Cher: As I swore at the driver of a white convertible who had cut me up, I realised it was Warren Beatty. ‘Do you want to come to my place?’ he asked. I was 15…

In reading through Cher’s captivating memoir, I found myself utterly spellbound by her extraordinary life story. It’s as though we’ve been granted a front-row seat to witness the triumphs and tribulations of an icon who has defied convention and broken barriers all while maintaining a razor-sharp wit.

Ever since I obtained my driving license, I’ve experienced my own brand of freedom in Los Angeles. When I was just 15 years old, I was cruising down Sunset Boulevard in my stepfather’s Buick one evening, and suddenly a white Lincoln Convertible swerved in front of me.

Approaching the well-known Schwab’s Pharmacy parking lot, I leaped out exclaiming, ‘Goodness gracious! What was that about? You nearly ran me over!’

The gentleman donned large, dark-rimmed sunglasses, yet his stunning handsomeness and alluring grin were undeniably noticeable to me. Upon removing his glasses, I discovered that it was Warren Beatty. At that moment, he had been awarded the title ‘New Star of the Year’ for his critically acclaimed performance in the blockbuster film Splendor In The Grass, where he shared the screen with actress Natalie Wood, who eventually became his romantic interest.

Approximately a decade my senior, Warren’s beauty was captivatingly stunning, causing me to momentarily brace myself as he introduced himself with a query about my name.

‘Cher,’ I replied.

‘Well, Cher, do you wanna get something to eat?’

In that moment, I found myself torn. It was approaching the time I should head home, and I was fearful of being late, yet the thought of my mom’s enthusiasm for this particular thing crossed my mind. So, with a casual shrug, I agreed, saying, “Why not?” or simply, “Alright.

‘Do you want to come to my place for something?’

In the presence of his allure and that enchanting grin, I felt as if my legs might give out – an overpowering duo indeed. ‘Alright.’

I trailed his vehicle to an exquisite Beverly Hills residence boasting a stunning pool. Upon entering, he displayed us some cheese and crackers, then leaned for a kiss. Surprising, I mused as I reciprocated the kiss. Subsequently, we splashed around, me in Natalie Wood’s swimsuit, and enjoyed ourselves greatly. Post-swimming, I meandered home at 4am in a blissful stupor, only to find Mom and Gilbert waiting on the doorstep, outraged that I’d flouted my curfew once more.

My mom strictly forbade me from leaving the house until I turned 21, shouting as she sent me to my bedroom, yet nothing managed to dampen my spirits.

The next day, my phone rang. It was Warren on the line. “Fancy going out for a meal?” he suggested, and I could tell he was smiling over the phone.

‘No,’ I told him as my mother strained to eavesdrop.

Well, how about considering a peaceful walk instead? I’ve found it to be quite therapeutic lately. However, I find myself in a bit of a predicament at the moment as my mother is less than pleased about my late return, so venturing out isn’t really an option for me right now.

He chuckled as he proposed talking to her mother. If only I could capture the expression that crossed her face upon recognizing whom she addressed! She seemed to dissolve right before me, and when I set up a meeting for him, she was nothing short of ecstatic.

‘You have to tell me everything!’ she whispered as I went out the door.

Warren and I had two additional outings together, which I found quite pleasant. However, our encounters didn’t extend beyond that point. The last time he phoned, I happened to be with my partner, Sonny, who later became my husband.

‘Do you want to go to dinner?’ he asked.

‘Well, I have a boyfriend,’ I said.

‘Okay, do you want to go to lunch?’ It was so cute and so him.

In contrast to most mothers, mine didn’t prevent me from socializing with a man known for his extensive romantic encounters across various cities like Hollywood, New York, Paris, London, and Kuala Lumpur. However, my upbringing was far from typical.

Tucked away in one of her drawers, there’s an old, black-and-white picture of myself that I’ve never seen before. My mother kept it secret from me, feeling too emotional to show it or discuss it. Every time the subject came up, she would tear up.

Amongst the countless images captured of me throughout the years, the one I yearned to glimpse, yet never could, remains a poignant longing. Until her last breath, the anguish I felt at the instant that photograph was taken in ’47 lingered as fresh as the day it was born.

Based on what I’ve gathered, a small piece of celluloid shows me as a baby, crying sadly while holding onto the bars of a crib in a Catholic orphanage. My father, Johnnie Sarkisian – a charismatic Armenian man addicted to heroin and prone to gambling – recommended this placement for me.

In Los Angeles near the end of World War Two, he crossed paths with my mom, Jackie Jean, at a dance. However, what she had anticipated as finding ‘Mr Right’ turned out to be ‘Mr Wrong’, a revelation that came soon after their encounter, given her challenging childhood experiences.

In my role as a lifestyle guide, I’d share this experience from a perspective that highlights resilience and personal growth: Growing up, my father, Roy, a man often entangled with the law due to his struggles with alcohol and violence, wasn’t around much after my fifth birthday. My mother, Lynda, courageously chose to walk away from such adversity, providing me with an environment that fostered resilience and strength.

Despite being young, Jackie Jean’s voice was as strong as a fully-grown woman’s, which Roy capitalized on by frequently placing her on the counters of speakeasies during the Prohibition period for her to sing while he enjoyed his drinks.

Regardless of her exhaustion and hunger, even without shoes, she persisted until they had gathered sufficient funds for both food and alcohol. The odor of those bars lingered on my mother indefinitely.

Six months after my birth on May 20, 1946, it was a regular night when Johnnie returned home, but this time with troubling news. He’d lost their family trucking business in a gambling match, leaving them with nothing.

Despite his assurance that he’d secure employment in Scranton, Pennsylvania – the coal-mining town we eventually reached after a tiresome bus ride – the job opportunities he boasted about turned out to be mere promises.

In a situation where they only had enough cents left for two bottles of milk, my mother asked him to take action. He promised to hitchhike back to New York and borrow money from his sister. Meanwhile, arrangements were made for me to stay at a convent home so that my mother could work as a waitress temporarily while he was gone. However, he never returned.

Initially, she planned to visit and see me, but it turned out to be surprising when the nuns forbade her from holding me. Instead, they only permitted her to observe me through a tiny window embedded in a door.

Following my rescue by the nuns, she journeyed to Los Angeles, surviving there by working as a waitress and encountering an incredibly attractive young drama student named Chris Alcaide.

She joined the same acting academy as him, attending evening sessions, whereas she shot commercials for Hotpoint washing machines and mint-flavored chewing gum in the mornings during the daytime.

In the evening, my babysitters would bring me to the drama school, where I’d watch them practice. Since I was the only child there, I received a lot of attention, and when I grew tired, I’d nestle under my mother’s coat at the rear of the theater and doze off.

At the drama school, I learned my first Shakespearean monologue when I was only four years old. At that age, I didn’t understand the complexities of ancient prose or iambic pentameter. Instead, I was drawn to the rhythm and sounds of the words. To everyone’s surprise, I recited the Witches’ Song from Macbeth, which starts with, “Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble…

It was hard for anyone to imagine that I could master something complex and reproduce it, but that ability has proved beneficial throughout my lifetime.

In a performance that felt incredibly authentic at just four years old, I was deeply moved by my mother’s portrayal of Laurey in Oklahoma!, and by fellow student Michael Ansara’s intense portrayal of the villain Jud. When my mother began to scream for help during the scene, I became so emotionally overwhelmed that I needed to be removed from the room. It wasn’t until Michael comfortingly explained that it was all just a part of the play that I managed to regain my composure.

It was Michael who accidentally set off a chain of events leading Mom to decide to leave her husband after months of conflict. Chris, being possessive, lost control when he saw a slightly intoxicated Michael flirting with Mom at a party. He became aggressive and shook her violently, causing her fear that her neck would break. The argument at home escalated, with Chris forcing Mom against a wall and tightening his grip around her throat. In his enraged state, it was only his affection for the children, particularly Cher, that prevented him from going too far.

Shortly following her split with Chris, she encountered her one true love and third husband, a struggling actor named E.J. ‘John’ Southall. Charmingly handsome, financially strapped, and sun-kissed, this Texan charmer, who is also the only man I consider my father, was and remains the man I think of in that regard.

After my beloved sister Gee (Georganne) arrived in September 1951, it was our father who recognized and addressed my pain from no longer being an only child.

He expressed to me that he didn’t understand the appeal of the new baby, as all it seemed to do was cry. He found this unenjoyable, but since they had her, they might as well give her time to grow and develop. Then, he suggested we go out for ice cream instead.

In the first year of Gee’s life, we were all filled with joy, yet Daddy’s alcohol consumption began causing issues. His behavior escalated into disturbing confrontations with Mom, occasionally leading to physical violence.

As a lifestyle expert, I’d rephrase it as follows: When I noticed he was heading towards that turbulent phase, I’d attempt to divert his attention by sitting on his lap, inviting him to join me outside, or engaging him in conversation. If none of these strategies worked, I would subtly retreat and blend into the background, hoping to become unnoticeable. From my bed, I’d sit quietly, my nerves jangling as I listened to my parents argue just beyond the closed door.

On a particular evening, we found ourselves at the residence of former model Betty Martin, who had spent eight years as wife to the renowned singer, Dean Martin. However, after this time, Dean left her and their collective four children behind.

At the party Betty threw, Dad became convinced that Mom was flirting with someone else. Enraged, he seized her by the hair and attempted to take her outside, but when she stumbled on her heels, he continued dragging her across the tiled floor in full view of everyone. Not a single man intervened. (Paraphrased)

I was engaging with Betty’s girls, and we hastily made our way downstairs to investigate the noise, arriving at the moment when five-foot-tall Betty strode towards Daddy, jabbed him firmly on the chest, and exclaimed loudly, “Hey! Such behavior is unacceptable here. You need to leave immediately!

My mother appeared deeply embarrassed in plain sight, while the other males remained frozen, and I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment. At home, Daddy’s behavior might have been acceptable, but displaying such conduct in public was a completely different story.

At age nine, a turn for the worse occurred in my family dynamics. One evening, my mother’s recent companion, Bill, was present along with all of us when my father unexpectedly arrived, causing a commotion that led him to chase Bill out of the house, grabbing a knife from the kitchen on his way. My mother feared for our lives due to my father’s aggressive behavior.

Leaving for Bill’s Cadillac, he violently attacked the convertible, tearing into the roof and damaging the interior leather. In an urgent attempt to shield Gee and me, Mom accidentally snagged her toe on the fence, causing it to detach completely.

In that era, many women, including my mom, often pursued marriage as a primary means of security. Over time, it seems like she had multiple husbands, though I can’t quite recall exactly how many – was it seven or eight?

Over time, Gee and I became accustomed to men coming and going, which made our lives somewhat unpredictable, alternating between periods of abundance and scarcity based on who happened to be present.

Initially, there were ants in the Rice Krispies and spoiled milk at our place, but then, due to a brief marriage with property tycoon Joseph Harper Collins in 1957, we found ourselves residing in a grandiose pink mansion in Beverly Hills, feasting on lobster instead.

At a certain stage, my father remarried her and we relocated to Las Vegas to stay with our relatives. I was gradually adjusting to life there and becoming a part of a big, affectionate family when the man who was my father made a mess of everything – just as he often did.

Without anyone knowing, he had returned to using gambling, heroin, and one evening, as he was preparing his newest dose, he dozed off, igniting his bed on fire. That night, my sister and I were in our room when we noticed smoke seeping beneath the door.

Grabbing us, Mom called him every name under the sun for almost killing us but he was so stoned he couldn’t even respond. We left Vegas that night but, incredibly, she took him back again.

In leaner times when money was tight, I’d find myself residing in budget-friendly dwellings nestled within the San Fernando Valley, a region divided from Los Angeles by the scenic Hollywood Hills. Once work flourished once more, I’d bid farewell to these modest abodes and swiftly return to the city, eager to rejoin my circle of friends and immerse myself in the vibrant atmosphere.

Moving so frequently made me feel uneasy, and there were times when I’d have nightmares that left me disoriented and unsure of my location in the middle of the night. It seems ironic that I chose a profession requiring constant travel, with no guarantee of where I’d awaken each day. To this day, I still occasionally wake up not knowing my current location.

At 14 years old, our family moved to New York due to my mother’s marriage with banker Gilbert LaPiere. Shortly after adjusting to life in Manhattan, my mother felt unable to endure another Eastern winter and decided to return to warmer climates. We had only been living in New York for a short while, less than a year.

In Los Angeles, Gilbert purchased for her a gleaming new Cadillac and a spacious house boasting well-kept gardens, a pool, and a scenic vista of horses grazing on the Clark Gable property.

Despite Mom appearing more content in LA compared to her time in New York, there was a growing strain within their marriage. She might have convinced herself of her happiness, but beneath the surface, she felt otherwise. This truth wasn’t lost on her, and eventually, Gilbert came to understand that his attempts to please his wife were futile.

Fed up with the unpredictable swings in her emotions and eager for independence, I managed to convince my patient stepfather to lease an apartment in Beverly Hills for myself and our 22-year-old German housekeeper, Josita. This new living arrangement would provide me with some much-needed personal space.

The arrangement was that we both needed jobs to cover our rent expenses, but even though I began working at a candy shop in Beverly Hills, I ended up working late hours and dancing in nightclubs along Sunset Boulevard. Eventually, I contracted hepatitis and was forced to resign.

After my steady progress toward recovery, thoughts about my future and where I might end up started to trouble me. I found myself questioning, “What’s next for you, Cher?” However, in November of 1962, while having coffee with friends, an intriguing man with a Caesar-style haircut unexpectedly joined us at our booth.

Sonny Bono was his name, and a relationship was about to unfold between us that would irrevocably transform us, for better or worse.

Liza and Judy

At Betty Martin’s party on the fateful night when my father confronted my mother, she kindly prepared a room for both of us as an alternative to returning home. I have forever been thankful for her kindness in this situation.

The next day, I spent time with some girls around my age and we went to visit a family living nearby. Upon entering their home, I noticed a petite, attractive woman halfway up the staircase, seemingly holding an orange juice glass.

Upon spotting us indoors, she inquired, “What’s keeping you ladies inside? It’s such a splendid day outside; why not go play?” She guided her daughter, Liza, out alongside us. As instructed, we obeyed and when we settled on the front steps, Liza unexpectedly broke into song with ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’.

It struck me as unusual at the time, since I’d never encountered a child spontaneously breaking into song like that, despite her being quite talented. It wasn’t until later that I understood she was Liza Minnelli, and the woman on the stairs was Judy Garland. In retrospect, it seems unlikely she was just drinking juice.

Mission impossible

In tough or emotional childhood experiences, I would often escape into my own thoughts. To this day, it seems a piece of me continues to do so. My vivid imagination led me to believe that I was a divine messenger tasked with healing polio, a disease characterized by paralysis and fatal for those most affected, sent from above.

Overwhelmed by my belief that I was a divine healer destined to conquer a particular illness, I felt enraged upon the discovery of Jonas Salk’s vaccine development.

Dirt poor

At the age of 12, my grandmother Lynda was sent to reside with relatives in Arkansas by her widowed mother. It was there that she crossed paths with my grandfather Roy Crouch, who worked as an assistant baker and had escaped an abusive childhood in Oklahoma to find employment at a café run by his older sister.

Among nine siblings, Roy wasn’t particularly close to his tall, formidable mother, Laura Belle Greene, who had a bit of Cherokee heritage. She was known for her fiery temper and, at times, would discipline her quick-witted son with a buggy whip. Strangely enough, I wish I could have met her, as she seemed to be an extraordinary individual, renowned for instilling a deep love of music in her offspring, which eventually reached me as well.

Yearning for freedom, Roy fantasized about living as an outlaw akin to Jesse James. However, upon encountering Grandma Lynda, he found himself smitten with a naive farm girl who had little life exposure. After a serene midnight swim shared between them, she became pregnant at the tender age of 13 and gave birth to my mother, Jackie Jean, in 1926.

Back then, I found myself utterly smitten, yet deeply troubled by the state of affairs in our household. Lynda, still a girl herself, was burdened with responsibilities far beyond her years. Roy, exhausted by her constant lamentations, sought solace elsewhere – in the arms of other women and the clandestine liquor known as ‘moonshine’, during the tumultuous Prohibition era.

Following his confrontation with the town sheriff, who aimed to apprehend him for illegal liquor trading, Roy chose to elude authorities alongside Lynda and their infant child, embracing the fugitive lifestyle he had long envisioned as an outlaw.

In simpler terms, they could only secure low-skilled jobs, and my grandmother’s earliest memory from her childhood is of being carried on a coarse sack over rough terrain while her mother picked cotton, pausing every few hours to breastfeed. My grandmother, Jackie Jean, was often comforted with one of the soft cotton balls as she sucked her thumb.

• Adapted from Cher: The Memoir, Part One by Cher (HarperCollins, £25), to be published 19 November. © Cher 2024. To order a copy for £22.50 (offer valid to 23/11/2024; UK P&P free on orders over £25) go to www.mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937.

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2024-11-11 20:07