1921 - 1998
Photo taken for 50-year Hoover High reunion, 1991
Photo taken for 50-year Hoover High reunion, 1991
Mom died on April 7, 1998. She was anticipating moving to Oregon to live nearby, and was active and with people up to the end.These pages are a memorial to replace the memorial she did not have in Glendale after her death; her friends were scattered far and wide and many have written their memories for publication here. This is only the beginning; there is a lot more to come. I have lots of pictures, things she wrote, details to fill in.Mom worked in show-business until retirement, most notably for Steve Allen and for Days of Our Lives. She loved working there and stayed in touch with Olivia Martin, the show's chief executive, spending Thanksgiving and sometimes Christmas with her for many years.She was with her "adopted family," her friends and neighbors for the last 14 years, Sherry Keesee, daughter Angelique Keesee and mother Vada Curtis. She spent much of her time with them and was with Angie at the end. If she had to go, she couldn't have picked a better way to do it.
Her cat Tesi is now safely adopted with Angie and has adapted to her new home. Mom would be very happy about that.
Bette Pearce is the daughter of Will and Nell Wright. These pictures of Mom and Gma were taken in 1972; Mom's previous cat Doober is in her arms. Will is a character actor who died in 1962, but whose face is recognizable by anyone who has ever watched old movies and TV shows from the '50s. I have been wanting to do a page for him, and should finally get it done this year.
After keeping her ashes with me for two years, I finally found that they could be buried with her parents at the Fairview-Siuslaw Cemetary in northern California.
Mom's Writing
Here is a short screed that she wrote in the fall of 1977, just found by Mimi Krohn and sent on to me.
Every now and then unexpectedly a warm, gypsy wind wafts itself through a Fall night, tinkling shattered wind bells into new life, gently bending trees and shrubs in its wake and suggesting the scent of orange blossoms and Spring. Cats and kittens suddenly get skittish, and people are seized by an irrational desire to run breathlessly across non-existent meadows, arms raised to the full moon glowing in a black field of stars. This is the wind you've heard about stars being tossed upon, this is the wind that tumbles phantom blossoms, this is the wayward wind that subtly twirls and twists the spirit of Spring within us.
If you own an unobserved acre, this is the night to wear ribbons, strips of chiffon and gauze and flower garlands. This is the night to run over the crest of a hill on the wings of the soft magic zephyr from Never, Never Land.
Or sit on your front steps, breathing in enchantment, and regret paved streets and lack of garlands and chiffon scarves. You may go quietly to bed, but the wind will blow over you in sleep, and you'll float on a moonbeam in your dreams on the occasional now and then night when the gypsy wind breathes its presence through those dreams.
Go here to read letters from her closest family and friends.
Picture Page will be updated soon.
Michael Pearce
My own pages are here.