The Ottawa Journal from Ottawa, Ontario, Canada • Page 108

Pat Collins is happy as the wife of Wojeck -on TV but she wants time for her own life By Bill Brown Weefcend Magazine ON THE SURFACE, it looks like an ideal marriage. The husband is handsome, virile, and upright as all get "out. The wife is blonde, beautiful and oozing with warmth and understanding. They have nice children and an attractive home. Who could ask for anything more? "Well, I could," says Marty, wife of big city coroner Steve Wojeck.

"I never have any fun. Some husband. The old caped crusader never takes me anywhere. Once, he said he was going to take me yachting. Yachting? Hah! I had to wait on shore while he and his pal, Arnie Bateman, tootled around in the boat.

He's always breaking dates with me because he has to charge out and save the world. The only time I get out of the house is to go and teach retarded children or. some other good work like that Otherwise, I'm just around to boost the old white knight's Of course, you can't really blame Steve Wojeck for his wife's humdrum existence. "Actually, I agree with her," he says. "I'd like to take her out on the town once in a while.

Who wouldn't with a wife like that But the WIIICI3 WUfl f. ICI 1 The inconsiderate writers in question turn out the CBCs highly successful Wojeck series on television, which returns this winter for its second season. One episode from last year's series The Last Man In The World won the Golden Nymph Award at the Monte Carlo Television Festival as well as the CBC's own Wilderness Award. All, or parts of the series, have been sold to England, Holland, Belgium and Sweden. All of which pleases, but 'does not completely mollify Marty Wojeck, who is really Patricia Collins, who is really blonde, beautiful and full of warmth.

"Can you imagine," she says, "what it would be like to be actually married to a man like that?" "Awful," says John Vernon who is i 46 Weekend Uagaiine No. 38, 1967 "That's Me, the crusading coroner Steve Wojeck. "Do you' remember those dreadful movies of the Forties with June Ally-son or sometimes it was Teresa Wright as the patient, understanding wife?" says Pat "Always waiting at the end of. the picture to go all mushy and say 'John or whatever the idiot's name happened to be 'John, let's go home now. Music up and fade out' Well, that's me, Goody Two-Shoes." Pat, or Marty, may sound as though she's been reading too much Betty Friedan, but she isn't really unhappy as Mrs.

Wojeck. For one thing, she, John- VemonrandTheother principal, Ted Follows, have been working so long and so well together that there's practically a family affection among them. For another, being around now and then to comfort Sir Galahad isn't too demanding. It leaves her lots of time to enjoy life. "And that," says Pat, "means being at home as much as I can." That's understandable, since home is a strikingly original house on 15 acres of land in Rockwood, one of southern Ontario's most attractive villages, about fifty miles from Toronto.

Beside Pat, the house is inhabited by husband Bob Mitchell, graphic designer, artist and former jazz drummer and their two-year-old son, Tom. It's totally surrounded by four massive Alsatian dogs with the un-canine names of Ernst, Moleyy Trog and Gorch. ThoseJFour zealous guardians of the estate make a visit to Pat an interesting experience, since they are reputed, among local mail men, milk men and delivery boys, to supplement their diet with the occasional trespasser. "When you come," said Pat, "stay in your car and roll up the windows until I get there. Otherwise, Trog might have the seat of your pants." Once rescued from the car, pants intact, I found that even Trog, with his six-inch fangs and yard-long dangling tongue, was less formidable than he seemed, though Ernst refused to wipe a leer off his face.

It only took a few hair-raising minutes to strike up an uneasy friendship with them. It all seemed a long way from Wojeck's downtown house and from the devoted Marty. In some ways it was. In others, no. "I never want to be away from here more than a day or two at a time," said Pat.

"I had to go down to Mont- fr )) Patricia Collins, also on cover, roars real for a week to do a Shoestring Theatre, and I was never so happy, to get home again. Still, the play wasn't bad. At least it let me play a real bitch for a change." "Do you know why Pattie is so convincing as Mrs. Wojeck?" aid Bob. "It because, at heart, she's really like that." There 'was a small difference of opinion.

"I will say ihis," said Pat. "I think you have to be a woman, a successful woman, before you can be a good actress. At least I do. I don't know about others. "Excuse me, but I feel strongly about this.

It's very hard to become a woman in Canada or North America. along country path on motorcycle. Girls are started too soon. They're bombarded with propaganda and pressure on how to be attractive, how to catch and hold a man and all the rest-of that garbage. Being a woman is' something' that comes from inside, you grow into it.

It doesn't come from gimmicks and clothes and silly how-to-do-it articles in magazines. "What I mean is, you have to he happy before you can act well," said Pat. "And Tin happy." 1 asked why. "Because of my home and family." she said, surprised at the silly question. "I love acting.

I think it's one of the greatest professions and I have the highest respect for it. that's why I wouldn't want to work in American Goody Two ft' mm: Well defended by jour pet Alsatians, John Vernon (left), who plays Steve Nancy, TV wife Marty and Crown i kill if it Pat lives in rural Rock port, Ont. with Wojeck, takes break with real wife Attorney Arnie oateman Lea rpuowsf. Shoes Photos, including cower, by HoroW Whyte husband Bob Mitchell and son Tom, 2. television a diet of pap and pablum.

And I won't do commercials, I think it demeans the profession. "But, if it came to a choke, the family is first. I'm not really one of those, I-was-bom-to-be-an-actress, I-AaJ-to-act' types. That's a lot of crap. Acting is something you do.

on stage and you do it as well as you can. I don't believe in this endless soul-searching and analysing, and living-, the-part nonsense." "No!" said Bob. "Sometimes she comes back here after working on a new role and her whole personality has changed. I 4on know who I'm talking to." "That's just because I'm concentrating. I'm thinking about lines and things like "Pat works hard," said Bob.

"Fantastic concentration. She can memorize an hour-long script in no time." "Do you know what I'd really like to do?" said Pat, suddenly. "A Western. I mean a real good one, as authentic as you can get these days. Something like Shane." It took a little effort, though not too' much, to see Pat, who was born in Newcastle, England, as a hardy ranch a golden-hearted saloon girl, or the new village school marm.

After all, she plays a lusty, gusty Irish woman with four strapping sons, in one episode of Hatch's Mill, the CBCl series set in Ontario pioneer days, to be seen this fall. Although 'she claims she 'was not 'born to act. Pat started fairly soon after her birth. Her grandmother, a former concert pianist, saw to it that she was exposed to plenty of theatre and also acted as a critical audience when Pat improvised her own dramatic entertainments at home. At seven she was taking elocution lessons, which not only trained her as an actress, but helped to rid her of a strong north country accent She grew up in the capitals of Europe where her stepfather, a British army officer, was stationed after the war.

When she came to Canada about eleven years ago, she didn't immediate plunge into acting. "I did some stage work with small said, Jbut I supported myself by selling sweaters in a department store and I worked for a couple of years as a copy writer. I even went through a sort of not exactly beatnik, but existentialist phase." A CBC audition landed her a fat part opposite John Colicos in a Festival production. Queen Of Spades. Although she has never sought work that would keep her away from home, and.

in fact has turned down offers, she has worked regularly for the CBC. As I left, threading my way through dogs, Pat and Bob were playing a duet they are both studying guitar and Pat was singing Gypsy Rover in a voice that could land her an imme- diate job in any coffee house. It was plain that Pat's favorite line of dialogue is not from any of the plays she has appeared in. It's "Bob let's go home now." Gypsy Rover up and fade out. IVMkand Uagzin No.

36, 1967 47.