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Once upon a time, some 20 years ago in the final phases of the Nazi oc- cupation of Norway, there was a tiny, wide-eyed, blonde baby girl named Birgit Annalisa Rusanen. Her mother was a Norwegian; her father, a German soldier who has not been heard from since. When she was two weeks old, she was left at an or- phanage in Oslo, Norway. Now upon a time, this fall, there is a new m series called Lost in Space. In it, playing the space fam- ily's older daughter, is a slim, wide- eyed, flaxen-haired girl who looks like a combination of Mia Farrow and Tuesday Weld. Her name is Marta Kristen. The story of Birgit (or, if you will, Marta) from Oslo, Norway, to Holly- wood, rivals "Cinderella." But there is no fairy godmother. Only a phil- osophy professor, his kindly wife, and what Marta calls "the good luck to be an adaptable extrovert." At 4 Birgit was simply one of thou- sands of unwanted war waifs. But even then she seemed to have some irrepressible sparkle. A photograph of that time shows a little girl dressed in long heavy stockings and a dark shapeless smock with a pixy grin. "I don't remember too much about the orphanage," she says, "except it was really a large old house, and I used to love to sing there." That same photograph was sent to a Prof. and Mrs. Harold Soderquist of Detroit (he teaches at Wayne State University), who were eager to adopt a war orphan. After a year of red tape, she arrived, all alone, on a plane. She didn't speak English. But Marta says she wasn't frightened. She cried only once, when she realized that her "smeller" (a handkerchief she always carried, and that "smelled like home") had been left behind. Mrs. Soder- quiet promptly substituted her own handkerchief. "After that," says Marta, "everything |
seemed to be all right." Under the loving care of the Soder- quists, older people who were really more like grandparents, Birgit thrived. (As part of her new life, her name was changed to the more American sounding Martha, which was the name of the woman who had arranged for her adoption. Later, for acting purposes, she changed it to the European version, Marta.) She adapt- ed to America with sparkle and grace. In junior high she was a straight-A student. At home she loved entertain- ing family guests with singing and dancing. She began thinking about being an actress. "it seemed," she says, "the most American thing for a young girl to want to be!" At 12 she played summer stock in Birmingham, Mich. Then one day in 1959 Professor Soderquist took his family to California on sabbatical leave. Marta remained there, with a guardian, attending Hollywood Pro- fessional School. She changed her last name to Kristen. And the Cinderella quality of her life persisted. "It sounds made-up," says Marta. "I was sitting in a restaurant with a boy friend having a hamburger, and a man who said he was a producer named Jimmy Harris came up and asked if I'd like to test for 'Lolita.' I thought he was kidding, until I checked up. It's a good thing I didn't get the part. After testing, I went out and read the book. There was a lot in it I didn't understand." Two years ago the adaptable extro- vert met a young man--at the beach, surfing. Six months later they were married. He is Terence Treadwell, a graduate student in psychology at San Fernando Valley State College. So all is well for Cinderella. She is still close to her family in Michi- gan. Her career is thriving. Her mar- riage, she says, has given her "great confidence and security." The slipper seems a perfect fit. |