And so the epidemic of 2003 began and continued.
Less than two months later, my beloved friend Gregory Peck died. He was everything that Atticus Finch was and more. More because he was younger and living and working in a very visible profession, among actors who not only did not think as he did, but did not give voice as he did, and among some studio heads who preferred that he keep his beliefs to himself. There is not really a single word to describe Greg – not one word that might encompass all of him. Of course, our friendship began in 1956 when we made Designing Woman, one of my all-time favorite movies. It was the year of Bogie’s surgery and subsequent fight against cancer. It was one of the worst years of my life. The movie was a romantic comedy, wonderful script and therapeutic for me. I was forced to keep my spirits up and light during daytime shooting of the movie. Greg would ask how Bogie was doing, I would tell him, but there was no dwelling on the subject. Greg was too much of a gent to pry and I was too much in denial to want to talk about it – trying to focus on the movie. Designing Woman and Greg were a blessing. They saved my sanity.
Greg and I worked wonderfully together – always in sync. It’s such a pleasure to find yourself with an actor who is there all the time – no star stuff – just caring about the scene, looking for ways to make it better – that’s the sum of acting, what makes it so rewarding as to make up for the lesser times. Working together, NOT competing. From Designing Woman on, our friendship grew and grew naturally with him and his great wife, Veronique. No matter where we were, always a postcard, always kept in touch. When I was on Broadway, they’d come to New York. Never missed. And every time I received any recognition, he’d be there to present me with an award or introduce me live or on television. Never a request made by me, mind you, always by others. I would never have put him on a spot where he might feel backed against a wall. When I received the Kennedy Center Honor, Greg was unable to attend – the only major one he missed. He sent me a fax (one of many over the years and always unexpected) that said:
Dear Honoree –
I am sending you bread, wine and music for Christmas.
What more do you want?
Don’t answer that.
(Signed) Yours for all time, G.P.
He recited a prayer once – Irish, I think – that I loved. I asked him for a copy and of course received it immediately. It goes like this:
Dear Lord,
I want to thank you, Lord, for being with me so far this day. I haven’t been impatient, lost my temper, been grumpy, judgmental, or envious of anyone.
But I will be getting out of bed in a minute, and I think I will
Really need your help then.
Amen.
I wish I knew where this originated, but I don’t. Anyway, it doesn’t matter – it came from Gregory Peck and that’s good enough for me. That and the fax were two small samples of his wit. He had it in abundance and he shared it. For any one man to have all these gifts seems impossible, but with simplicity, humility, integrity, loyalty, honor, heart and soul, Greg had it all. He defied the gods, the naysayers, those who demeaned actors. You know, when a friend dies there is a natural tendency to sing his praises and perhaps endow him with more superlative qualities than he might have had. That is definitely not the case with Greg. On the contrary, there is no way to say enough. He was no saint, but he was a man of extraordinary gifts. Of course, he was tall, dark and handsome, but actually more than that – he was dazzling. With a brain – not afraid to show affection – and guess what? He had humor, he had wit, he had warmth. He may not have known it, but I needed his friendship. As an actress who has not been showered with attention in my movie career, knowing that Greg was glad to see me gave me more confidence than I would otherwise have had. When I knew I was going to see him and Veronique, my spirits lifted. The luck, the luck I have had to have a man like Greg Peck as a pal – a man I would trust under any circumstance. I was always and forever grateful to him and for him. And I hope his goodness has rubbed off on me and will make me better in all ways.
Thinking back to Designing Woman, it was the start of what was to become a friendship of almost fifty years. We never lost track of one another. Even through my rocky eight years with Jason. If we communicated less at times it was due to working on different coasts, often in different countries, and to living on different sides of the U.S. It seems that I always felt Greg and Veronique and I had unflagging affection for one another. It really didn’t matter where or when, with Greg once it was fully and firmly established, it would not, could not change. We won awards together, solid gold Rudolph Valentino awards, recognizing our contributions to movies. We remained sort of a team.
Then one day came the offer to play opposite Greg in The Portrait for Ted Turner’s cable channel, me playing the wife of this magical professor with Greg’s lovely daughter Cecilia playing our daughter in the piece. In the story, Greg and I were close as pages in a book, which led to the daughter feeling left out. So there we were in North Carolina, Veronique, Greg, Cecilia and me, living and behaving like one big, happy family – Cecilia calling me ‘Mother’ – Veronique and I going marketing together – all this proof positive that we loved each other. I never for a moment felt like an outsider. I was always welcomed with open arms into the tightly knit Peck family. Veronique made even locations feel like home. Though Greg was ten years my senior, we seemed, and we were, totally in tune with one another. We always had fun working together. On screen, we were a pair – the scenes and the action flowed. We were comfortable together, I felt safe with him.
There was an occasion during The Portrait, I think it was either Greg’s birthday or Veronique’s or their anniversary – there, I’ve covered all bases – anyway, it was a celebration and Veronique had arranged, in her incredibly thoughtful and thorough way, to have her great cook Carmen make a great Mexican dinner. And how she did all this I’ll never know, but it was cooked, packed and shipped to North Carolina. A feast, one of my favorite cuisines. There was great wine, and simple and loving toasts. It was a family celebration and I was included. Perfect Peck. We continued to meet through all those years past and to the end of his life. Aside from seeing my children, no trip to California was complete without at least one dinner at the Pecks’. A highlight for me.
I give lectures from time to time and the venues have altered through the years. I always like to change the talks a bit depending on the audience and the location. Greg had started to do his ‘Evenings with Gregory Peck’ so I asked him what his format was. He gave me a rough idea and asked if I’d like to see one of his. Yes please, Greg. I would love to. On my return home, there it was, a video of Greg’s evening. It was filled with anecdotes – Irish stories – his movie life – all warmth and laughter. What struck me particularly was the way he answered one question. Someone asked him how he would like to be remembered. His response, after a pause, was that mostly he wanted to be remembered as a good husband, a good father and a good grandfather. Extraordinary – pure Peck!
He of course was all those things but it clearly demonstrated how family oriented he was, how much he valued his wife, his children and grandchildren, his home, how much pride he took in all of it. And I think of what I have missed. Having lived alone for so many, many years, I never had a complete family life. My children and grandchildren are my family but we don’t live in the same cities so we don’t spend that much time together. And I work so much of the time that the work itself is temporary family for me. I love and adore my children and grandchildren but of course one learns very quickly that they have different interests and priorities, so we must do what we can when we can.
Less than two weeks after Greg’s death, George Axelrod, another friend of fifty years, died. Of course, it was his play, Goodbye Charlie, that brought me back to Broadway and the beginning of making my childhood dream come true. He was a classy man of original ideas and great intelligence. ‘I’m in the hit business, baby,’ he would say to me. And he had been – until Goodbye Charlie w
hich unhappily did not receive favorable reviews. I did – the play didn’t – though it ran to full houses for three months. George could not take the rejection. He felt he was no longer the whiz kid. So when Hollywood beckoned, he left New York and settled in Los Angeles. He worked with Billy Wilder, Josh Logan, and John Frankenheimer. Seven Year Itch, one of his biggest hit plays, was transferred to the big screen to be followed by many more. He was a lovely man, vulnerable followed by hypersensitive. After The Manchurian Candidate, a wildly successful – and finally cult – classic, which he wrote brilliantly, George continued to make contributions to the motion pictures, well received but not compared to Manchurian. He did not feel appreciated, as those of us have felt the same for years, many years. It is the way of the motion picture mind. You start off being the flavor of the month, dwindling down to not being thought of, certainly unappreciated. If you’re over twenty-five years old and not bringing in the big bucks, you are ignored. Not a pretty picture, but an accurate one. It happened to George as it has happened to me and countless others.
Anyway, when he and Joan moved to London they were welcomed with open arms. His talent was respected. He was. Life was good for many years there. Finally, however, what happens in many countries is you feel more like a foreigner, less like you belong, and work is scarce. George was a writer, a good one. He needed to write. So as Joan had a magic touch when it came to living, back to California they went and finally settled happily there. And there they stayed until the end. George had everything to do with my reason to move back to America. And over a period of fifty years, we remained super friends. So once again a piece of my life had been chipped away. Getting older, though necessary, leaves a great deal to be desired.
Katharine Hepburn died eight days later – the final blow of 2003. It was not unexpected – she was ninety-six years old and the quality of her life had not been what she would have wished. But she was there. She was there and I could not conceive of there being a time without her. She was Miss Hepburn – Aunt Kat – Katie – Kate – Kathy (to Spencer Tracy). She was all of those depending upon your relationship. And she was also Katharine. With an ‘A’.
She was loyal – demanding – pure and purely demanding – open – reserved – formally informal – proud – intimidating – exasperating – funny – touching. She was a worker – a riser above everything – passionate in her likes and dislikes – saying what she thought but keeping herself to herself – loving – sentimental – a lover of beauty – of nature. She was there for all who needed her – really needed her and were in need. She was especially, wonderfully, uniquely, one of a kind. For all she was – has been – has given on all levels – publicly or privately – she enhanced this life.
There was more public attention paid her than anyone in memory. Tribute upon tribute on television, newspapers, magazines devoting whole issues to her. It continued for months after her passing. As a woman, she had made a powerful impact on all who didn’t know her. She was independent. She chose her way of life – hurting no one – and never vying for approval. She leaves me with so many pictures of her in so many different places at so many different times. She unknowingly made me aware of ways to live and to behave that were new to me. So although there is a large, empty space in my life without her, there is all that past to remember. She could do so many things. She applied herself. How many surprising, great meals that she cooked when I had evenings with her and Spence.
She painted – she drew a character portrait for Bogie and me. She watercolored a self-portrait for me – delivered the day after I won the Tony for my performance in Applause over hers in Coco. As I read her praise of me written more than thirty years ago, I am filled with nostalgia, great love for this amazing woman and am stunned by her flattery. For better or worse, here it is in her own words:
My own dear friend DESERVED – WARRANTED
All that pure simplicity, unguarded modesty and Boyish courage
poured into a frame of leonine splendor
You ROSE – you CONQUERED
And none could be more pleased than I –
Your smeared* friend, [*referring to the edge of the printing]
Auntie Kate
ON THE OCCASION OF THE TONY AWARDS April 19th 1970
I blushed when I first read it. I blush as I write it now. So flattering – so sweet – that she thought so highly of me. She could never say it, anymore than I could, but she could write it – as I could. Remembering the fifteen-year-old me in the third balcony watching her on stage in The Philadelphia Story – in complete awe – to the meeting of her, getting to know her, during the filming of The African Queen in the wilds of the Belgian Congo and the Victoria Falls, seeing the side of her few would have seen – to being accepted as a true friend despite the difference in our ages – with our bond growing stronger through Bogie’s illness and death – then the following years of closeness as we traveled for work and life in general until Spencer’s death, and being able to talk about our lives on a personal level – to her arriving at my apartment with a small bouquet of flowers in her hand a few hours after I brought my newborn son, Sam, home from the hospital – the first of my friends to set eyes on him – his godmother. Typical Kate – is it any wonder I adored her and felt and told her that ten minutes of her would be worth twenty-four hours of anyone else. Sentimental in spite of herself. When I was very rundown in the Bel-Air Hotel with two-year-old Sam, and Jason living the part of Eugene O’Neill’s Hughie, disappearing – it was Kate who shook me up, telling me, ‘You’ve got to get out of this. You’ve forgotten what a tree looks like – the sky. You have to come down to a beach house I rent in Trancas and breathe the ocean air.’ I did that then and so loved it and the house that I rented it for several years after that, both with and without Jason.
Years of dinners on trays in Turtle Bay, cooked by devoted Nora. Katie never would go out – always meals at home – whether she was in a play or not – dinner was at 6:00 p.m. and you’d better not be late. I didn’t dare. She was an early morning day person – I was a late morning night person. Except when making a movie, of course – waking at 6:00 a.m. and trying to sleep by 10:30 or 11:00 at night always took me the first week of shooting to get in the groove. I always adjusted my time to Kate’s – if you wanted to spend time with her, those were the rules. By 8:30 you were out of there and she was mounting the stairs to her bedroom. She was a character all right, a fascinating one. I keep remembering seeing her in Paris with Spencer and the Garson Kanins. She was wearing a dress. Spencer refused to take her out unless she wore a dress. She wore one of the probably two dresses that she owned and she was glowing, brimming over with joy. As the years wore on, through good times and bad, right to the end, Kate always had a glow.
She was spoiled, I suppose. Spoiled in the sense that the rules she lived by had to be respected and agreed to by any and all who entered her domain. When it came to dinner invitations, Kate did the menu. Having a marvelous cook like Nora helped. I never worried about the food. I knew that Katie was more a meat and potatoes person than a fish person. That was just dandy with me. Nora always climbed the stairs carrying the trays adorned with perfectly cooked lamb, roast potatoes, parsnips (which Kate loved and, as it turned out, I never had except from her kitchen). String beans were often on the menu, as were beets, lima beans, a green salad and Katie’s favorite dessert of ice cream – chocolate and coffee topped off with her favorite brownies and Nora’s lace cookies. I still have the brownie recipe. And I will NOT share it.
These dinners were very reminiscent of the dinners Katie cooked for Spence. She might always have been, but she certainly became, a first rate and inventive cook for Spence. And when I had a meal with them, it was always meticulously and carefully served by herself. Her sole aim was to please him, which she unfailingly did. The main difference in evenings with Kate after Spence died was that we always had a drink before dinner. Katie had her scotch whisky, I had either vodka or Jack Daniel’s. I had hardly ever seen Kat
ie take any alcohol before that time, only very occasionally in Africa during African Queen and then only rarely. She knew that both Bogie and John Huston enjoyed their drinks. She didn’t want to encourage them but she did like to join in from time to time.
There was always an element of unpredictability and surprise about Kate. Looking back at those times – all of them – I realize that. I was privy to the sight of Kate, the woman. Not strident, still opinionated, but always willing to listen to John and Bogie. Knowing, of course, that they both adored her. Watching her sitting on the floor pouring coffee for Spencer, listening – no, hanging on – to his every word, looking up at him with total adoration. She was a woman in love, blindingly, unquestionably in love. Spence, on his part, was always sweet with her, affectionate, though not overly demonstrative. But there was no doubt in my mind, or anyone else’s who saw them together, that they were totally committed to one another and that they were totally balanced and belonged together. I spent a great deal of time with them after Bogie died. Somehow, don’t ask me how, I always felt Bogie was the invisible fourth. The vision of him always came up in conversation. Katie and Spence were that rarity – two actors who genuinely felt so close to one another – respect and love – plus non-stop laughter.
Until the day she died, I never thought of Kate without thinking of Spence and Bogie. After all, our friendship really began and solidified during the making of African Queen in 1951. To think that Kate’s and my friendship endured for more than fifty years is some kind of record. And it created a special bond between us – me without Bogie, followed by her without Spence. Those years of memories of four of us – then three of us – then two of us. Now only one.
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