I was born in Santa Monica, California. The youngest child of Katherine DeMille and Anthony Quinn. With my arrival on Christmas night (eight minutes after midnight into the 26th of December) the family was now six, with two older sisters and a brother. Little did we all know that in the years to come there would be additional families, with different mothers and kids from various corners of the world. I lived with my family in Pacific Palisades, Cal. until the 3rd grade when we all moved to Italy while Pop made the film “Barabas” in Rome. There he met a seamstress by the name of Yolanda. She became pregnant with his child while his wife, Katherine, was back in New York with their children, living in their home on 70th street in Manhattan. They soon divorced and she, my brother and I, moved to Greenwich, Conn. We lived in a lovely home while the two older girls were off at college or on the road with a group called “Up With People”.
From the age of 10 to 16 I lived with my mother in Connecticut. My brother went off to college for a while and eventually to California. Soon my mother, becoming fed up with Greenwich snobbery and isolation, took me to California. Moving to Los Angeles proved to be a very upsetting experience for me, forcing my mother to place me in a hospital for depression. I had to leave school before completing high school. It was soon after, that I began my studies in acting. I studied dance throughout my adolescence and into adulthood. Acting began with classes with Jeff Corey and Lee Strasberg. It was at this time I found a woman who would change my perspective of acting altogether and bring me to a place of complete trust. I found myself challenged, inspired and confident with my new mentor, Peggy Feury. It was at the “Loft” on La Brea Ave., which Peggy ran with her husband Bill Traylor, that I found the home I had always longed for. A home away from home, a place where I felt I could come for consolation, ideas, discussion, friendship and creative inspiration. Years later, in 1985, when Peggy died, that world fell away, and I felt lost once more. Dealing with that, other difficulties and bumps in the road, I took a few more wrong turns that caused me stumble in my quest. My career took a back seat for quite some time. Years were lost, in some regard, but at the same time the education of life on the streets were like no other. It all makes us what we are today if we are able to learn to use it to grow and gain wisdom from life’s experiences. In the case of the actor, to use our experiences in the characters we portray. It feeds us if we let it.
Jumping ahead years, I found myself back in New York where I had always wanted to return. This has always been home. Los Angeles was just a bump in the road. A very long one at that, I’m afraid. 1993 brought me closer to my father again. He sent for me. I was living in San Francisco, but he knew I needed to move away from there and wanted me to be closer to him. He was living in New York at the time with his wife, Yolanda. Their three sons had long moved away to care for their own families. But things were about to change dramatically. Soon after my arrival he announced that I had a “new little sister” named Antonia. I realized that before he left this planet he was going to create a namesake, come hell or high water. The mother was his secretary, Kathy. She had been his secretary for over 6 or 7 years and a confidant and helper to Mrs. Quinn. So, here they were. The newspapers were on it like bugs on manure. The divorce from his wife was ugly. It cut him like a knife. It was a long time to recovery after that. During this time my mother died at the age of 85 in Tucson, Arizona. We had the memorial there. Soon after I returned to New York I met my husband to be, a fireman in the New York City Fire Department. We dated and soon we were living together in my apartment on East 40th street. We married a year or so later in 1996 with a lovely ceremony. Pop gave me away at the wedding ceremony but was unable to attend the reception due to the fact that Kathy had just given birth to their second child, Ryan. In addition, he had had a stroke scare a week previous which landed him in the hospital in Rhode Island. Unbeknownst to me, he was still recovering. He was a very private man when it came to his health and had told no one of that incident. He wanted to get back home to the apartment on the Upper East Side to rest and be with the baby the day of the reception. I understood. It was a beautiful day and a wonderful and happy reception. Within a year or two we began to look for a home out of the city. Somewhere that I could fulfill the dream I had since I was a child; to have a farm surrounded by all of the animals I had always wanted. Well, at least as many as we could handle and care for. So in the summer of 1998, after many houses and realtors, we found our dream home. I knew it the moment I walked in the cathedral type living room with the stone wall that rose to the second floor ceiling and balcony that overlooked the living room below. Upstairs was a large bedroom and guestroom. Downstairs was a large living space with a wood stove and another guestroom and kitchen. A large “mud room” rounded out the back of the house. And light. So much light everywhere. Light streaming in through the skylights and windows. During the day you would never need to turn on a lamp. This was home. My heart knew it the moment I walked inside. As with every room in the house, it was bright and cheery. And best of all, OH SO PRIVATE! No need for any curtains. And land everywhere. 47 acres of trees, fields and grass. I could see the potential. I could see the horses galloping through the hills and trails. Each corner led to more land. Land that belonged to farmers or people who decided to keep it pristine and vacant. Land where the dogs could run, where the cats need not fear cars flying by. Land where the neighbors would not be bothered by music or screaming matches or anything else. This was it. But would HE feel the same? He took a look. What he saw was work, a lawn, a dilapidated fence and long driveway. My heart sank. My spirit was knocked around a bit but I did not give up. I brought him back again and finally he came around. Finally he began to see what I saw, I thought. We made our offer. Batted back and forth a few times with the owners and came to an agreement. We moved in October 16, 1998 and left the city behind. A new life began. We felt like grown-ups. We now had BIG responsibilities. We were now proud owners of something we could call home (with the bank sharing ownership). This is where the family could start. Soon came Pookie; a stray Schipperke found in a parking lot. Then came Bella, a mix of Border Collie and Springier Spaniel. More cats and of course the horses, two of them. Ten year old Quarter horses. Murphy and Beukeboom. Murphy came with that name. Beukeboom got his name when he arrived. Named after a Hockey player for the N.Y.Rangers. Just liked the way it sounded. Pop never got around to visiting our new paradise. He always said he meant to but instead we found ourselves taking more trips up to his home in Rhode Island. What a beautiful home it was. Surrounded by water and great lawns, he spent his last days painting and sculpting. In June of 2001 he quietly slipped away. I was there when he went. I remember him smiling. In my home I am surrounded by some of his wonderful self-portraits and sculptures. Somewhere my mother and father are dancing again. And life goes on.