "Why don't you go to New York and see the shows?"

Judy sits up like she's shot. "Why don't we? The Chief leaves at 6. We can get the reservations in Jimmie's name. Vincente, you've got to promise not to tell a soul. For once I'm going to New York without publicity."

I said: "You're crazy, we'll never make it."

"Don't be silly, of course we'll make it. Pack up your oldest duds, we'll come by for you at 5."

Mother helped me throw a bunch of junk into grips. The train was moving when Vincente boosted us on and heaved the suitcases after us. We had eight glorious days in New York and saw ten shows, including two matinees. Never once did Judy dress up, never curled her hair, never used a speck of makeup, including lipstick. From the taxi into the theater she'd wear my horn-rimmed reading glasses, which made her practically blind, so I had to lead her. Every so often, people would turn and stare, and we'd hold our breath, trying to look extra dumb. Mostly they'd give us that oh- it-can't-be expression and fade. But the last night one woman came up. "Aren't you Judy Garland?" she said, suspiciously.

"Who, me?" The girl was my sister, but the voice was the voice of Miss Duffy. "Gee, that's certainly a thrill, my boyfriend's a'ways tellin' me I oughta be in pitchas, oney he thinks I'm more the Jane Russell type."

That's the nearest we ever came to being caught. Next day we were on the train. Judy fixed her hair, made up her face, and bought us each a new outfit in Chicago. The hats looked fine, but the suits needed altering. We arrived in Hollywood, looking real glamorous with our skirts tucked up and our coatsleeves flapping.

Judy's always buying and doing things for the family; she stays close. When we were kids, playing the Orpheum together, she had a funny way of talking about the three of us as if we were one. "Hi, Daddy, bring us some pineapple juice, our throat is thick." In many ways it's not so different now. We always know when Judy's been shopping for herself, because stuff starts coming for Susie or me or Mom or Judaline, my ten-year-old. Only the other day Judaline nearly went out of her mind over a little sealskin hat and muff that Judy sent from Don Loper's.

My youngster thinks her aunt's something pretty special which, believe me, has nothing to do with pictures. In Judaline's heaven there's only room for two stars, Roy Rogers and Trigger, and the greatest of these is Trigger. This tickles Judy. Not long ago she had Judaline out to lunch at the studio, and introduced her to Arthur Freed.

"Like to be in your Aunt Judy's picture?" Mr. Freed asked.

"Any horses?"

"No horses."

"Well, thanks just the same, I wouldn't care for it then."

I think that's one bond between Judy and Judaline. They don't impress easy, they're both direct and honest. Judy can smell a ham a mile away, and calls 'em as she smells 'em. There's her portrait, for instance, never mind who did it, but comes the grand unveiling, followed by a loud silence. Till Judy's voice, slow and dreamy, breaks it: "Who killed Cock Robin?"

Since then, for reasons that have nothing to do with art, we've grown quite attached to the picture. Judy refused to have it around, so Mother took it. "After all, it is an oil painting."

"If it's oil you crave, Mother, I'll go and buy you a bucket."

"And the frame's so gorgeous, you can't just throw it away."

First we hung it over the mantle. Then the rains came and made a crack in the entry wall. Mother wouldn't have it fixed till the rains were over, so first thing you saw when you opened the door was this crack.

"Judy's picture would just about cover it," said Susie.

Next time Judy opened the door, there was the picture. "Personally", she said, "I prefer the crack."

In the course of time two things happen. The wall gets fixed. Susie and her GI husband, who've been living with us, move into their own GI home. Susie asks for the picture. "It goes with the colors of my room."

Now Judy tells everyone it's a portrait of Susie. Calls their attention to the likeness. The expression of the eyes. "Wouldn't you know them out of a million for Susie's?" Kids the shirt off this picture - an attitude I find very refreshing. So would you, if you'd seen as many Portraits as I have with a capital P, and how you're supposed to approach them on bended knee and knock the ground with your forehead.

she'll take chocolate...

When Judy's not working, she brings Liza down every Wednesday right after her nap. Otherwise the nurse brings her. Liza's a very dainty little girl, with her daddy's huge dark eyes and Judy's mouth, and his lovely high Italian forehead. Looks like a dream and plays like a roughneck with Judaline. Cutest thing is to watch her pick up her skirts and dance when you start singing Liza. She's got Judy's rhythm. Also Judy's passion for chocolate. Candy, ice cream or cake, Liza'll take chocolate or know the reason why.

Judaline's always called my mother Nonna. You'd expect the little one to pick up the name from her, but no, Liza's an individualist. "Want to go see Nonna?" Judy asked her one day.

"Yes, I want a banana."

"Here's a banana, now shall we go see Nonna?"

"Go see Grandma," Liza said firmly, and that was that.

Judy's awfully good with the baby. Gives her plenty of rope without letting her get out of hand. One evening Liza was at the dinner table with the rest of us. Started kicking the underside of the table, which made her highchair rock back. Quite a thing, she decided. Judy thinks it's fine for kids to learn their way round in the world, but not at the risk of breaking their necks.

"Liza, stop."

Liza gives her the who'd-you-think-you're-kidding routine, and kicks some more. Judy picks her up, whacks her once on the bottom, and sticks her into Judaline's old crib. A few minutes later the door opens, and there she stands with the halo round her head. "Yiza good. Yiza no bop table." Then she turns on the charm-tap, melting brown eyes and all. "Mommy good. Mommy no bop Yiza." A very logical child.

I've been to lots of parties at Judy's house. I've had lots of fun. But I never have more fun than when Judy and Vincente pop in unexpectedly. Mother fixes a snack and we sit round the fire gabbing...

Like one night they'd been to a show and came in around 11. Judy wanted pancakes. "Will you make some, Mother?"

"Sure," said Mom, then remembered there wasn't an egg in the house and the stores were closed. So we all pile into the car and drive to Restaurant Row, as they call La Cienega. Mother and I slink round to the back door of one place, and go into a spiel about this sick uncle and you can't let a man die for want of an egg.

The guy didn't say yes and he didn't say no. He said, "Boiled or fried?"

"Pickled," I heard this voice behind me mutter. It was Judy.

"Just eggs," said Mother, very loud and clear. "The way they come from the hen."

We got 'em. Half an hour later we were eating pancakes on a cardtable by the fire. What always happens at these sessions, we get started on the old days, which fascinate Vincente. In fact, he's the one who eggs us on (pardon the expression), though it doesn't take much. I remember one night Judy absently called me H.B.

"Meaning what?" asks Vincente, and we're off...

It was on that long trip to Chicago, which finally landed us at the Oriental and changed us from the Gumms to the Garlands. Mother did most of the driving, and we kids whiled away the time playing silly games.

"I'm S.N.," said Susie, bowing her head and folding her hands together.

"What do you do?"

"Get Sung."

That wasn't so tough. We figured her out pretty quickly as Silent Night. I was H.B. and I whistled at girls. It took them about eight miles to get Hiya, Babe.

"My initials," said Judy, "are E.B.B."

"What do you do?"

"Nothing."

"Then how can we guess who you are?"

"I'm very famous."

We tried everything from Elizabeth Barrett Browning up and down, while our dear little sister kept looking smug and smugger. After forty miles we got desperate. "Oh, all right, who are you?"

"Eric Budge Bullick."

"Who in the name of common sense is Eric Budge Bullick, if we may ask?"

"I made him up."

"You said he was famous."

"He is. I made him up famous."

Those names stuck for years. We still have pictures inscribed by the Duncan Sisters to Silent Night, Hiya Babe and Eric Budge Bullick.

"They should've brained you," says Vincente.

"They did worse than that. Stuffed themselves full of cotton candy right under my nose and wouldn't give me a shred."

We adored that junk. Gorged ourselves every chance we got, till Mother'd call a halt. We never seemed to get enough.

Which reminds me of Liza's last birthday party. Liza was bouncing back and forth like a hostess, informing the world it was "Yiza's party". She took Judaline under her wing, and Judy steered me past the big table with balloons tied to each chair, and round a bend. There stood a cotton candy machine, and a man to work it.

"So the kids can have all they want," said Judy.

"What kids?"

She grinned. "You and S.N. and Mr. Budge Bullick."

To anyone else it would have been double-talk. To us it was a window that opened on memories we shared and the childhood that glows with magic from a distance. We looked through the window together for a minute, then linked arms and went back to the party without saying a word. There wasn't any need for words. Maybe that's what I like best of all about my sister. Just that she's my sister.


Editor's Note: Judy Garland was all set to begin work a few weeks ago on another co-starrer with Fred Astaire - M-G-M's The Barkleys of Broadway. However, Judy's doctor decided she'd better have a three-months' rest before starting Annie Get Your Gun early in the fall. Her role in The Barkleys was then taken over by Ginger Rogers.

Judy Garland Database ©1995-2007 Jim Johnson - see copyright statement