Earl Holliman’s path to Hollywood is a compelling story of ambition and aspiration. At the age of 14 in 1943, he was resolute in his desire to become a movie star.
Raised in Oil City and Mooringsport, often mistakenly identified as Shreveport, he embarked on his journey to Hollywood through several stops along the way. His adventure began with a trip to visit relatives in Camden, Arkansas, followed by a bus ride to Texarkana, Texas. From there, he hitchhiked to Hollywood.
Having saved some money working as a theater usher and during the night shift at a café near Barksdale Air Force Base, Holliman had also connected with a serviceman who offered a lead on a place to stay. However, this turned out to be in El Monte, California, a significant distance from Hollywood. Looking back, Holliman acknowledges that it was a risky decision, one that wouldn’t be advisable in today’s world.
His initial foray into Hollywood didn’t pan out, prompting him to return home briefly before enlisting in the Navy. Nevertheless, his dream of becoming an actor remained alive. He eventually made his way back to Los Angeles, where he honed his craft at the Pasadena Playhouse and the University of California, Los Angeles.
Holliman’s determination paid off, leading to an impressive film career with notable roles in classics like “Giant” (1956), “Forbidden Planet”, “The Rainmaker”, and “The Sons of Katie Elder”. He also became well-known on television, especially for his work alongside Angie Dickinson in “Police Woman” and with Richard Chamberlain and Rachel Ward in “The Thorn Birds”.
He fondly reminisces about his early days in Hollywood, particularly his first morning in El Monte, when he wore a short-sleeved silk shirt and dark glasses while walking in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, fantasizing about being mistaken for a star. It was a moment filled with youthful dreams and innocence.
See below how Earl Holliman looks today at 96.
Neighbor Refused to Pay My Daughter After a Week of Babysitting – You Won’t Believe How I Got Even
Lucy came home after a long week of babysitting, her face pale and her eyes filled with tears. My heart sank the moment I saw her, as my daughter rarely cried, and when she did, it was never like this—silent sobs, her chest rising with every shaky breath, her body radiating the kind of hurt that makes a mother’s heart ache.
I rushed to her side, placing my hands on her shoulders gently. “Lucy, what happened?” I asked softly, trying to keep my voice steady.
She wiped her tears away but didn’t speak right away. Her hands shook as she fiddled with her sweater, and I could tell something was deeply wrong. After a moment, she finally looked up at me, her voice barely audible.
“Mom, Mrs. Carpenter didn’t pay me for babysitting her kids,” Lucy whispered.
I frowned in confusion. “What? Why not?”
“She said it was a ‘life lesson,’ that I should’ve gotten everything in writing. Then she slammed the door in my face!” Lucy’s voice cracked, and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. “She said babysitting was hard work, and that was payment enough!”
I could feel my blood starting to boil. Mrs. Carpenter had refused to pay my daughter for babysitting all week, dismissing it as a lesson in responsibility? My fists clenched as I tried to stay calm for Lucy’s sake.
Lucy’s voice trembled as she continued. “Her kids were terrible, Mom. They wouldn’t listen to me, they threw toys at each other, and when I tried to make them do their reading, they said, ‘Mom says we don’t have to.’ I worked so hard all week, and she acted like it didn’t matter.”
“Oh, sweetie,” I whispered, pulling her close. At 15, Lucy was trying so hard to be responsible, and this was her first real job. “How much did she owe you?”
“I babysat for four hours each day for five days… so $220. I was going to use it for an art course I really wanted to take,” she sniffled.
Without hesitation, I reached for my purse and counted out the money. “Here, you earned this.”
Lucy’s eyes widened. “Mom, no. She’s the one who owes me, not you.”
“Don’t worry about it. You worked hard, and you deserve to get paid. I’ll take care of Mrs. Carpenter myself,” I said, hugging her tightly. “I’m going to make sure she understands that cheating you isn’t something she can get away with.”
As Lucy headed to the kitchen for a snack, I began planning. I wasn’t going to let Mrs. Carpenter get away with this. But I knew that confronting her in anger wouldn’t work. I needed a smarter approach—one that would teach Mrs. Carpenter a lesson of her own.
That night, I lay awake thinking about Lucy’s excitement when she first got the babysitting job. She had been so proud, so eager to prove she could handle responsibility. And now, Mrs. Carpenter had robbed her of that joy. I tossed and turned, replaying the events over in my mind. By the time morning came, I had a plan.
At 10 a.m., I knocked on Mrs. Carpenter’s door, forcing a pleasant smile onto my face. She answered, looking surprised to see me.
“Rebecca! What brings you by?” she asked.
“Oh, I just wanted to thank you for the valuable life lesson you gave Lucy,” I said sweetly, watching as confusion flickered across her face. “You know, the one about contracts and trust?”
Mrs. Carpenter’s smile turned smug. “Well, yes. I’m glad you understand. Children need to learn things the hard way sometimes.”
“Oh, absolutely,” I replied, pulling out my phone. “I’ve been telling everyone about it. In fact, I posted about it in our neighborhood group.”
Her smile faltered. “Posted? In the neighborhood group?”
I showed her the post, along with the flood of comments from other parents in the neighborhood. Mrs. Carpenter’s face paled as she read through them.
“Melissa said she’d never trust someone who treats kids like that,” I said. “And Janet from the PTA? She thinks we should bring this up at the next school board meeting. Says it reflects poorly on the community.”
Mrs. Carpenter’s eyes widened in panic. “Rebecca, I didn’t mean for this to go so far—”
Mrs. Carpenter’s confidence crumbled, and she stammered something about a misunderstanding. But I wasn’t interested in her excuses. I gave her a final smile, turned on my heel, and left.
Later that evening, Lucy came rushing through the door, an envelope in hand. “Mom! Mrs. Carpenter paid me! She said there was a misunderstanding about when she was supposed to pay.”
I smiled, pulling her into a hug. “That’s great, sweetie.”
As Lucy headed upstairs, I couldn’t help but feel satisfied. Some people might say I’d been too harsh or petty, but I didn’t care. My daughter had worked hard, and she deserved to know her efforts had value. Sometimes, the best lesson isn’t about taking the high road—it’s about showing your child that no one has the right to take advantage of them.
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