NIVA
April 22, 2006
Niva is my son's wife. She's a lawyer.
When Benjy came to my house, he proudly sent me a clipping from a newspaper with a picture of his daughter sitting on Santa's knee.
He begged me not to reveal pictures of his kids on this site, so as not to upset Niva. He says pictures are private, and can only be shown with her permission.
Well, here they are, the only time I was "allowed" to meet them, and the only pictures I have.
At the top is their sweet little girl Patil, and below is the new one, Kyle.
Did Niva have a hand in the decision to see me evicted? Well, put it this way. Their sweet old parents, who live in Sherman Oaks, invited me over for dinner at a prior time, and after a lovely meal, opened a drawer, and dusted off an old real estate licence, and asked if I would please allow them to sell our properties. I was horrified. Haven't talked to them since.
Last Christmas, Ben was in L.A. for a day. He visited, and I took him to the Grove, I said I would like to buy my grandchildren a gift, something to remember me by. All they have right now is a beautiful child's kimono that Miyuki sent last year. He followed me around, and finally, while I was asking about their sizes, he said never mind the gifts, not necessary, they would most appreciate a check for their college fund. I bought the gifts anyway, and Miyuki gave him fifty bucks.
He gave me a handful of liquorice allsorts which he said was personal, from Niva.
ZACHARY JOHN CLARK (b. January 3, 1991)
My son Zachary when I last saw him, age 10. Photo by me
WOW! Today you are 14 years old. Oh my God, is it really 15? Quite the young man.
I bring happy birthday wishes to you from your brothers Jonathan and Benjy, and also from your sisters Kelly and Annabel.
And also I am sure from your step-mother Lynn Redgrave.
I am so sorry that we have no contact, but one day you will come to know that I have been doing my best to put things right. You asked me for protection a long time ago, and I failed you. I'm so sorry.
Meanwhile, if any of your friends, school chums, computer geeks, other parents or anyone else, reads this and knows young Zach, please give him this telephone number, and ask him to call me.
JOHN CLARK 800/390-5913
I'd love to hear from you. We all would. We don't know where you are.
I want to tell you about your birthday present this year, which I am holding for you.
Remember how we used to star gaze through my 8 inch Celestron reflector telescope from my lawn? Do you remember the star Arcturus, one of the brightest stars in the sky?
Well, quite near, there used to be a star named "Bootes Right Ascension 14H 36m 23s and Declination 32 degrees 2 minutes".
No more. On January 3, 2006, that star will officially and forever bear the name Zachary John Clark ! And the name is permanently filed in the International Star Registry's vault in Switzerland, and recorded in a book being registered at the copyright office of the United States of America.
I shall hold a copy of the certificate and the star map for you until I can give them to you personally. Hopefully, that will be soon. Meanwhile,
Lots of Love from your DAD
CLARK TAKES FADE IN TOP PRIZE
DAILY VARIETY
(This article was updated on Dec. 26, 2005.)
****Jonathan Hawtrey Clark was GRAND PRIZE WINNER of Fade In magazine's ninth annual Fade In Awards -- with his action script "The Binary Man."
Clark beat out more than 2,000 entrants for the nod geared at getting recognition from the Hollywood film community for tyro scribes and helmers.****
Yes (his Dad speaking now), I'm so proud of his accomplishment. I hope he'll make his mark here in Hollywood, and I think he will.
What a nice Christmas gift.
I'm also proud of the accomplishments of my other kids. Benjy is visiting me again, and tells me of his exploits as a pilot for Delta, Kelly called me from England to tell me she is teaching guitar and entertainment singing, and while I have still to hear from Annabel, she is shooting beautiful pictures (see her website Annabel Clark) and also working with her mother in pictures; I see she was an intern in the movie "Kinsey".
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!
Well, I missed it again this year, so I'll say it again for myself and for my three sons, two of whom have children of their own.
And my two daughters? Who knows. I have a feeling, at least, that they can't help but think about me every one of their days.
And I say it for all fathers everywhere, stripped of their children by forces beyond their control.
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!
LATER
Maybe somebody read this. Anyway, I heard from my son Benjy who had stopped somewhere in his Delta 757, and phoned me a happy father's day. Hadn't heard from him in over a year, but it made me feel good. Thanks, Benjy.
RON JEREMY SENDS GREETINGS TODAY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
May 7, 2005
Happy Birthday, Benjy, sonny-boy. I have to send my greetings this way, because you don't tell me where you live.
I took your old friend Ron Jeremy and his g/f to the Magic Castle yesterday evening. He'd just returned from Oxford, England, where he'd been invited to address the Oxford Union Debating Society, joining Winston Churchill, 3 U.S. presidents, and the Dalai Lama. As you can imagine, he was very impressed with himself.
I told him it was your birthday today, and he sends his love.
Remember when we got together at my kitchen 2 Christmases ago, you, me, Miyuki, and Ronnie? How time flies!
Also, our steadfast old Rott. Hermia sends you greetings from Topanga, where my faithful neighbor gave a home to our 3 family dogs, Hermia, her son Puck, and old lazy Portia.
Hermia's getting on a bit now too, but she's very friendly, and finds ways to keep herself happy.
A loving lick from Hermia.
ZACHARY JOHN CLARK (b. January 3, 1991)
1/3/2005
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ZACHARY
View image
Wherever you are, I'm thinking of you.
Love from your DAD
Here's a picture from earlier and happier times, before the Family Court got into my picture.
And here he is in the very first picture I ever took of him, minutes before I cut the cord.
ANNABEL LUCY CLARK (b. July 5, 1981)
3/13/2005
I just came across my photographer daughter's website. Last I heard from her a few years ago, she was studying photography at the Parsons School of Design in New York, staying at my apartment. Now I see she graduated with a Batchelor of Fine Arts degree, and I didn't know about her career taking off. I am so proud of her, and want everybody to know about it.
Through her website, I got to see pictures of my grandchildren, first glimpse for me. Thanks, kid! Keep shooting away!
I've emailed her through her website. I hope I hear back.
Here it is, with examples of her pictures:
I have come upon this interview you gave to the Sunday Times:
From The Sunday Times
April 10, 2005
Interviews: Caroline Scott
ANNABEL: Splitting up with my dad was the beginning of Mum finding out who she really is. [In 1998, John Clark fathered a child by Annabel's assistant, Nicolette, who later married Annabel's brother, Ben.] In an odd way it prepared her for her cancer. It was such a shock, such a massive hurdle, and yet she came through it, so she already knew she was a survivor.
She had several years between the divorce and being diagnosed to learn to live alone and deal with the emotional hardship. I think that's when we started getting close. She had to discover within herself an independent woman, which she hadn't been for 32 years. She told me she'd been my age the last time she lived alone. I remember when we moved into our first apartment, she didn't pay the rent because she thought the landlady would bill her! I was 17 and also taking my first steps into the outside world, so we were setting out together.
I haven't spoken to my dad for four years. None of us see him any more.
I tried for a while, but he only wanted to talk about what was wrong with Mum and how we could fix that by making her realise what she did wrong. It was a really weird time. At times I thought: "How can this get any worse?" But I don't look at it negatively any more -- it was all part of the journey; it was all part of getting close to my mother.
For various reasons, she told me she had cancer over the phone as I stood on a street corner in Brooklyn. She tried to be so motherly, so matter-of-fact. "They got it early -- I'll have the surgery and it'll be fine, don't worry." Still trying to take care of me. But they hadn't got it early.
It wasn't fine and she wasn't confident at all. And gradually, over the next six months, our roles changed. It wasn't until she lost her hair that I saw her completely fall apart. It was like this terrible disintegration. I had to be objective and say: "Okay, we're going to fix this." I borrowed next-door's clippers, sat her down and shaved her head.
My goal when I first started taking the photographs was to have an end to the project, which would be to see her well. That was part of the reason we did it. I feel that chapter is closed now. Once in a while I think, "What if it comes back?" or even "What if I get it?" Because the risk for me is immediately higher. But I don't dwell on it. Maybe it's naive, but because we've done the book, I feel we've done with worrying. I worried the most when I went to see my grandmother's grave and Mum told me she'd bought the plot next to her. That was really hard, because for a couple of days everything fell away and I was convinced she was going to die.
Mum lives in the moment a lot more now. If she wants to do something, she doesn't put it off. Sometimes that turns into her getting stressed again, because she wants things to happen immediately; she doesn't like wasting time. But for the most part it's a positive thing. She's never been a confident person, but battling cancer seems to have given her confidence. She was certain she didn't want reconstruction. Her mastectomy scar is her battle scar. It's like: "This is me -- this is who I am now."
I didn't see Vanessa that much when I was growing up. I didn't get the impression there was real closeness, but now they talk all the time. When Vanessa was staying in New York, they'd meet for coffee in the park in the morning. They would never have done that before: it would have been more of a casual "hello". We're all aware that we may not have as much time as we thought, and relationships are more important to us. When I think about our relationship, the mother I had as a child seems a different person to me now. She's less of a mother figure, more of a friend. There isn't anything hidden any more; nothing she needs to be, nothing she needs to say. There's just this quiet acceptance of her new self.
MY RESPONSE (because she doesn't want me to write privately to her, and anyway, I don't know her address)
What can I say to this? I know what I'd say to Ms. Scott, your interviewer, starting out with her statement that Nicolette was your assistant (it's time that Murdoch's London Times hired journalists capable of even minimal honest research for their articles). You've always known the truth why do you not enlighten the press, since you're giving interviews? Do you need to do this? Well, I have this weblog out there to provide transparency, and I hope you dare to read it.
OK, sweetheart, you don't need to respond to me, I see where you're coming from. Take care of your Mum, she has a steep learning curve ahead about real life, but be careful you don't become her keeper, or the two of you will belong in a Tennesee Williams play! You have your own life to lead, and you must be open to a fulfilling marriage and your own family one day. But I took in what you have to say about you and Lynn, and I am moved over what you are going through. Cancer is a horrible thing, and you and your mother have come under its sinister influence. I guess I should be happy that I am outside of its sphere as it effects my old family, yet somehow I feel guilty that I am not there for you both.
Just remember, my door is always open for you, (you should meet my new wife Miyuki who is a good wife to me, very far from being a feminist - maybe take pictures of her in her classic kimono!).
Just remember, if ever you need me, I'll always be here for you.
5/27/2005
Hi sweetheart.
Today was your Danish granny's birthday. Also your mother's first preview of her play in New York. Did you remember both?
I e-mailed you to your website, but still I haven't heard from you, and now I don't suppose I will.
I have looked through your portfolio on your website again, with care, and I do admire your work.
I especially loved your portraits and video of lonely old people you traveled to Spain to investigate, and another series of stills about abandoned places in the Mississippi Delta.
I hope you will give a thought to the source of the inspiration for your projects.
Like, the home you grew up in which you abandoned back in Topanga, helping your mother to cause your old Dad to get evicted and become a lonely old person. And is it possible you might be one of the daughters who get to come and "live with and take care of their aging parent", which you say is one of your current projects?
Fortunately for you, you don't need to worry about that. This parent saved his life all by himself by getting on the internet and finding just the person to live out his remaining years with. So please don't feel guilty, just in case you do.
Now I can share my thoughts with the whole world on this blog which you and your sister and brother caused to come about by not communicating with both parents and your silence towards me, and you don't have to read it, even. Just your friends, I hope.
And don't forget your young sibling Zachary who seems to have disappeared. Your paths may cross again one day, long after we're all gone. Give that a thought too.
Meanwhile,
Have a nice day, and I love you.
Dad
July 5, 2005
I don't hear from you. Fancy, a daughter abandons her father, instead of the other way around. Amazing in today's world.
I often look into at your lovely website which shows your work as a professional photographer, and which gives me a glimpse of my grandchildren. You are very talented, and makes this Clark very proud, especially as he passed on to you his background in photography. I'm sorry I could not give you one of my Nikons, as you know, all my equipment was stolen.
I hope my readers will take a look in
And I have to say that I get comfort knowing that armed with a camera you are doing your thing and finding yourself, in the Springtime of your life. It's nice that you helped your mother with her illness and her book. Now take care, and keep looking and finding.
Love, Dad
July 5, 2006
Another year gone by. Still silence. Twenty-five years old, and nothing for four years.
Nevertheless, I wish you another Happy Birthday, and I hope your career is going well. I'm still waiting to hear from you, and I'm still bewildered.
As another daughter said to her old man
No cause, no cause. . . .
I think her name was Cordelia.
April 9, 2007
I've heard nothing from you, 5 years now, other than a "get well" card with no return address while I was in the hospital.
You should know that I have seen and heard regularly from your siblings and their children, (except for Zachary), and we are on good terms, I believe.
As you will know, Kelly has changed her name to Pema (means Lotus she tells me, on her way to becoming a Tibetan nun - hey, I'm glad and flattered she kept the Clark part, and didn't change it to Redgrave!)
I see that your mum has joined Senator Barack Obama, busy launching his bid for the Democratic nomination for President, as an active member of the United Church of Christ. I hope she finds comfort in this.
You need to think about yourself now, for I was distressed to hear that you have contracted a rare condition in your hip called Pigmented Villonodular Synovitis (PVNS), an extremely rare disease that involves the lining of joints. I looked it up - only 1.8 in a million get this. And I'm told you will need a hip replacement, and are hobbling around on crutches. Which must impact your dream to be a photographer.
Sweetheart, it is at times like this that a girl needs a father, and whole family support. I urge you to contact me, because this way is quite absurd. You know where I am and how to contact me. I wish I could hug you, as I did the last time I saw you.
Please come and see me. I'll send you a ticket.
July 5, 2007
Another year, no daughter. Well, I wish you a happy day on this your birthday. Have fun.
KELLY B CLARK (b. Feb. 26, 1970)
2/26/2005
I can't send my daughter a card for today, I don't know where she lives.
Instead, this way.
Happy Birthday, sweetheart. Take care.
Dad
BENJAMIN B CLARK (b. May 7, 1968)
Ben, as he likes to be called, or Benjy, as he likes me to continue to call him, is now co-pilot in big jet planes for Delta. He's been with them for several years now, and I'm very proud of his continuing successful career in aviation.
Here he is. But wait! Who's that with him? His doppelganger? Which is the real Benjy I used to know?
I envy him. I would like to be a retired captain right now, with a nice pension, and grandkids to enjoy.
I must admit that as a child actor, that was my second choice, if my acting career petered out. I used to build model airplanes as a kid, and one day I was invited to appear as the birthday guest on the British radio series "Monday Night At Eight" with any wish granted, so my biggest wish was to fly in the cockpit of an airliner and talk to the ground, and British European Airways made that happen. What a thrill it was, I was flown to Amsterdam, my first trip abroad, in 1946, to have lunch at the Amstel Hotel, my very first gourmet meal. Still into years of rationing in my native country, it opened my eyes to the opportunities overseas, and away from the restrictive policies of Clement Attlee's Labour government. In my mind's eye, I kept going.
May 7, 2005
Happy Birthday, Benjy. I have to send my greetings this way, because you don't tell me where you live. Our old Rott. Hermia also sends you greetings. She's getting on a bit, but finds ways to keep herself happy.
I took your old friend Ron Jeremy and his g/f to the Magic Castle yesterday evening. He'd just returned from Oxford, England, where he'd been invited to address the Oxford Union Debating Society, joining Winston Churchill, 3 U.S. presidents, and the Dalai Lama. As you can imagine, he was very proud of himself.
I told him it was your birthday today, and he sends his love.
Remember when we got together at my kitchen 2 Christmases ago, you, me, Miyuki, and Ronnie? How time flies!
JONATHAN HAWTREY CLARK (b. October 23, 1963)
My firstborn appeared in New York City in 1963. His mother took him up to Toronto, Canada, and I missed his growing up years, referred to elsewhere. But I sneaked him his U.S. passport, and with his very early memories of me and his half brother and sisters, and his grandparents which I forced on him, he never forgot, I just had to wait him out for ten more years when he left home.
I don't regret a thing, and now he is happily married to an Irish girl, has 2 children, lives in Dublin, and is a very talented screen-writer.
LYNN RACHEL REDGRAVE (CLARK)
"Be Careful What You Wish For."
So goes the old aphorism. It can also lead to stress, Lynn, and I hope you are over it by now.
I heard about your breast cancer. I am sorry I could not be there for you, but I see that Annabel was with you, you got a book out of it, and it is a relief that you have recovered. Onward and upward.
[Picture, copyright of our daughter Annabel Clark]
Meanwhile, Merry Christmas
3/8/2005
Happy 62nd. birthday today.
With best wishes from your ex.
NICOLETTE
You've read plenty about this lady elsewhere. She's the mother of Zachary, whom I got to know and love as my own son.
I first met Nicolette at the house of her sister Adeline and husband John Procter in Palmers Green, devout Jehovah's Witnesses all, a few days after her mother had dropped dead in the street of a brain hemorrhage. I soon found that Nicolette had been "disfellowshipped" and that meant had fallen from grace by order of the all-male elders (sounds like an Arthur Miller play!) and that meant cold-shouldered by her faith, her friends, and her family. And within a few months, I made a bad decision. As Just William would have said, "I was only tryin' to help".
When the baby turned out to be a boy, it reopened for me an old wound, the loss of my little son Jonathan to my first wife, all those years ago in Toronto, soon after I'd married Lynn. I longed for a relationship with this new baby, and he quickly became a substitute for what I had missed. Kay had refused me all father/son contact during his growing up years back in the 60's and 70's, despite Canadian court orders. I was never tested for paternity of Zach, but I had no reason to think that I was not his father at that time, certainly I accepted that duty and obligation. And that was how I became his father, never mentioned around the house, nobody was supposed to know. At least that was the pretense. Nicolette prepared a document appointing me his guardian, and in the event of her death taking full custody of him. (I've seen no update or change in that plan. Except that now I don't know where they are. "Not probative" Judge Gold would have proclaimed.)
I remember an occasion early on, when Jonathan came to visit. They were sitting together on the couch. Jonathan was then 32, Zach 4 . And I thought how strange, Jonathan at Zach's age knew me, knew I was his father, reached for me, but a relationship of any kind was denied. And here is Zach, all these years later, with me every day, calling me Papa, and yet not knowing I really was his father.
The day came when he and his adoring and adored sister Annabel were watching their favorite television show, South Park. It was February 25, 1998. Zach was 7. Squeals of laughter and I joined them on the couch. In this episode, Cartman begins to wonder why all the kids at school have fathers but him. He asks his mother who his real father is, and she tells him about the night of the drunken barn dance, when he was conceived. She'd had sex with just about every man in town that night, and DNA tests have to be performed to determine who the real father is, but it costs $3,000. How can Eric raise the money to learn the truth . . . and I looked at Zach, he was silent, and tears were rolling down his cheeks. And I knew then that the time had come when he had to know.
Nicolette looked elsewhere for a love life, and certainly that was her right. Lynn and I had hoped to take her down the aisle with "a nice rich Jewish lawyer", we'd say. But that didn't happen, she chose, instead, porn king Al Goldstein. Al Goldstein at NNDb A friend, I thought, of ours, whom we'd help to keep out of jail after his trial for obscenity in Kansas back in 1975.
He'd paid Nicolette money to accept deliveries at a new Beverly Hills apartment he was setting up in 1993, while he was away. Then later he called me from his home in Florida, gloating, and threatened me with exposure, which would have been sure to bring Lynn down. I was hugely concerned, and called her sister Adeline in London to fill her in and bring her up-to-date on the truthful story. "Get rid of him at all costs" she told me.
Nicolette wanted to settle down with him in Florida, with Zach of course then about 2 years old, and hoped to become his fifth wife. To get an idea of what Zach's future life would have been like, well, this will give you an idea (if you're over eighteen!) Al Goldstein's Blog. Yes, he's quite a character, a good writer, and very Jewish funny. Which makes him very dangerous. It took a lot of persuasion to get her to drop the idea.
Much later, it was our Topanga plumber from Guadalajara. We had enormous reservations there too, of course. He became this little boy's father, with the blessing of the Los Angeles Family Court and the stern admonishments reminding me of their rights from my own lawyers.
This newsworthy photo was sent to me by the National Enquirer, their photographer clicking away from a concealed position outside her home in Topanga early one morning.
Photo taken by the National Enquirer
I think about my own early life as a bastard, and there should be no black mark against us people. When I first found out from my mother - I was forty-two no less - I was ecstatic to hear about it (unlike my sister who I think felt great shame). People like us have gone on to great things, witness film director Carol Reed who led an interesting and creative life. Reaching further back, the same can be said of all 10 children of the Booth family, perhaps excepting John Wilkes. One of whom, notice, married a John Clarke.
As things stand now, and with a glance and a spit towards Los Angeles Family Court, I foresee a future for young Zachary of a downside as a second plumber's mate, and an upside of becoming a WeightWatcher's franchisee. Unless something happens to allow me to put influence into his life before it's too late (I'm approaching 75.) I hope he is finding emotional independence.
ME
With links. This will tell you all about my wild and storied life.
MISCELLANEOUS MEMBERS
Leonard Charles Clark (Len) was my father. He was born in London, June 27, 1893. Current research reveals he was married to Gladys May 18, 1913, in Bournemouth,on the South Coast of England, and they lived there, and had 2 daughters. Just after marriage, he fought in WW1 as a captain in the Seaforth Highlanders. I have a picture of him in his kilt. After the war he worked for his father, who was later mayor of Sutton, Surrey, who owned a wholesale meat business in Smithfield Market. He met my mother when he bumped into her on Victoria Station around 1928, and set up house with her in London - unbeknownst to his family back in Bournemouth, and unbeknownst to my mother at that time. A happy commuter, right out of Alec Guiness's "Captain's Paradise", I'd say. Well, his wife paid him back. She steadfastly refused to divorce him, and that was in the days where you didn't get one, unless both agreed. Sadly, his father and mother, and his brother and 2 sisters influenced by their parents, also disowned him, ignoring him for the next 30 years, (and depriving me of grandparents forever). Finally, in 1970, my mother and father got to marry in the same courtroom where the judge granted him his divorce (new grounds of 2 years desertion by either party). The English judge was horrified, told them to get 2 policemen from next door, and he married them then and there. Nice story! I traced my half-sisters through a television show in Burbank about 8 years ago, and they are now my great friends and supporters.
Ethel Margaret Clark (Greta) was my mother. She was born in the village of Billum, near Esbjerg, Jutland, Denmark, on May 27, 1903, and spoke with the Jutlandic dialect. The second oldest of ten children, living on a dairy farm, her father committed suicide when she was about eighteen, leaving his family on the edge of poverty. I'm still researching the reason. Mother left for England to seek a better life. I dare say meeting my father was a stroke of luck for her, and he helped the family tremendously. I met them all just once, in 1947 on a trip over there with my mother. Of course, Denmark had been occupied by the Nazis, so there was no prior contact with them either.
I am still researching both of their stories, because much was kept secret from me and my sister as we were growing up, and now they are both gone. I want to bring everybody back into the fold, because the old issues are dead, too.
Just now, I am in touch with my cousins in Jutland, who can handle quite good English, and it's all thanks to the Internet. The Internet has changed people's lives, not least by bringing far flung estranged families together again. Everyone should have a computer and learn how to use it. Because otherwise, they're missing out.
Sonia Pamela Clark is my one sibling, 2 years older than me, born in England, lives in Henley-on-Thames. She is referred to elsewhere. We don't talk. But her two daughters, one's a doctor, used to visit and send Christmas cards until about 20 years ago, then suddenly stopped. That I don't understand. They are independant individuals, and should know better.
Sybil Clark and Mavis Dayton are my half-sisters. They were born in England in the twenties. Mavis met and married a Canadian flyer, and they all emigrated to Vancouver, Canada, in the forties, just after WW2. Their mother was Gladys, my father's first wife, the fact which I didn't discover until I left home as a young man. And to think I used to sail into Vancouver in the early fifties, and could have looked them up.
Katharine Mary Craven Hawtrey (Kay) was my first wife, born in Toronto in 1926, I married her there in 1956. She was six years older than me, and I refer to her elsewhere. I met her when I was the juvenile lead in the Canadian Repertory Theatre in Ottawa, and she was the character actress. She is still a working actress, and lives in Toronto, Canada. When she refused to let me see my son, I went to court with an attorney, and she then ignored ensuing court orders, and I decided to give up. It is in my nature to fight injustice, but not when it involves hard-balling my family. We haven't spoken since.
