Clementine and Melba: The Moorman Sisters

1994

Nine-year-old Melba Smith and ten-year-old Clementine Moorman became sisters when Melba’s mother, a nightclub singer, married her accompanist, Clem’s widowed father. The concept of “stepsisters” never even entered their family. “It would never occur to me to tell people we were stepsisters,” Clem says today, and Melba agrees. “We just don’t relate that way.”

Clem remembers being thrilled with the news that she was gaining a sister. "I had just lost my mother and was looking for something to fill up that nice feeling again. The fact that Melba was almost the same age was nice, too. But when she arrived, well, we had to go through an adjustment. I was looking for somebody who wanted to go shopping and play dolls with me. Melba was a tomboy. Much rougher."

Melba nods, remembering the unhappy spirit she brought to their home in Newark, New Jersey, pictured here. "I'd been slapped around and beaten up a lot. I was bright but I'd been brought up to think I was stupid. I couldn't express myself. I'd never been allowed to. It was, 'Sit down and shut up, girl.' So I was very quiet and sullen. And here was Clemmie with this gift for speaking. She was so articulate, always reading books. Didn't like to be dirty and she couldn't fight for nothin'. But she could tear you to shreds with her ladylike attitude."

Clem's gentleness was exactly what Melba needed. "I would probably have been dead by now if this new family hadn't come along. I was already so convoluted, so bitter that I couldn't talk. A lot of my learning how to live came from watching and observing Clemmie. Her sweetness eventually healed me. She gave me the gift of her loving heart. To me, it was the difference between life and death."

"You couldn't dislike her," Clem says, smiling at the memory. "She was so bewildered, such a little prankster. There was nothing else to do but make her my little sister and love her."

"I think we really came together when we started being conspirators, the kids-against-the-adults thing," says Melba. "Because our parents were entertainers, they were away and left us alone a lot. When they did come home, it got to be a confrontation. Here we'd been taking care of ourselves just fine, and it was like, now you can't come back and tell us what to do. That really bonded us."

And bond they did. They went to their proms together. Sang spirituals around the piano. Fought over boyfriends. They made 1-2-3 cakes of flour, sugar, and water. "There was so much of each ingredient you died from cholesterol. Remember, Clemmie? And how we used to dress up alike and go to supermarkets and guess how many people would ask us if we were twins."

They were absolutely, positively, best friends, which may be why Clem took such pride in Melba's emerging talent: "She is not just an actress and a singer. Melba is a gifted, extraordinary musician. As a teenager she was totally absorbed in music. Practiced for hours and hours. She would willingly give up her social life to learn something on the piano. You could tell early on she wasn't going to lead a nine-to-five life."

So it was no real surprise to the family that though both girls became teachers, only Clem remained in the education field. Melba Moore moved up to Broadway, jumping from the chorus of Hair to the lead role. Then it was on to a Tony for her performance in Purlie-and a career as a recording artist and television star.

As the sisters' worlds diverged, their relationship suffered. Melba's dedication to her craft and her determination to succeed built a barrier between them. "Looking back," Clem says, "Melba's early days on Broadway were the best time of our lives. She was where I could lay my hands on her. I'd drive from Philadelphia to New York to be at all her openings. She wanted to share her good times and her good fortune. Seems like I saw her more then. But lately we just haven't been as close."

"My lifestyle has been so different from Clem's," says Melba. "Besides that, our living in different towns has made it difficult to be together."

"I don't think it's just about Melba being famous," Clem says sadly. "It just seems she doesn't need me anymore. Doesn't want to be with me, and that hurts. But that doesn't dispel the fact that Melba is my sister, and if she ever calls and says she wants me or needs me, I'm gonna be there."

"Would you only be there if I needed you? Is that the only way you'd be comfortable?"

"No," Clem answers. "What I'd really like is for you to think of me as someone who you just wanna be with when you have free moments."

"I hear you," Melba says. "I understand. If we're going to be tight like we used to be, I have to make more of a special effort. Call you. Have lunch with you. Make you a part of my routine and my life. I forget to do that."

"I'm making an effort, too," Clem tells her. "I'm planning to move back to New York so these things can happen. I can't think of anything that's more important to me. You know what I'm going through, my depression and all that, and I know what you're going through with your separation. That understanding is very deeply rooted between us."

"In the old days, Clemmie, you were the strong one," Melba says, slipping her arm around her sister. "You came from a whole family and weren't crippled like I was. There was nothing for you to overcome. Me, I had to learn how to be strong. That's hard right now. I'm dealing with a crisis in my life and trying to redirect my career. So you're right; I'm feeling wounded. But there's no reason you can't be part of my reconstruction and I can also be a part of yours.

"This is the perfect time for us to help each other. We can do that. We're sisters."

2004

It would be lovely to report that after Clem moved to New York, Melba cleared a space for her in the maelstrom that is her life, and they reconnected as the inseparable duo they'd been as children. That didn't happen. There's no question these two love each other intensely. When they can manage to be together, they click instantly, sliding into girl talk about makeup, skin care, and jewelry, and singing harmony like they did as kids around the piano. But time is their enemy. "As sisters, we are very close," Melba says. "But we're not physically together enough. Now and then, we will realize that we need to be in touch more, and that priority moves to the foreground. Then we get caught up with the issues of the moment, and our relationship slips again into the background."

It would be lovely to report that after Clem moved to New York, Melba cleared a space for her in the maelstrom that is her life, and they reconnected as the inseparable duo they'd been as children. That didn't happen. There's no question these two love each other intensely. When they can manage to be together, they click instantly, sliding into girl talk about makeup, skin care, and jewelry, and singing harmony like they did as kids around the piano. But time is their enemy. "As sisters, we are very close," Melba says. "But we're not physically together enough. Now and then, we will realize that we need to be in touch more, and that priority moves to the foreground. Then we get caught up with the issues of the moment, and our relationship slips again into the background."

In fairness to Melba, her issues during this past decade have been monumental. An ugly divorce left her emotionally and financially destitute. Evicted from her apartment, she took refuge with friends, declared bankruptcy, and applied for welfare. Her precious daughter cut off all contact. (They have since reconciled.) Once a star on Broadway and television, Melba was now touring in gospel musicals and singing in Florida retirement homes while she battled her way back into mainstream entertainment.

Her companion for much of that journey was her powerful born-again Christian faith. Clem attempted to help her sister, but there were periods when she didn't even know where Melba was. "I couldn't afford the luxury of intimate sisterly love then, " Melba says. "I didn't need someone to talk to. I needed answers and strategies from people in my industry, and Clem's background as a teacher is so different that she couldn't understand what was happening to me."

Ten years ago, words like that would have wounded Clem. Not anymore. "I realize now that Melba's career is the thing that drives her. So I have to step aside until she has time to get back to the relationship."

They can't create the routine of sisters who lunch and play tennis weekly. "I don't call to chit chat," Melba admits. But she'll drop everything for a family crisis, like the death of their brother last year, when they leaned heavily on each other to ease their grief. And if Melba can sneak away from work to relax, Clem's is the number she dials. "Last spring, she called me and came to Brooklyn and stayed for a while," Clem happily relates. "We laughed. We went to dinner. We spent some real good time together. Everybody loves Melba. She's so quiet. She's such a center of peace. You could say we have these droughts of nothingness and then a holiday pops up. It's always a holiday when we're together."

"We love each other very much," Melba affirms. "We just have a totally different lifestyle."

"We'll never fight," Clem points out. "And I'm going to share her pain-and her joy—whenever I can."

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