The Many Faces of Love: Johnnie Whitaker
Love is a dollar a week and chewing gum
By Lisa Reynolds

Happy bedlam filled the front rooms of the Whitakers' crowded San Fernando Valley bungalow. Stephen, thirteen years old, paced restlessly back and forth near the door, dressed in his Scout uniform and wearing a pack filled with bedding and other gear for an overnight hike. Billy, three, edged precariously along the counter top in the kitchen, investigating the contents of cabinets as he went. On the sofa, pretty D'Oralie, only three months old, slept peacefully, totally indifferent to the commotion.

Standing on the couch, dangerously near her head, her seven-year-old, red-haired brother, Johnnie, dispensed chewing gum to his brothers and sisters, plus a neighborhood playmate named Davey.

The arrival of the box of chewing gum in the afternoon mail had been a big event at the Whitakers. It was a gift to Johnnie from the sponsors of A Family Affair (sic), the television series in which he plays. But he made no effort to hoard it. "Here," he generously offered, handing gum a package at a time to the rest of the family: Sherrie Lynn, fourteen; Stephen, thirteen; Laurie Jean, twelve; Linda Colleen, eleven; Mary, four, and Billy, three. Johnnie loves them all dearly and part of love is sharing chewing gum. Only baby D'Oralie failed to share, but Johnnie didn't ignore her. "O-o-o-oh," he murmured, pressing a kiss upon her cheek. D'Oralie jumped slightly and showed signs of awakening.

"Leave her alone, Johnnie," his mother, Thelma, cautioned, and the baby settled down to more sleep. "Our babies get accustomed to noise right away," Mrs. Whitaker smiled. "They have to. Otherwise, none of us would survive. I've visited homes where everyone whispers and tiptoes while the baby is asleep, because the slightest noise will awaken it, but can you imagine all of us whispering and tiptoing? We don't have room in this house for a quiet place, so we bring the cradle right in here with the piano and TV."

The cradle, incidentally, doesn't belong to the Whitakers. They just use it a lot. John Orson Whitaker, father of the brood, teaches at Pacoima Junior High School where the true owner of the cradle is also on the faculty.

"It's passed around among the teachers' families," Mrs. Whitaker said of the baby bed. "We borrow it, and then somebody else borrows it, and on and on."

Not since Lawrence Welk discovered the Lennon sisters and their kin has show business tapped such a clean-cut, buoyant, abundant and handsome source of talent as the Whitakers. As the Lennons did, back in the days when father Bill was a milkman, John and Thelma Whitaker have managed to provide for a large, continually increasing, energetic family through a relatively modest income. Since teaching isn't the highest paid profession in the world, John supplements his regular paychecks by teaching night classes for the probation department of the Los Angeles Police Department, and, for a while, he even held down a third job on weekends working with the local Youth Services.

It's in the family

Also like the Lennons, the Whitakers are devoutly religious; although they are Mormon rather than Catholic. To carry the comparison further, Johnnie doesn't have the sole franchise on Whitaker talent. Instead, it runs through the family.

All the children who are old enough to have taken music lessons, play musical instruments and, in the evenings play as a band for the entertainment of their parents, and Billy, Mary and D'Oralie.

Added to that the three oldest girls sing as a trio at church and for various social and civic events. As a matter of fact, it was their talent which turned Johnnie into a professional entertainer.

When one of the girls who was supposed to sing a solo at church was incapacitated, Johnnie, then aged three, offered to substitute. "Are you sure you can sing the song?" Mrs. Whitaker asked nervously.

Johnnie had said he was sure. And his rendition of I am a Child of God was so successful that a member of the congregation insisted upon referring him to an agent. After that, Johnnie was in show business.

Mrs. Whitaker insists that nobody pushed Johnnie into an acting career, but that he pursues it only because he enjoys it. This is easy to believe, because young Johnnie is a thoroughly outgoing little boy. He likes being with people, doing things. And he does a remarkable number of things remarkably well.

For example, he could swim when he was two and already, while he's in second grade, he reads at fourth grade level.

"He reads all his own scripts," his mother proudly points out. "But he's such a regular little boy. He loves the whole wide world!"

As a result of one of his "regular little boy" ventures, Johnnie has a small scar on his head.

"I pulled a metal box over on my head," Johnnie said. "I was climbing and--"

"We have a filing cabinet in a back room," his mother enlarged, "with a smaller cabinet on top. Johnnie and one of his sisters was tryingto get something from the top, and they pulled the smaller cabinet over. When I went in and saw this pool of blood, I was afraid for a minute that somebody was dead."

Every Whitaker child with the exception of the baby is assigned certain chores to carry out and accumulates money in accordance with performance. The chores include such things as picking up clothes, making up beds and taking care of more difficult tasks in the case of the older ones. Stephen, for example, recently wired some lamps which his mother made as a church project.

Each Monday night the Whitakers hold family council with everyone, even baby D'Oralie, present. During the meeting they study their Sunday school lessons, discuss mutual problems, hear a little music perhaps and then the parents dispense allowances. The older children receive two dollars each week; Johnnie gets a dollar--and he loves being considered big enough to merit it. Billy and Mary receive seventy-five cents each. Each child has a money jar, as does Mrs. Whitaker. If, during the week, a child does his chores properly, he keeps his money in his jar, but, if not, part of his money gets put in his mother's jar.

Punishment is seldom necessary in the Whitaker household fortunately, because, Mrs. Whitaker laughs, "We try to punish the children when it's necessary by taking away privileges they want most.

"As for example, I might not let Johnnie play with his best friend for a day or I might not let a child look at a favorite television program. But I've discovered I'm usually punishing myself more than anyone else."

Johnnie, his mother says, has always been happy. He was a happy baby. He's happy at home playing with his brothers and sisters and he's absolutely delighted to be working on television. Whether he's playing baseball, learning a script or going to Sunday school, for Johnnie Whitaker life is a barrel of fun.

"When they finished work on the show for the first season," his mother says, "I thought he'd miss being at the studio, because everyone's so good to him there, and he is crazy about the rest of the members of the cast.

"So, I asked him, 'Do you miss your friends at work?'

" 'Yes,' Johnnie said, 'I do. But right now I'm just enjoying going to school.'"

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