Martin Milner, now starring as a vigorous adventurer on TV's Route 66, recalls all too well the terrifying day in 1947 when--with all the world looking bright and shiny, and his new acting career just opening up for him--the dread disease polio struck him down and threatened to cripple him for life.
"One day," he says, "I was laughing, jumping and running. The next day, I was flat on my back and wondering if I'd ever walk again. I thought the world had come to an end. I couldn't move." For an actor--competing in a business where even the healthiest and handsomest have difficulty getting established--the possibility of going through life with a permanent physical handicap, as an aftermath of polio, seemed the finish of all his dreams.
"I'd just done "Life With Father," the movie that starred Irene Dunne," Marty remembers. "I played the second oldest son in the film, and it was a great start to what I thought was going to be a clear-sailing career. But things have a habit of working out quite differently from the way you plan them."
With his muscles crippled and his body in much pain, Marty's spirits began to sag. He figured his career was finished and the best he would ever get was a menial job--if he was ever fit to get up at all. But the doctors kept after him and, almost before he knew it, he was trying to get himself off the edge of the bed, although even that simple act was a major effort for his polio-ravaged body. "One day, I made it out of bed by myself," he says, "and I figured maybe I had a chance to recover my lost career as well as get back to near-normal health."
There were endless hours of physical therapy, whirlpool baths, massages, encouragements--and many, many disappointments, just when it looked as if Marty might be making it back along the road to recovery. But, in the next six months of back-breaking recuperative work, he learned the meaning of discipline and stick-to-it-iveness.
For every step forward Marty made, he was sometimes forced to fall back two steps. Then, one day, he took the upper hand and began to take two and three steps forward for every step he stumbled backward. "Finally, after I felt I might be strong enough, I went down to see my agent to see if I might start working again."
The encouragement he got from his agent was like a tonic for him. He got a small part, shortly afterward, in a minor movie. But, to him, the important thing was that he was working again. A dozen small and large films followed. Then, as fate would have it, once again his career was interrupted by an unforeseen circumstance. "The war in Korea was on. And so I got an Army call. Once more I said 'so long' to Hollywood and a career I thought might never run smoothly for me."
While in the Army, Marty put some of his time to good use. He directed a series of training films, which kept his hand in the movie game, if in an indirect way. After his Army hitch, Marty came back to Hollywood which tends to forget a face that's been away, even for a short time. "I had to start all over again to prove myself to people I'd known before."
Upon his return, things were a little tough. Casting agents with short memories forgot the boy who'd made such a fine impression before--it was like they were seeing him for the first time. Marty worked a few minor and unimportant parts, at first, then got into a slew of TV roles which brought his talent to the attention of some Warner Bros. higher-ups. They called for him and, in no time flat, Marty was cast opposite Natalie Wood and Gene Kelly in the studio's biggest production at the time--"Marjorie Morningstar."
All the while his career was moving up, Marty kept his eye on a pert girl named Judy Jones, who was his number one rooter, as well as a fine TV actress and singer. Afraid she wouldn't be around forever, Marty one night got the courage to pop the question. She said she'd marry him, and it seemed as if the sky had shot off a thousand rockets for Marty at that moment. "I was a little worried," he admits. "She could have always said no."
As if receiving a wedding present, Marty got a call to do "Sweet Smell of Success," with Burt Lancaster and Tony Curtis. He was the jazz musician who was in love with Susan Harrison, Lancaster's young sister in the film. In the end, Marty got the girl--after having a hard tussle--and his stock went up around movie studios.
All the while, he had been doing some of the more important TV shows, and turning down series offers because the right one hadn't come along, as far as he was concerned. Then, all at once, things began to happen in the Milner household. Little Amy was born and, with the new baby in their Sherman Oaks home, Marty felt like a man of responsibility. He planned Amy's future long before she was able to talk, even envisioning her going to college at the University of Southern California, where he himself had been a student, after having attended North Hollywood High School.
"Then, one day, I got a call about Route 66, and I debated whether to talk about another series. But I went in anyway--and it was my luck that I did!" The whole premise of Route 66 appealed to him, the idea of two wayfarers rambling around the country, picking up adventure where it falls, caught his fancy. Then New York actor George Maharis was brought out to co-star with Marty, and the series was off and running.
One of the problems for me, of course," says Marty, "was what to do with my family, since the show was always being shot in different cities, and we would never be in the same place too long." Judy herself decided--along with Marty--that the separations were not worth it. So she and Amy went along with Marty wherever the show was being filmed. Marty considers this a smart move, since he believes too many show-business marriages have been ruined by long separations. "With us," he says, "our marriage always comes first."
One of the things about Route 66 which appeals to Marty is that he and George get along so well. "There's nothing worse than having to work steadily on a series with someone you don't happen to hit it off with. Thank heavens, George and I don't have that problem."
If George, who's a fanatic on painting, wants to tell Marty about the latest geniuses in the art world, then Marty is more than willing to listen. Or, if Marty is inclined to talk about the latest cute remark his Amy has uttered, then George is his best audience. "It works out pretty well with us, and we don't have any problem communicating with each other."
For Marty, that makes it just fine. But one of the bleak periods with which he doesn't burden people--unless it is to encourage those similarly handicapped, and despairing of future hope--is the day they told him: "You'll never walk again."
Marty made them eat their words. With relish, all around!