"In grandmother's day, a housewife spent ALL her time in thehouse. But today . . . it is entirely possible to run a satisfactoryhouse, keep that hubby and the kiddies happy and still have the timefor whatever outside interest you choose. It's a WONDERFUL world andjust full of WONDERFUL things to do, and you, dear gal, deserve to dothem -- HELOISE" From "Heloise's Hints for Working Women" byHeloise (Prentice-Hall Inc., 1966)
There must be something in the water in Texas that makes it gushwith family dynasties. There's the Ewing clan and their oil. Thesilver-rich Hunts. And those Bushes and their multi-generational lustfor political office, just to name a few. And then there's Heloise,second in a line of spunky, savvy, Lone Star women whose 36-year-oldfamily business is nothing more than household hints.
Call it "Real Life 101." Of all the aforementioned, she probablyis the only one who can tell you how to flush a clogged toilet or howto remove water stains from velvet.
Here in her sprawling 6,000-square-foot ranch house, in a kitchensmelling faintly of vinegar, Heloise, the second generation, livescomfortably with the trappings of her birthright and her own well-oiled success, plus a few dustballs under the furniture.
There's a home office for her; an office for David Evans, herhusband of 14 years who is a plumbing contractor; and a whole lot ofroom in between to deal with the minutiae of everyday life firsthand.
Heloise's legacy begins at home. In 1959, her mother HeloiseCruse, an ambitious, slightly wacky, chain-smoking military wife whohailed from Fort Worth, convinced a newspaper editor in Honolulu torun her column on helpful home tips and tricks. Her philosophy: Getthings done inexpensively, quickly and easily. "Hints From Heloise"became a daily feature syndicated all over the world. She became awealthy celebrity.
After 18 years of success, Heloise died, passing on to her 26-year-old daughter her name, her eclectic Oriental furniture, her 1973white Thunderbird and 50,000 household hints typed on index cards.Today, with 18 years of her own advice under her cinched belt, PonceKiah Marchelle Heloise Cruse Evans, now 43, is also cleaning up. Shehas continued her mother's sensible but not always conventionalapproach to solving life's little problems. Now, from her mom'sindispensable nylon net -- good for everything from scraping gunk offfish ponds to cleaning hair brushes -- she's moving to the Internet.Within the next few months, Heloise will go on-line with a weeklycolumn for CompuServe. While her mother offered info on keeping brastraps straight (coat them with spray starch), this Heloise tacklescomposting, the correct way to transport floppy discs and how toorganize swap meets.
Each week, 2,000 to 3,000 "Dear Heloise" letters pour in by mailand fax to the Heloise headquarters in one wing of the house. Someletters offer advice, others seek it. Thirty percent are from men,teenagers and latch-key kids. Like Heloise of the 1990s, they'vemoved beyond the dirty woodwork tips.
Mom would be tickled pink. High-energy Heloise the Younger haswritten eight books, developed her own videos and software and does alive morning radio show in her bathrobe from her rec room. There'stalk of her own TV show. She won't say how much she's worth, but hercorporation has five full-time and two part-time employees. With morethan 500 newspapers, including this one, in 20 countries subscribingto her seven-days-a-week feature, Heloise is the number-one writer atKing Features Syndicate, the world's largest distributor of newspaperfeatures. "This Heloise has broadened the audience," says Ted Hannah,vice president of King Features. "She understands where women aretoday."
Her most recent paperback, "Heloise Hints for All Occasions"published last month (Perigee Books; 324 pp. $11), focuses onentertaining and "lifestyle management." Could she be targetingMartha Stewart, that other revered household name? Clearly, there'sno comparison. Heloise pats on a lot more foundation and looks betterin jeans. There are other differences. Stewart wouldn't tell you toline your washing machine with a towel, add ice and use it as acooler for your next bash or to dust your lampshades with a blowdryer. And Heloise wouldn't expect you to spend a day gildingpumpkins or covering your turkey in puff pastry.
Heloise concentrates on the really important stuff -- like how totake fruits and vegetables from your fridge and wrap bows around themto make centerpieces. Or the secret of eliminating grease stains onyour driveway before a party (spray it with engine degreaser and hosedown). Or instructions for hiding clutter by throwing it into thebathtub if you run out of time before guests arrive.
"No. I'm not Martha," says Heloise, in her Texas drawl. "Mine isreal life. Get the kitchen cleaned up and get the dishes started andsit down with the kid and have cocoa. Most people don't have a full-time housekeeper or nanny." (She admits to having cleaning help twodays a week at her house.)
She thinks her readers would feel at home stopping by for a beerwith her family: husband Evans, 46, a mellow native Texan; stepsonRussell, 19, who now lives on his own; three dogs and three birds.
"If they spent a day here with me, they would feel comfortable. Itwould be their life. I pick up the trash in the yard. Fold the quilton the couch. Try to get the shrimp smell out of the trash can. Idon't have a fairy-tale life."
What would Mom's old-fashioned gals think? "By the standards ofthe 1990s, I am traditional. I'm married. I work. I have a blendedfamily. I have a career. I'm panicked and crazed like everyone else.If those are the standards of traditional, yeah, I am."
The gnarled mesquite of the Lone Star State is coming into viewbelow when Arthur, the 60-ish business traveler who was my seatmatefor the morning flight and who had been eyeing my reading materialsince Memphis, finally speaks up.
"I don't mean to intrude," he says peering at me over his glasses."But I must ask you: Why are you reading that?" He nods disdainfullyat my yellow and green copy of Heloise's latest book. Arthur, to hiscredit, knows who Heloise is. At least he thinks he does. Like manynewspaper readers who've glanced at the Heloise column over thesemany years, Arthur is confused. He somehow imagines Heloise as a long-in-the-tooth housewife who keeps writing about outmoded ideasinvolving defrosting and keeping hubbies happy. Yes, Heloise's hairis gray. No, Heloise is not someone who "slips into a phone booth andputs on a little apron and some rubber gloves." She's an Americandomestic icon, but Heloise with the inherited name has her ownidentity. This Texas babe is not spending her spare time polishingbathroom tiles with her toothbrush.
Heloise had insisted that no rental car was needed in San Antonio.She personally would pick me up at the airport and head for herfavorite Mexican restaurant. "Just look for the black car with HINTSon the license plate."
I spot her enthusiastically waving out the window, her thick, foot-long silver hair flying. She's wearing a red blouse, snug-fittingjeans with a heart-shaped patch affixed to the knee with quick-drying glue, four rings, four earrings and red cowboy boots.
As we whiz by dusty fields and palm trees, she offers a mint, handcream with sunscreen (we will be eating lunch outdoors) and the useof a cellular telephone with her name and address taped onto bothbattery packs.
Over a margarita (on the rocks, no salt) and a cabbage and beantortilla she chats about what it's like to inherit the legacy. Youknow she couldn't be doing a lot of scrubbing; her nails look toogood.
"My stuff isn't picture-book stuff. {That} sets up unrealisticexpectations," says Heloise. "Being Sue Anne Nevins on `The MaryTyler Moore Show' is not my idea of fun. But I don't have to pretendto be into all of this. I am."
The next morning, a ponytailed taxi driver takes me to theoutskirts of San Antonio to a neighborhood he terms "very affluent."It's a subdivision of large, low-slung Texas-style houses poking outfrom the brush. The house of Heloise spreads across three acres. Thecab driver is excited because Heloise is a local celebrity. Maybe hereads her column, but then why isn't he using a plastic coffee-canlid with a hole cut in the center to keep his ponytail in check?
We are greeted by barking: Savvi, a miniature schnauzer; J.D., amostly golden retriever; and Black Jack, a mostly black Labrador,welcome us. The voice of Rocky, the macaw, can be heard in thebackground. Heloise has a purple pen poking out of her hair. By now,you realize that her makeup is always flawless. She already has beenon the phone for hours, and she's holding her nails out gingerlybecause she has just put on another coat of magnolia-pink polish.
The cab driver is stunned. He, like a lot of people, expectedHeloise to be about 76 years old, which is the age her mother wouldhave been today.
This Heloise started going gray prematurely, at age 12; in hertwenties, she had a streak in her thick jet-black hair. Now, herthick mane of long silver hair is one of her trademarks. Actually,the whole family has the same color hair: Heloise, David, Savvi theschnauzer and their bewigged mannequin named Babette, who's supposedto scare the deer out of the back yard.
The kitchen of Heloise is hallowed ground to her readers. But atfirst glance, there's nothing particularly unusual here: no saladspinners drying panties on the counter or anything. The substantialrefrigerator is not packed. It holds, among other things, 10different jars of mustard and a tiny bag of rendered rattlesnake fat(good for conditioning boot leather). Snapshots including one ofHeloise and Fabio, the male model, decorate the outside. (Maybe shelikes him because he also uses only one name.) The nearby pantry hasgrocery coupons in an envelope on the door frame and is neatlystocked with rows of multiple supplies of boric acid, fat-free beandip and Velveeta Mild Mexican. Around the corner is a comfortable denwith a huge bar that has a brass "Thank you for not smoking" plaque.
It's homey all right. It's 80 degrees in February, but theChristmas cards still are sitting in a decorated basket. Savvi flapsin the doggie door for a snack. There are crocheted afghans on thesofas, dried flower arrangements, souvenirs of hot-air ballooning (apassion of both Heloise and David) and 15 telephones. One wing, off-limits to visitors, contains the master bedroom and his and herbathrooms and closets; the other, the Hint Command Center.
Heloise is almost always on the phone, maneuvering the cord aroundthe kitchen with aplomb. She doesn't like to waste time; that faintsawing sound you hear when you're talking to her on the phone may bean emery board.
Look closely, and you'll spot a few offbeat accouterments. Duringmonsoon rainstorms, you will see a shower cap covering the phone onher covered patio, a stone's throw from the "P" (for Ponce) shapedpool and the pet cemetery. And there's a gallon of milk lying on itsside in her freezer. Today, Heloise is whipping cream outdoors to seeif it whips faster, a hint one of her readers has just submitted. (Itdid, or else Heloise just whipped faster than I did.)
"Dust doesn't bother me that much," she says, eyeing the areaunder a TV set. "Yes, I do clean. I like kitchen counters clean.Other people dump mail or obsess about the closets. Priorities aredifferent. I tell people: Pick three things that are important toyou. Spend five minutes and do that. The rest will be theretomorrow."
Her kitchen is accessorized to the hilt with cutlery organizersand appliance covers. She likes to make her calls not in her officialoffice but from a closet outfitted with a computer off the breakfastroom. She says she likes to cook, but she's on the road so much thatshe and David just go out. "Then one night, I'll decide to be DonnaReed," she says with a gleam in her eye. She says there is alwaysfood in the pantry, but her husband sometimes prefers to eat dinneralone at a cafeteria when she travels.
Evans is an affable, easy-going kind of guy who takes off duringthe week to go fishing and keeps a refrigerator full of beer in thegarage. Heloise is his third wife. He has one room in the house, off-limits to everyone else, where he's free to pile up his camouflagejackets and fishing poles. He likes to suck on Atomic Fireballs. Andhe's very proud of Ponce, which is what he and the rest of her familyand close friends call her. (It's pronounced Pawn-see.)
"I've never had a wife who made me breakfast," says Evans. "Butit's okay. Believe it or not, she doesn't give me hints." She doesn'tiron his shirts either (the maid does them, no starch). Her stepsonRussell, who came to live with them when he was in seventh grade, wastaught Heloise's special survival tactics: how to do laundry, iron ashirt and follow the directions on a box of macaroni and cheese.
In the cedar-walled rec room, there's an exercise bike and amakeshift radio studio. Heloise does a live hour radio show everySaturday at 9 a.m. for KTKR Radio/760 AM San Antonio. At a roundtable (she made the tablecloth), she dishes dirt, such as how toavoid ring around the collar. Or holds forth on spaghetti sauceseparation. She plugs her $2 pamphlets, "Versatile Vinegar Hints" and"Heloise Battles Bugs."
The original Heloise, buried in a San Antonio cemetery, has atombstone that reads, "Every housewife's friend." She is never faraway. She always is a strong presence from the many pictures andportraits that capture her sparkling blue-green eyes. And then thereis the collection of Chinese and Japanese furniture, screens andartwork, a familiar part of many American military households, on thered wall-to-wall carpeting in the living room. Her daughter stillkeeps the Thunderbird in the driveway.
"Priorities are different. I tell people: Pick three things thatare important to you. Spend five minutes and do that. The rest willbe there tomorrow."
"Her mother was a real eccentric," says Ted Hannah, who workedwith the original Heloise at King Features for several years. "Shewas fabulously entertaining. She spoke her mind, and she did not beataround the bush. She was also very thankful and very gracious. Thecurrent Heloise is different but just as strong."
Heloise talks constantly about her mother, who was known forspraying her hair blue or red or whatever to match her dress. "Mymother was important in my life. Mother was different, memorable,maybe a touch flamboyant. She was down-to-earth, but I can still seeher, nylon-net hats, friendly and chatty. I think I have mother'ssense of style."
Heloise junior was born in Waco. Because her father, Mike Cruse,was in the Air Force, they lived all over -- Arlington, Va.; Honoluluand finally San Antonio in 1966. By that time, mom Heloise's careerwas booming, and her husband retired to manage his wife's business.(To this day, Cruse, now 74, helps his daughter with research.) Butlife in the Cruse household for Heloise and her older brother was abit wild, with three or four secretaries answering mail and telephonecalls in one part of the house. And their mother trying to fulfillall her housewife duties.
"My mom's schedule was crazy. She would get up at 4 a.m. or go tobed at 2 a.m. Some days she would sleep until 10. I would wake up at2 a.m. and smell chocolate cake baking. Or watch her making chickenfried steak in the morning that we would have at night."
But her mother taught her how to cook, clean and how to beinquisitive. And she taught her to sew, once making her redo a skirtzipper 17 times until she got it right. Heloise helped her mother onthe column during the summers. In 1968, when Heloise was a junior inhigh school, her parents divorced. "It was tough," says Heloise. "Atthat time, not many of the friends I knew had parents that weredivorced. It's not like today."
Heloise had decided to be a math teacher after graduating fromSouthwest Texas State University. But her mother, sensing that herhealth was failing, persuaded her to join in the family business. Forthe three years before she succumbed to heart disease on Dec. 28,1977, she introduced her daughter to "her dear readers" as HeloiseII. When it was time for her to assume the role, readers already werecomfortable with this new Heloise.
"It was very tough," she says, pulling out a gold compact and pinklip pencil. We've just chowed down another Mexican lunch of nachos,tortillas and flan. (Heloise is a vegetarian.) "How could a 26-year-old single woman take on Heloise? How could that happen? My motherwas 58 when she died. I remember saying, `I don't want to be Heloise.People are staring at you all the time.' " Her mother had troublebeing thrust into a celebrity role. "She was very nervous aboutpublic speaking. This was all before that 15 minutes of fame stuff.She sometimes would go and throw up in her dressing room before goingon the Mike Douglas or Merv Griffin or Johnny Carson show. She didn'tunderstand sarcasm. Zing. They would go right over her head."
Heloise took on the challenge. "I went on the Mike Douglas showwith my hair in a bun and granny glasses. I looked that way because Ifigured that's the way readers thought Heloise should look." That actdidn't last long, and she dropped the "II" from her name in 1980. Ittook some getting used to.
"At the very beginning, I tried hard to be Heloise, then Ponce,and never the twain shall meet. But this is my life. It's just menow."
This Heloise can banter with Joan Rivers about filling ashtrayswith potpourri or sticking birthday candles into marshmallows toprevent wax from dripping on the frosting. She supplies late-nighttalk-show host Tom Snyder with pocket-size pads of Rose-Tinted PowderLeaves to blot the shine off his face on camera.
She's very conscious of her image and appearance. But then, it'sTexas. "Women here want to look nice. Wielding a can of hair spray isas important as learning how to drive," says Heloise. "But it doesn'tmean they have to look like Tammy Faye Baker."
Says Hannah, "She's a very glamorous Heloise. I wasn't sureHeloise should be glamorous. But the readers like it."
Being the daughter of a celebrity has its hang-ups. "I've oftenthought that there are not many women in the world who I canempathize with," says Heloise, mentioning Lucie Arnaz, daughter ofLucille Ball, and Liza Minelli, daughter of Judy Garland. "Theyalways have to work under the shadow of their mothers. Mother was anactress too." Arnaz and Minelli were able to create new personas, shesays. "But I carry on the same work."
But who will carry on from her? "Maybe Russell, my stepson, willhave a child, a daughter or even a son, who would do it. Who knows."She says she still hasn't ruled out having a child of her own."Stranger things have been known to happen."
Back at the ranch, and armed with tall glasses of iced tea, we hitthe Heloise headquarters wing. A fax machine has just spit out aletter from a group of Mexican monks wanting to know how to rid theirmonastery of bats.
Heloise's staff is all female. And they seem to have a lot oflaughs back there in the midst of the controlled chaos of boxes ofletters, a door covered with pictures of dogs, two cockatiels namedDoolie and Baby and a large photograph of a long-haired male modelsigned "To the staff from Fabio."
Her staff helps her vet the letters. "I don't test all the thingsmyself," says Heloise. Would you try to create privacy in your fronthall by lining the windows in bubble wrap? She may recount the ideaof filling an empty tuna can with kitty litter to use as an outdoorashtray; but she also may add that personally, she thinks that is abit "inhospitable."
"You won't find me crocheting the tops of six-pack cans intotrivets," she cackles, grabbing your arm. "If I think something is atacky hint, I get my staff to test it. When I get 100 letters torinse out a plastic bag or reuse a coffee filter, I have to considerit for the column. You may read it and laugh about it, but I don'tsit back and judge."
Her goal is that people of different incomes, education levels andages will find help in the column, which features three to sevenhints per day.
She says there are shockers in the daily mail. "It's amazing whatpeople aren't teaching their kids these days. We got a letter from a14-year-old girl. `Dear Heloise. I was baking a cake and we ran outof vegetable spray in a can. Did you know you could put vegetableshortening in a pan with flour on it and it works just as well?' "
Heloise is a whiz at book tours. "Wear flat shoes, take vitaminsand carry just the cutout front cover of your book to flash on theair; it weighs less," is her advice. Sure, she's wearing electric-blue spike heels on the air to match her suit, but her grungy flatsare in her tote bag. She has written eight hints books, and her nextone most likely will be on pets. (Here's something for bassetthounds. Outfit them with a stretch headband to keep their ears out oftheir food.)
"The revenue maker is that newspaper column," says Heloise. "It'sthe most important thing. It's in every single state." She'sdefensive if someone questions her abilities. "I don't just do thelittle newspaper column about household hints. I run a corporationwith seven employees. I'm a CEO. I'm also CFO. I deal with attorneysand CPAs and investment advisers. And I'm physically the product."
We jump back in the car, and I search for more clues as we speedby the Pearl Brewery. She finally tells me her complete nail secret.Let nails set 10 to 12 minutes after polishing and then plunge theminto ice water "for as long as you can stand it." Then lightly dabeach nail gently with cooking oil. If Heloise is in her car, shemight wave them in front of the air conditioner to speed up drying."This one drives David wild."
For dinner that evening, she has changed into black leather pantsand a fluffy animal-print sweater. "I could work all the time, butafter 7 p.m., I want a life. It's not fair to David," she says. "I'mhigh profile. There aren't many men who could be married to Heloise.He's secure. He's so sweet. A little lady will come and talk to me,and he always smiles. He spends a lot of time waiting for me outsideof ladies' rooms, where people recognize me and ask me questions."
What kind of questions, you wonder? "Usually about my hair or howto get rid of stains."
On the way back to the hotel, I spot a can of gas additive in theback seat of Heloise's car. Secretly, I am convinced that it can beused to prevent shower curtain mildew.
Heloise is tired. She's been to 14 cities in the past month. Shenormally travels about 90 days a year. "Some mornings I find myselfsaying, `Okay, let's be perky!' "
She's looking forward to spending a day playing with her dogs. Orgoing fly-fishing with David. But she's not complaining. "It's abetter living than working at a place where you'd have to be saying,`Would you like an order of fries with that?'
"I think I'm very comfortable with what I'm doing. I have alwaysdone this, and this is what I was meant to do. Sometimes, looking atthat portrait or old photos of mother, I remember mother's hint tome. `You are only here for a short time. Make the most of it.' "
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