Gerard would make up these routines, like for “I’m Waiting for the Man,” and I would lift weights. By then, Gerard decided they were boring to watch, which they were, so he would dance. But then they performed more and more and became part of the group. They were used to that, and turned their backs and made feedback noise, and that was the end of that. So the next time we performed, with Rauschenberg, they were there but pissed off, so nobody liked them. He said, “I want to help you.” I don’t know what happened. TERRY RICHARDSON - Like this is what we do, this is who we are. They just came in, almost like an audition. MARY WORONOV - That’s the song they played for Andy. TERRY RICHARDSON - First song, and they played that? We came on, and then the Velvet Underground was warming up and played “Heroin.” We loved it.
How did that happen? MARY WORONOV - After that, we were supposed to do a show with three artists - Rauschenberg was one - and all these hippie girls skating through a movie screen that had slits in it. TERRY RICHARDSON - But from that, you did the “Exploding Plastic Inevitable,” dancing with the Velvet Underground.
I don’t know what the fuck he was thinking about, but he was great. All of a sudden, his eyes picked up, and he was like a snake. Then I’d get paranoid again because a long time passed. Maybe there’s lm in the camera - you’d be stupid to walk out if there was lm in the camera.” So I calmed myself down. And then I thought: “Okay, all right, Mary, it’s a joke. They want to see how long I’m going to sit here with an empty camera going.” I was totally paranoid. So I’m facing a camera, thinking: “You think I’m so beautiful. MARY WORONOV - Gerard put me on the stool, far off, and said, “This is a screen test.” I said, “Okay.” Then the camera turned on, and everybody walked away. I think you should stay around because I think he’ll want to shoot you.” I said, “Okay.” My class left, and I stayed. Then Gerard came out of nowhere and said, “Warhol’s going to do a movie. Then we went to Warhol’s dark, dirty studio, painted black, with some tinfoil, and two drag queens on a sofa clowning around to upset everybody - and these amazing-looking gay men. We went to Rauschenberg’s bright and cheery studio, all white, hip-looking people around - hippies. Then, Cornell decided we should go to artists’ studios. But I didn’t want to leave school and go back to New York. It was his way to be in front of the camera more. He thought if he was with a girl who was really talented, he would be used more. I was attracted to Gerard, and he pretended to be attracted to me. MARY WORONOV - Gerard Malanga came up to listen to poetry or to read poetry and saw me in a play at Cornell and started tracking me: “Hey, want to do this?” I never understood he wanted me to be in Warhol’s movies. TERRY RICHARDSON - I watched your Screen Test. But I got smart and then went to Cornell. The only thing wrong is that you had no idea about sex - I mean in the ’50s. Girls should only be educated with other girls because boys suppress them. I went to this amazing, really expensive all-girls school. MARY WORONOV - Well, from the time she married the good doctor it was - it wasn’t high class, but it was up there. TERRY RICHARDSON - How would you describe your childhood? So, we’re opposites, but we really like each other. I got married twice, but for only five minutes. TERRY RICHARDSON - A brother born on the same day… And to this day, Victor and I are very close. Mom had a son and did not have time to take care of him, so he was mine. They never spent much money on clothes, only on schools, lessons, things like that. Suddenly, at six, I was in a private school for girls. Then she married a Jewish doctor from Brooklyn, and things straightened out, fabulously. MARY WORONOV - I was born in The Breakers hotel in Palm Beach, Florida. Do people read any more? I desperately miss the loss of language. They answer in monosyllables, and then I talk in monosyllables. They’re changing everything: the language, the concentration, the stories. TERRY RICHARDSON - What was it like working before the Internet and smart phones and all that? It’s funny - in the midst of conversations, people look at their phones.