September 14, 1967 was the day my son was born. I was
convinced throughout my pregnancy that I would have a girl. I believe I
felt that way because I was, at that time, very "soft" internally,
extremely sensitive and vulnerable, and I had reached my level of
tolerance for "changes". In the year prior to his birth, I had my first
love affair, with Ryan, and had become a major television star where my
anonymity and privacy had gone forever. I had married a very volatile and
temperamental man who didn't seem prone to fidelity. The security of my
contract with Fox studios was in the hands of "randomnicity", or so it
seemed. My life was in a state of flux. I had worked on Peyton Place until
my fifth month of pregnancy. They wrote my character, Rachel Welles out of
the show, by having her lose her mind and be sent to a sanitarium.
I was now free to enjoy my pregnancy without worrying if my stomach
showed or if I would be able to make it to the rest room in time, between
shots, to throw up. Ryan and I had married in my third month. I adored
Ryan. Actually, it was more of an infatuation, as I had married someone
quickly who I barely know as a person. We rented a beautiful house in
Benedict Canyon that had been the home of Humphrey Bogart and Lauren
Bacall. It was the perfect place to have an enchanted pregnancy. There was
a pool under trees, deer, roses everywhere and a lovely tennis court. Ryan
did me a great favor, he worked me out every day of my pregnancy.
Sometimes he would have me run against a time clock, or simply have me run
up and down the long driveway of our home. I started tennis lessons in my
fourth month and was playing the day Patrick was born.
The night Patrick was born, Ryan was watching "Thursday Night At The
Fights", a television boxing extravaganza that was ritual TV fare in Los
Angeles in 1967. A boxer, Young McCormick, was fighting that night and
Ryan favored him. I was almost three weeks overdue. It was a hot September
night and I was cooking dinner. I felt my first contraction while cooking,
and two minutes later there was another. I served Ryan his dinner, sat
down, said nothing and waited to see what would happen next. My
contractions remained two minutes apart. We raced to the hospital.
Patrick's birth came quickly. I had only one hour of labor.
I watched the birth with great excitement and when I was told it was a
boy. I said spontaneously; "How am I going to raise a boy alone?" It was
clearly some deep intuitive knowing of the future that came out of my
mouth in those extraordinary moments. To my conscious mind, I was still
very married.
Because I had been so sure I would only have a girl, I had chosen no
names for a boy. Ryan became intent on naming the baby "Rocky O'Neal". I
suggested the name Patrick, as a compromise, as that was Ryan's real first
name. Ryan agreed, but wanted to add the name Young to Patrick O'Neal in
deference to the Irish boxer who had been fighting that night. So Young
Patrick O'Neal made his entrance, and blessed my life. By 1970, Patrick
and I were on our own and we became deeply bonded by all the experiences
that can happen between a working single mother and a little boy. The
"normal" family structure was not to be ours. We had to become very
flexible and adventurous to make our special journey together work for the
highest possible good. Today he is a successful on-camera sportscaster. He and Rebecca De Mornay have two beautiful daughters,
Sophia and Veronica. The girls are fast growing into unique and very
loving individuals because of their loving parents and who they are
already as souls. This sweet photo of Patrick and me was taken by a great photographer, Bill
King, for Vogue in 1969.
