The Golden Bachelor Breakout April Kirkwood Doesn’t Do Small Talk
Mia Morrison When April Kirkwood stepped out of the limo clucking and carrying a basket of eggs, a nod to her upbringing on a chicken farm in Ohio, a Golden Bachelorfan favorite was born. Or … hatched? Kirkwood, a 66-year-old therapist who resides in Port St. Lucie, Florida, proudly self-identifies as “a character.” She was eliminated from the more grown-up entry in the Bachelor franchise in week four, and though she didn’t win star Gerry Turner’s final rose (that went to New Jersey financial services professional Theresa Nist), the quirky, confident single nevertheless made a big impression on Bachelor Nation. Few have played the game with such creative flair: cunningly staging an injury as a plea for attention during a pickleball game, redecorating the mansion’s sleeping quarters under cover of darkness, and modeling for her very own calendar of themed self-portraits, in which every month is “April.” Eagle-eyed fans may have even spotted her giving relationship advice to the next Bachelor, Joey Graziadei, in a promo for the new season, alongside fellow Golden contestants and newly minted BFFs Susan, Kathy, and Nancy. Following her reality-TV debut, April is embracing being single (she lost her partner of two decades, Ralph, in 2021) and “standing in her own power.” For now, at least. “If love knocks me over, that’s that,” she said. “I’m going for it.”
Before you showed America otherwise, I didn’t know it was possible to do a seductive chicken dance.
Well, I didn’t know my butt waggled so cute! I had really perfect timing: one, two, three, four. I didn’t even shake it out of count. In a past life, I know I was a stripper.
On one level, my whole life is a production, and then on the other side, I’m very private. I can be in my house all day and not talk to anyone. I don’t have a lot of friends. I don’t like to talk on the phone. I can go onstage, but at a small cocktail party, I’m like, “What the hell am I going to say?” I don’t do small talk.
Do you think that’s a result of being a therapist and more accustomed to deeper conversations?
I’m used to controlling the room and teaching. Before I was a therapist, I was a teacher, and then I was a guidance counselor, and then I was a dean. My husband Ralph — my boyfriend of 20 years, I always call him my husband — would say, “Why are you always teaching me?” I’d say, “Because you’re always a dumbass and you’re not learning.”
It was great to see you and the other ladies in the studio audience for After the Final Rose. What did you think of the finale?
It was so beautiful. But I also got sad. Gerry and I did not make a connection, obviously, and that was okay — I turned it into fun! But on finale night, I remembered why I really came there. I really did want to fall in love, and it didn’t happen.
I wasn’t really upset when Gerry and Theresa had the first date. I can’t speak for them, but I could see in retrospect that that first night sealed a lot of their emotions towards one another. And that’s fine, because if I had been madly in love with somebody, I would’ve probably burned everybody else’s dresses or something. I don’t share well. My daughter was like, “Thank God. The show would have had to call the police.”
Who is your type?
Let me pick somebody from Hollywood: Michael Keaton. He’s so funny. I think he is a private person; still waters run deep. I think he’s a lot like me. He could control me, in a good way. The dance would be erotic.
We only saw a glimpse of you at the Golden Bachelor talent show. Was yours motivational speaking?
I was so happy on that stage. I don’t know what happened to me, I think Ann-Margret possessed me. I literally wanted to leave, get an Uber, and go to Vegas, to some dark, seedy bar with a stage and just dance the whole night entertaining people. I was telling the girls and the women in the audience, you go to college, you follow your dreams. Stand up and be tall. We’re going to break the glass ceiling. I was preaching — if I was in California, I’d have a church. And I would be friends with Marianne Williamson.
How did the all-April calendar you presented to Gerry come about?
The producers wanted pictures. I decided to do my own photo shoot, so I went down to Best Buy and I bought the little, you know, thing to stand my phone on. I studied a little bit about lighting. And I sent so many that they said, “You want to make a calendar out of it?” And I was like, “Yeah, why not?” I’m game. It’s not Playboy.
Can I order an April calendar of my own?
I would love to sell these suckers! I have to pay for all my clothes. They cost me a fortune.
You admitted to faking your pickleball ankle injury to get more attention from Gerry. How far ahead of time was that premeditated?
It was premeditated about ten minutes in advance because I thought, This is not going well for me. No, no, no. I think quick on my feet, honey, trust me. I mean, I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do if it’s not going my way. I fly by the seat of my pants — my inner child is like 4 years old, her name is Julie Marie. She rides a pig and she has red galoshes. She’s just crazy.
Watching you and the other ladies develop such great friendships was my favorite part of The Golden Bachelor. What did getting close to the rest of “ASKN” — the friend group also known as April, Susan, Kathy, and Nancy — mean to you?
The mansion is an artificial world. You’re in a house with no phone, no TV, no one you’ve ever known before. It gets weird. I can see now how the younger girls on The Bachelor, being less experienced, freak out, start screaming, start crying. They haven’t survived as deep of heartache as the women our age. They haven’t lost children, spouses. They haven’t lost jobs, they haven’t lost homes. To them, this was, “If I don’t get a rose, I’m going to die!” We don’t say that. We’re like, “Am I going to die? No. I was going to die when my husband died, but I’m still standing.”
I never went away to college. At the mansion, when we had to sleep in those bunk beds and the rooms were done in beautiful shades of pink, I got to go back and imagine what it would have been like. I thought, this is kind of a sorority — let’s make up our initials. A for April, S for Susan … It grew into a lot of beautiful conversations. We would stay up till 4 a.m. just cracking up. I almost peed my pants. I don’t know how we got up the next morning. I pushed my bed next to theirs. I go, “Come on, girls! I don’t want to sleep by myself on the other side of the room. It’s too far away.” So we made a big California king–size bed and it was really fun. It was healing for me, because I never had that experience of girlfriends in a dorm.
We keep in contact quite a bit. We were going to start meeting up at each other’s houses, but The Bachelor has actually kept us so busy that it never happened. We were going to watch the last show at my house, but we went out there for the finale, so we were still together. The Bachelor is always interceding. I love it — I’m going to be depressed when it’s over. I’m trying to figure out what to do now. Well, I could go find Michael Keaton.
I think most Golden Bachelor fans would be surprised to learn that you wrote a memoir, Big Girls Do Cry, about your relationship with Frankie Valli of the Four Seasons, which began when you were 16 and he was 39.
I love him. My aunt Ginny — who was 11 years older than me, she was like a sister — won concert tickets to Frankie Valli. For some reason, when I saw him, my 6-year-old heart really made a connection. I’m from an abusive home and my safe place became going in my bedroom and listening to Frankie Valli on my little pink record player. I would turn on the music and I wouldn’t hear the screaming or fighting or whatever was going on.
I could not give up Frankie Valli. There was something between him and me — I can’t speak for him, but it just kept going on and on. I didn’t know if he was married or not. This was before Google, before computers, before anything. I was 16 years old. I didn’t care. And it was the ’70s. Everybody was sleeping with everybody.
I didn’t write that book to imply he was a bad person, or he was grooming me. The press took that. Now, was he? I don’t know. I care for him, so I don’t want to see that, because, once again, he was my safe place. People say, “He was a pig. He shouldn’t have done that.” I hope that’s not the case. I think he had lots of women. But I didn’t have lots of Frankie Vallis. I only had one. And I can’t judge him. It doesn’t matter what he thinks. It doesn’t matter what he did. It only matters to me how I grow from this.
The day he dies will be a sad day for me. It will also be a relief for me — it’s finally done. I do believe in past lives. This was not a lifetime we were to be together.
Are you dating anyone now?
No, I am not dating. Bachelor has kept me so busy, and honestly, I had to take care of Ralph for so many years that this is my time to see what I can do with my life. This is the first time I’ve gotten to stand in my own power.
If love knocks me over, that’s that. I’m going for it. But I don’t go on the internet, I don’t do online dating. I don’t do anything. I like reading and I like my spiritual stuff. I like my kids. I like my house. Ralph shows up all the time. Dead people are always here. I always invite the angels. This is a home of rest for them, so they can come and hang out.
This conversation has been edited and condensed.
