After graduation, Bobbi knew that she would have only one shot at making it, and that Boston wasn’t the place to be. She didn’t know a single person in New York City, but she went there anyway. She spent a lot of time trying and plodding and pounding the pavement. When things didn’t seem to be working, she would worry and maybe cry a little. That’s when I would get a call. Usually, all she needed to hear was poor baby and go get ‘em. Bobbi kept walking around with her portfolio tucked under her arm. She would show it to anyone who would look at it and listen to her to anyone who would take the time to look. As her experience grew, her talent became more apparent. And the quality of her portfolio became better and better.
Of course, from my vantage point in Chicago, I remained a little skeptical until I went to a Vogue party with Bobbi during a visit to New York. I was introduced to an editor at that magazine and I asked her whether my daughter was as talented as I’d been hearing. You don’t succeed in this town, she responded, unless you are more than just talented. That’s when I started really believing.
We used to take family vacations in Ocho Rios, Jamaica. To practice and pass the time, Bobbi would enlist her brothers as models for her theatrical makeup. Jeff would be made to look like an old woman. Paul would be made to look like an old man, while Michael came out looking.
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