Dothery

But I could not for the life of me find a pic of Sinatra in his make-up. Here's one. 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!

One of my favorite pictures of all time. I especially loved the French war hero.

The bottom line is, it doesn't matter what a man looks like or how old he is as long as he is nice and treats a woman right ! It helps if he is 'lovable' too ! How true that is. I married when I was 65 and my husband was 69, and they were the happiest nine years of my life until he died. He was a gem in every way. We had known each other as children and had the same background, the same memories, the same interests. We traveled in the fall and winter and ran a bed and breakfast in Maine in the summer. A terrific life. Someone asked me once what my ideal husband would be like. I remember I said, "Just give me a smiler," and that's what I got. He smiled and laughed and talked and was the best companion anyone could ever have had.

Now, I guess I'm the only one here unkind enough to say outright that it's obvious Kim has had "work" done on her face. I don't know much about that stuff...facelifts? Botox? But whatever it was, it was an error in judgement on her part. Miss W., I don't dispute your right to dislike the idea of plastic surgery on KM, but may I say that we don't know what she might have looked like before it, and how necessary it may have been. I have a relative whose face just went down, down, down and is a mass of double chins and wrinkles to the point where her sister went and got a face lift just to prevent the same thing happening to her under the laws of genetics. It's fascinating to watch the other one talk. Everything moves at once. You can't take your eyes off her neck. I'm all for it for people who feel they need it. As I heard one celebrity say, "I wasn't trying to look young; I was trying to look neat."

I remember Bettye saying that he was much younger than she in many ways ... lively, interesting, fun, as well as being supremely talented. She said she couldn't keep up with him.

Janet Gaynor, with that adorable cleft chin.

Jane Wyatt?

I myself, due largely to Mr. Howard, prefer *Pygmalion *to *My Fair Lady * *The Scarlet Pimpernel< to *Zorro *and HIS version of *Of Human Bondage *over LAURENCE HARVEY'S. Dito, ditto and ditto. I always loved watching Howard. I saw him in "Berkeley Square" a bit ago and loved seeing him doing the journey back into the 18th century. I will make an exception for the dance in *The Mark of Zorro*, however. That was sheer delight. Doubled or not in the cuts to the footwork, Ty Power was masterful in the long shots.

Well Dothery, then THERE'S your "James Garner connection" then, eh?! Remember when Garner and Hartley were doin' so many commercials together that many people thought they were married? I do remember. It was Polaroid they did the commercials for. They looked so comfortable together everyone took them for a married couple. Those were great commercials. I wish they did witty ones like those these days.

Interesting point. I always thought he was nice and fun to watch, but not hot in the way Ty Power and Errol Flynn were. His roles weren't really conducive to leading-man madness on the part of the fans. I couldn't really warm up to a guy who was going to pour boiling-hot wax on me, if I were a heroine. No pun intended there.

Looks like Jim Garner making a face.

It's obviously Olivier doing Jed Harris, but the lady doesn't look a bit like Claire Bloom. I suppose it is, though.

Barbara La Marr was considered too beautiful for anything. Adela Rogers St. John was in court as a cub reporter when a judge ordered Barbara, then fourteen, to go back to Imperial Valley to stay with her parents as a ward of the court, because "you are too beautiful to be allowed alone in a big city. You are too beautiful to be without constant protection from your parents at your age." Adela persuaded the young girl to come down to the newspaper to have some pictures taken. When they came into the City Room, everything stopped. One of the reporters said to Adela, "Helen of Troy, I presume?" They ran the story with the pictures, quoting the judge. Barbara died of TB after a brief lifetime full of trouble. Men abducted her, committed bigamy for her, forged checks to buy her things she didn't want, followed her, tried to kill themselves for her. She thought of her beauty as a curse and said she wished she had a nose as long as the Elephant Child's. A sad life.

Robin Ellis.

Now I have heard of Cherries Jubilee. I will never think of Cherries Jubilee without remembering a great skit on "Your Show of Shows," with Sid Caesar, Carl Reiner, Howard Morris and somebody else (can't remember who). They had all gone camping in a cabin in the woods, and one of the overprotective, super-attentive wives had sent dinner for them all. The dessert was Cherries Jubilee, in a chafing dish which, when the cover was taken off, let flames shoot up about four feet in the air. And of course they kept doing it.

and Bunny Watson was cooking an impromptu dinner for Richard Sumner. (Yeah. I was watching *Desk Set*.) For dessert they were going to have Floating Island. Floating Island? Hmmm. Floating island is meringue plopped on top of thin vanilla pudding or custard. It's really good. We used to have it a lot as kids. Years ago I read Joan Fontaine's autobiography, in which she talked about having people over for a big formal dinner and ending up not having any dessert (disaster in the kitchen), and she and her husband going into the library with a hot plate and making "oeufs a la neige." For years I wondered what the heck it was. "Eggs in the snow" didn't seem enough explanation to me. Turned out to be floating island. In "Desk Set" I seem to remember Bunny, angry at her inattentive boyfriend Gig Young, who chose that time to stop by her apartment, eating her floating island and saying "Delicious!" before she'd even taken a spoonful of it. I liked that scene, because at the end of it there's that impromptu moment when Spencer Tracy goes out and comes back in disheveled and pretending to be drunk, and Hepburn and Blondell fall over on each other laughing.

A cute commercial. I was prepared to dislike it, but it's sweet, and it was nice to see her again so young and pretty.

That's some necktie on Phil Terry.

I believe that Harrison's involvement in Carole Landis' death hurt the grosses of UNFAITHFULLY YOURS, one of Sturges' best. I wouldn't be surprised. It's one of my favorite films, though. I can still see him trying to make the recording machine work. Funniest bit in the picture, especially when it flips the record over while he's trying to make it. That never fails to make me fall off the chair.

Even still, he didn't deserve what happened to Kay, but karma is a b***h.............. I read Lilli Palmer's autobiography some years ago. She said he asked if he could come back to her after Kay's death. He wanted to be with her until then. Lilli said yes, but didn't mean it. She never took him back, but married Carlos Thompson some time after. However, she said she admired Rex for the way he led Kay to her death. (Her words.) Rex was one strange man. One of his wives said he was the only man she ever saw who would send wine back in his own house.

It hardly lifts my spirits watching Kay Kendall and realizing that she would soon be dead. If that were a deterrent to my enjoying someone in a movie, I'd never watch anything, since most of the actors and actresses in the movies I like are dead. True, she died young, but she had no idea she was dying. At least hers was an easy death, comparatively. She just got more and more tired and one day she slipped away. He never let her know. His choice, I guess, to let her think she just needed iron pills or something. At any rate, I love watching them both. She was one hilarious actress, as well as having what's been called the most beautiful nose in the world.

Thanks for the info, Dothery. Didn't you mean to say that the baby grew up without HIM? She didn't kill herself because of the baby, that's all I remember about that from her autobiography. She was about to drive herself over a cliff when the thought of the baby stopped her. I remember her book as being extremely honest, even telling stories where she came off as not too nice. I remember thinking she was only a kid of sixteen or so when she married Agar; she couldn't have known much about men, or at least men like him. I had a friend who waited in line for her to autograph the book, and when time ran out and she had to leave with many people still in line, she came out to apologize to them all and said she'd be back next day to finish, if they wanted to come back. I was interested in the book particularly because she mentions that she was at the White House with her parents visiting FDR on the day he signed the Fair Labor Standards Act of 1938, which contained the "Shirley Temple Amendment," which allowed child performers to work even though they were under age, under certain conditions. That bill had been the baby of Billy Connery, my mother's boss, a congressman from Massachusetts. Mama had been his secretary for 14 years until his death in 1937. The bill wasn't passed and signed until a year later. Billy had worked long and hard to get it right. He and Walter Brennan were first cousins, by the way. Their mothers were sisters. Billy had been in show business himself, working with George M. Cohan's road company. He worked at times with Edna May Oliver, William Powell and others in stock. He used to amuse us with singing and dancing and playing the piano. He knew a million songs and a million jokes. An amazing person. He loved veterans and worked tirelessly for them. When he died, he had the longest military procession ever seen on the east coast. Vets came on crutches, in wheelchairs, walking. He also had the bill passed to put a guard on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, as it was then, after he saw some girls sitting on the tomb getting their picture taken. He was outraged and said it would never happen again. That afternoon the bill went in and was passed without dissent.

You know you're old if the inquiry, "Hare Krishna"? brings to mind instant visual and auditory recognition. You might have had to live in a big city. It brings back one of my favorite New Yorker cartoons: A chubby man in a Hare Krishna robe, wearing glasses, is standing in a phone booth, saying, "Hare krishna, hare krishna, krishna krisha, hare hare; Hare rama, hare rama, rama rama hare hare. Louise? Harry. Did I leave my wallet on the bureau?"

Second-fastest test: You walk into a room. Quick, what was it that you came in to get? It's a good one. However, many years ago Ann Landers gave me a cure for that why-am-I-here problem. She said (and I've followed her advice ever since), before you leave a room to go and get something, say it out loud. What you're going after. Just say it. Like, "I'm going to get my bedroom slippers." You'll remember it because it will still be ringing in your ears when you get to your destination. It never fails. Except when I forget to do it, of course. Reading back through the messages, I see others have already mentioned this as a way to remember. Sorry to be repetitive.

I can tell I'm getting old because sometimes when I tell my story about the first pilot I ever had, I get blank looks from young folks. My mother worked for a congressman in D.C., and during the summer of 1928 they were at the airport outside Washington for an event of some kind, and Charles Lindbergh was giving rides to the VIPs in attendance. He asked Billy (the congressman) if he wanted to go up for a ride, and Billy said no, but maybe Peggy (my mother) would like to go. Peggy was eight months pregnant with me, but she said sure she'd like to go, and Lindbergh took us up for a little ride around the area. When I tell flight attendants this story they always slip me extra cookies. Lately I've been getting the "who?" look from some kids, however.