My Exclusive & Unusual Interview with BRIDGET DOBSON - Part One

I'm starting this long interview, publishing the first two questions and their answers by Bridget Dobson. What you're about to read is a brief overview of the Ms. Dobson's beginnings. 

She talks about her family, the first meeting with her husband Jerome Dobson, the professional path that her parents had in mind for her, her subsequent rebellion and about the obstinacy of a woman who would later become one of  the most acclaimed and admired television's writers. 

This is first of all the story of a woman with a great personality. And an equally great sense of humor. Ladies and Gentlemen: Bridget Dobson and the Christmas gift from her to all of us.

Before we talk about Santa Barbara, I’d like to explore with you the path that led you to the show. I believe you started your career as a writer on General Hospital. Did the work come easily to you?

I spent my undergraduate years at Stanford University where my major focus was English.  I was lucky to be one of only twelve students selected to be in the Creative Writing program.  My personal advisor was Wallace Stegner, who was, at the time, a well-known American novelist.  I also was fortunate to be in a seminar taught by John Steinbeck's writing instructor - but I can't quite remember her name. (Was it Ms. Berry?)  I was, tangentially, the drama critic for the Stanford Daily.  After graduation, I went for year to the Harvard University Business School, which taught me to avoid columns of numbers and to stay as far away as possible from any banking or accounting institutions.  I learned my strength was in creativity and “business” was not my cup of tea.  Somehow, I survived that year with decent grades, and - best of all - the ratio of men to women was sublime.  Almost immediately after leaving Cambridge, I married my college sweetheart and went back to Stanford University where I got my Master's degree in Drama (specifically television) and a General Secondary Teaching Credential to please my father, who wanted me to teach. I taught high school English for three years or so.

Meanwhile, and most definitely to the point, my parents created General Hospital.  I was born in Wisconsin, where my mother was an attorney and my father was a professor of English.  They entered, as a lark, a Wrigley's chewing gum contest to write a show which Wrigley would sponsor. They won the contest...and began their writing career in Chicago, writing a radio program.  After that, Hollywood beckoned.  We moved to Los Angeles when I was seven years old.  My parents wrote for radio and then television.  It was a feast or famine existence.  Every time a show was cancelled, we became poor,  my parents had no income and no work.  Then they'd get another job, and we could hire a maid again.  They were hired to write a soap opera, Search for Tomorrow after my parents borrowed a fancy car, a Cadillac, from one of their “rich” friends, and placed the car in their garage so that the hiring agent (the head of Procter and Gamble productions) would see the car in the garage as he walked to the front door and, presumably, he would think: “These writers must be very successful since they have a very expensive car in their garage.”  It worked.  Everything in tinseltown is an illusion. They got the job. It was the first “regular” pay check they'd gotten since my father left his tenured position in Wisconsin.  Search led to General Hospital and to one of their two daughters (me) wanting a job working from her parents. I did not just want a job.  I was obsessed.  I was adamant.  I was furious.  I was outrageous.  I pleaded.  I begged.  I threatened.  I had trained for this.  They stonewalled me.  No.  No job.  We'll hire your sister.  Which they did.  Why not me?  “Because you're a party girl.”  Come on.  “Because you'll never meet the deadlines.”   What nonsense.  “Because Debby needs the money.”  And I didn't?  Did they know what public school teachers make?  We had an argument that made the sun and the earth seem small in comparison.  I won.  I threatened never to let them see their grandchildren.

In this nest of familial bliss, I began training and then writing as an associate writer for GH.

When did you realize that your parents were satisfied with your work?

I worked for my parents on GH for five years.  (Actually as headwriter an additional two years, I'll explain later.)  At first it was one script per week.  A year or so later my sister quit, hating the deadlines, and left to get her PH.D. in History.) When she left, I filled in for her.  I wrote all five scripts per week for three or more years.  The ratings were good on the show.  That was my reward.  My parents never liked my work, I think, they just liked the ratings the show was getting.  How do I know they didn't like my work? I never received one word of compliment.  (Because, in retrospect, this seems incredible to me, I checked with my husband.  “Was this really true?”  He confirmed.)  I was, usually, happy to be writing.  Sometimes I was proud of the work.  Sometimes I hoped nobody I wanted to impress was watching. But gradually, five scripts a week, half an hour a day,  52 weeks a year was quite a heavy grind.  At the beginning of year three, at lunch in my parents' house, I informed them that eventually I would leave the show.  I wanted to work for someone other than my parents.  I promised to stay on two more years, so they would have time to find my replacement(s).

My father said, furious, “No one else will ever pay you for your writing.”

“I can't keep working for you. I'd rather dig ditches for a living.” A dragon of anger had leaped out of my mouth. 

Now the familial nest was a bit more spattered, but I slogged on for two more years.  And somehow the show thrived.

to be continued...