This article," A fond farewell from Jo-Ann Campbell (as told to Paul Denis) to the man she thought she might marry", appeared in Modern Screen Magazine March, 1961
I loved Bobby Darin once... and now he's married to another girl.
There should be nothing shocking about this. People fall in and out of love all the time. I was in love before I met Bobby. And I'm in love again ... with another boy. Knowing Bobby, and loving Bobby, was one of the great experiences of my life, and I will never forget it.
Bobby has given me memories that I will always cherish--they are beautiful and tender... but that's all they are to me now... memories... moments of the past that can never be re-lived.
Ever since Bobby and Sandra Dee married, I have been asked by newspapermen, fans and friends to give "the lowdown" on Bobby. "After all," they constantly reminded me, "you were his last steady girl friend, and he did tell the magazines that he wanted to marry you, and you did see each other for more than two years... You did love each other, didn't you?"
Then they wanted to know "the real dirt" about Bobby.
I've resisted answering these questions; and, in fact, slipped out of New York the day before Bobby and Sandra Dee married, so that I would not, even unwittingly, take away even a tiny bit from the excitement and the glory of the most important, most wonderful day of their lives.
But my not talking encouraged some people to think I was angry at Bobby. And, so, I have decided to talk just this once in this magazine and clarify my feelings.
First of all, I am not the woman scorned, as some people have implied. Bobby did not walk out on me. I did not walk out on him. We walked out on each other, when we realized our differences were greater than our agreements. Secondly, I like and I admire Bobby--you can continue to like somebody
after you've ceased loving him--and I wish
him and Sandra all the happiness in the
world.
Now let me confess that I have never
met Miss Dee, and I've never seen her in a
movie. Of course, I've seen her picture in
the magazines and the newspapers, and always thought she is utterly beautiful and chic. I'm a big movie fan; but I can't see all
the movies I'd like to see because I'm
traveling so much . . . and I'm truly sorry
I haven't seen Sandra in a movie.
Of course, I've read a lot about her, and
I imagine she's hard working, talented,
bright, and very serious about her career.
Now let me talk about Bobby. He's the
one I know best!
Bobby is unlike any other boy I had ever
met in my life. He could be--almost at the
same time!--deep-thinking, impulsive, serious, amusing. He has depths of brilliance
and knowledge amazing for a fellow who
went only one year to college. He knows
himself in and out, and he is extraordinarily sensitive to other people.
His personality is mercurial. It's on and
off, light and dark, slow and fast, overwhelming and passive. He can be so many
things, and yet always be himself.
He doesn't do the expected, the
so-called normal things, the conventional
things. He is constant about being inconstant. He doesn't phone a girl steadily, for
instance. He rarely writes her letters. He
rarely asks for a date in advance. He does
things suddenly, and although you know
he should have notified you well in advance, you usually go along with him.
Sometimes he'll keep you waiting minutes,
and sometimes he'll keep you waiting
hours, yes, hours. And when he finally
shows up, you find it impossible to be too
angry at him.
As a girl, you don't feel you've got his number; you're not sure just what he'll do next; you cannot relax and feel secure that he's yours forever; he keeps you off balance. And yet . . . even when he makes you cry... you have to admit he's utterly
charming, definitely exciting and stimulating, always brilliant, and most of the time, delightfully fun-loving.
You rarely find him in a bland, average-man mood. He's usually keyed up. He comes on strong. He takes over and commands, in a very masculine way. He can be hilarious for hours at a stretch. And then he can also be depressed, down, sulking, uncommunicative, unhappy.
Yes, that's Bobby--complicated, intense,
deep.
When I first met Bobby, he was a young
singer beginning to move, careerwise. And
I was a dancer-turned-singer up from
Jacksonville, Florida, trying to get a break
in the big city, New York. We were at a
record hop in Philadelphia, and we were
driven back to New York; and then I took
a cab home.
Bobby was quiet that night, and didn't make much of an impression on me.
But, after that, I kept running into him
along Broadway, in a theatrical drug store
frequented by young singers, and we exchanged hellos. In time, we got to know each other better. But when we met, it was
always accidental. He did not really court
me.
He did not bowl me over. But I began to
see his nicer features, especially his nice brown eyes. After a while, I became his friend-girl--not girlfriend, but friend-girl, because he didn't have girlfriends in the conventional sense of boy-and-girl dating.
He told me he liked me because I was a regular sport, a good talker, a good listener, and I dug his humor.
I liked him more and more, because he was always honest. He didn't put on an act. When he didn't feel like doing something, he said so. When he felt like doing something, he did it. He wouldn't do anything just because it was the conventional thing to do. He was always a very strong individualist.
Now I'm a bit of a kookie character, and
I like laughs; and Bobby and I found we could laugh at the same things.
Now let me tell you about the time Bobby and I, along with Jimmy Clanton and Dion and The Belmonts, were singing in a dance place, in a Detroit amusement park.
We had some time between shows, so we wandered around, and took in the rides and the games. When we got to the giant roller coaster, with tracks built along the edge of Lake St. Clair, Dion and Jimmy and I agreed to take the ride.
But Bobby said, "Not me!" But when I teased him with the taunt, "Chicken!" he agreed to join us.
All of us piled into the roller coaster cars, and just as the cars started to move, Dion and Jimmy--the cowards!--jumped off. But Bobby and I stuck it out.
When the cars started to plunge down from a four-story height, right toward the lake, I screamed and screamed. And when I glanced at Bobby, he had turned positively green! That was when my screams turned into hysterical laughter. But when the breathtaking ride was over, Bobby wouldn't let me off. Even though he's had a rheumatic heart since childhood he was determined not to be chicken. He kept me on for several rides, and then he shamed Jimmy into taking a ride, too.
That was typical of Bobby. He believed in conquering his fears at once!
He has a knack for rising to the challenge, of doing the impossible, of learning quickly. For instance, I remember when we went bowling for the first time. I was pretty good at bowling, because I used to bowl down at Jacksonville; but it was Bobby's first time. He was fascinated by the game. He watched me closely; he studied
the game; he observed the other bowlers;
he concentrated. And within a few games he was beating me!
I discovered that his pals were bright,
alert, quick people. None were plodders.
Bobby is a quick-decision man, brisk and
determined in whatever he does. He takes
his fun casually, as it comes along, rather
than plan and dress up for it.
I remember when he took me to Sammy Davis, Jr. at the Copacabana. He phoned me, "Doing anything special tomorrow night?" and when I said, "No" he said, "Then I'll pick you up at 10:00 p.m." That was about the biggest warning I ever
got on a date . . . one whole day. Most of the time, we met informally, casually, or he just came over to the house.
When he came to the house, he didn't stand on ceremony. He called my dad Mr. C. He kissed my mother on the forehead, and kidded my granddad, who kept calling him Eddy Darry. He brought golf clubs along, and practiced putting a golf ball right in our living room. He watched TV with us. He went into the kitchen to make sandwiches. And he kidded my mother about offering him grits, a popular Southern dish which Bobby heartily dislikes.
It was easy to develop a crush on Bobby!
He wasn't like the other boys I had known. He didn't send me flowers and candy, or write daily or phone me regularly. Yet, curiously, I didn't feel neglected. I was sure he was thinking of me. When he went on the road, he phoned me every Saturday night. But during our first year he wrote me only one letter.
If he had been another boy, I would have refused to have anything to do with him. But I knew Bobby was not an ordinary boy. He was Something Special. And, in my heart, I kept forgiving him.
He knew, of course, that he was not being consistently attentive to me. And when he'd call me, he'd say, "I guess you're mad at me."
Since I'm in show business, too, and knew what road tours were, I kept reminding myself that I shouldn't expect Bobby to be steadfast in attentiveness.
When Christmas of 1958 came along, I wanted to give him a ring. So I took off the ring from his finger, and put it on my thumb. Knowing his ring size, I then ordered a star sapphire ring and had it inscribed I Love You--Jo Jo. (Jo Jo is what he always called me.)
I knew he used to wear a ring with the inscription, More Love Than Yesterday, a gift from a previous girlfriend. But of course I wanted my ring to replace hers. Yet I hesitated. There was something about Bobby that was elusive; and there was something in me that held me back.
Meanwhile, he had given me a little diamond-encrusted heart, and of course I was thrilled.
So I held the ring until May of 1959, when he was rehearsing for the Perry Como Show. It was an important show for Bobby, and he was too tired to want to go out, so he came over to the house every night for dinner, bringing me wild gifts, like a three-foot-tall stuffed dinosaur, and other stuffed animal toys.
The night before the Como Show, he was tense and I thought the ring might give him a lift. So I gave him the ring, and said, "Honey, this is a birthday present" (his birthday was May 14) "and for good luck on the Como Show."
Then I went into the kitchen to make sandwiches and set up Cokes, and really to avoid bursting into happy tears.
He followed me into the kitchen, and thanked me in a husky voice. And I felt so happy knowing that I had made him happy.
The next day, right after the Como Show, he hurried over to the house, for a goodbye. And then he left early because he had to leave town.
Our romance was like that--a few thrilling days, and rushing to airports, waiting and thinking and remembering, the long silences, and then the sweet reunions. It was typical of show people who are always on the go.
When he'd phone me, he'd invariably say, "And why don't we get married?" and then I'd say, "Some day, I'm going to fool you and say yes."
Sometimes we were together on the same show, like the time we went to Australia for three weeks, and the time we played the Paramount Theater, Brooklyn, for two weeks. Then we were together backstage constantly, and sometimes we'd slip out for a quick movie. And I remember trying to get him to eat a balanced meal, but he preferred to stick to black coffee and Coke and 7-Up. And when he had a sore throat, he drank quarts of grapefruit juice.
Of course, we fought, too. Although he was attentive in the sense that he knew when I wore a new dress or a new hairdo, he liked to flirt with other girls.
But when I flirted with boys, he was jealous.
There was the time in Detroit, when we went into a restaurant with Jimmy Clanton, and Bobby noticed two girls who wore big earrings and were rather mature. They called him, and he went to their table and chatted. When Jimmy and I finished dinner twenty minutes later, we got up to leave. But Bobby saw us and called us over, "Come here, and meet the girls."
We went over, but Bobby wouldn't leave the girls and come with us. So we left, and waited outside a few minutes. Then I got cold, and annoyed, and asked Jimmy to please escort me home.
Jimmy said he didn't want to hurt Bobby's feelings; but I insisted, and he walked me to my hotel. About ten minutes later, Bobby came to my room and asked, "Why didn't you wait for me, honey?" I snapped, "Because I didn't want to stay and catch a cold!"
But, as always, he was so charming, I got over my mad. He said, "Come on, honey, and let's have a Coke!" I guess I could never stay mad at him too long. His ways are too winning.
I tried to get used to Bobby's penchant for flirting with other girls. He'd be with me and he'd say, "Look at that girl there! . . . I'd like to date her!" and I would say, snippily, "Go ahead, and try!" So he'd go to the girl, and chat and carry on, and then he'd come back to me, a bit sheepish and say, "I know what I did was not nice."
But that was Bobby! Always a flirt, but also a wonderful friend. Always, he was a strong individualist, a quick temper, an unpredictable boyfriend, a great versatile talent, driven by soaring ambition and a strong sense of urgency.
I remember Bobby in his triumphs, and I remember him in his sorrow, when his beloved mother died. He worshipped her, and yearned to make her proud of him and to bring her comfort and security in her old age. She lived to see him have his first hit record, and when she died, I think a part of him died, too.
His mother was a petite blue-eyed blonde, and I've heard people say that he was always looking for a girl who reminded him of his mother. I am a small blue-eyed blonde, and so is Sandra. Now, I don't know if Bobby consciously sought a girl in the image of his mother. Perhaps it's all just coincidence.
After his mother died, he was quoted as saying, "I am not emotionally dependent on anyone or anything!"
The Bobby I knew was a fiercely
independent young man. Yet he had his
doubts. He sometimes complained he
wasn't handsome, that he didn't like the
shape of his nose or his receding hairline.
Sometimes he admitted he didn't think he
had a fine voice. But he never had doubts
that he had showmanship, a command of
the stage, a marvelous knack for creating
excitement and dominating a scene.
Now that I think of it, it's interesting
that the funeral services for Bobby's mother drew at least two of Bobby's former loves--indicating that Bobby's sweetness
lingers on long after a romance is over.
His former girlfriends continue to like him
and to root for him, as I am doing now.
I saw Bobby last when he was in New
York to do the Coke TV special, the end
of June. That's when we broke up for good.
We broke up because we were not happy
during the last year of our romance. At
least we were not happy in the sense that
two people in love should make each other
happy.
But I did not realize this until we split
for the last time. That's when I came to my
senses and realized our romance was not
solid.
Although I was in love with Bobby, I was
not really happy. I hated to admit this to myself. Perhaps it was my fault, and I just didn't want to admit it. Sometimes, when you're in love, you blank out everything that threatens the love. I guess that's what I did.
There was a conflict within me, I admit. I wanted Bobby's love, but I also wanted to build my own career. He was thinking
wife in the suburbs, and four children, with pipe and slippers waiting for him when he came home from a tour. And I was thinking of a career and postponing having children.
I guess we were on different tracks, and didn't know it.
When we ended our romance, we ended it completely.
For me, there was no going back.
I thought I'd mope around for years before I could bring myself to love again. But I was so wrong. Instead of being in shock, I felt like a brand new girl facing a brand new life. Two weeks later, I met a boy on a show we were working together, and we went to the movies. We got along beautifully . . . we knew at once we were on the same track.
I don't know how long it took for Bobby to discover Miss Dee; but they married five months after we split. And I am glad Bobby has found the love of his life.
I have no regrets for the two years of boy-girl relationship with Bobby. Love is an investment of time and emotion, and no matter how wrong it may turn out, it adds to your emotional maturity.
I'm glad I was Bobby's companion during a tempestuous period of his life; and I hope I was there when he needed me most.
Somewhere I have read this line: The moods of love are like the wind, and none knows whence or why they rise.
I don't know the whys and wherefores of love, but I do know that when love comes, it's wonderful.
I hope I am never out of love, and I hope Bobby's marriage will bring him the happiness he deserves.
After all, Bobby is a man who's been tested by life and love, and surely he is ready for marriage. I don't think he was prepared for marriage when he was in love with Connie Francis. He was quoted as saying that marrying Connie would have never worked out "because I could never stand for one minute being Mr. Connie Francis."
I don't think he was ready for marriage when he met me, because he and I were both too preoccupied with building careers and neither of us wanted to give up enough to make a marriage work.
But I think Bobby is ready now. Both he and Sandra have established their careers. They are both stars, and he doesn't have to worry that anybody could possibly call him Mr. Dee, and she surely knows no fans could think of her as anything but Sandra Dee.
They could live in Hollywood and dovetail their careers so that they spend a maximum time together.
They can do it. I know they can. And I'm joining the list of Bobby's friend-girls who are rooting for Bobby and Sandra's happiness.
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