by James Spada
To make the journey as easy as possible, she and Kath flew first to New York, where they stayed overnight before flying on to Paris on September 14. Bette, tranquilized by painkillers, slept through most of the eight-hour flight. When she and Kath arrived in Spain, Bette needed three days of rest before she could venture out to meet the public.
Her first appearance was at a press conference. She faced many of the usual banal questions with aplomb, but she was also forced to deny that she was terminally ill; she spoke of further European travel plans and upcoming movie projects. But she seemed to offer a veiled hint of her true condition when she said that “time is getting short and I’m glad [the festival organizers] invited me when they did, otherwise I might never have been around to come.”
The rain poured down steadily all day on September 22, and Bette was concerned that the weather would keep fans away from San Sebastián’s Victoria Eugenia Theatre, where she was to be presented that evening with the Donostia Award. Kath wasn’t sure Bette would be able to make it to the ceremony. She was sluggish and in awful pain; her heart didn’t seem to be in this. After Kath had helped her into a dark beaded gown and bejeweled black hat and assisted her into the limousine, Bette slumped deep into the back seat and closed her eyes.
As the car made its way through the streets of San Sebastian, Bette looked wearily out the window. She saw people standing along the edges of the street, peering at her through the windows and waving. The closer the car got to the theater, the thicker the crowds became. “I was in disbelief,” Bette recalled. “There were hundreds of people waiting in the rain to see me. The crowds went for blocks on all sides of the street. Even the plaza square was filled with people. I was overwhelmed.”
Infused with a rush of adrenaline that filled her with energy, Bette asked the chauffeur to stop the car short of the theater. She struggled out and shook hands with the people who rushed up to the car, working the crowd like a politician. “Pouring rain be damned,” she felt. “If they could take it, so could I.”
Kath was astounded by Bette’s renewed vigor, which was buttressed by the thunderous ovation she received when she walked out on the theater stage, grandly puffed a cigarette, and called out, “Muchas gracias!” to the ecstatic throng. Her voice cracking, her eyes moist, she drank in this wave of affection and respect as though it were lifeblood. And as Kath watched her out on that stage, more alive than she had been for months, she realized how essential this acclaim was for Bette. But when she was helped down from the stage, Bette all but collapsed and had to cancel her appearance at a lavish dinner later that evening. Over the next week, she attended a few functions for local dignitaries, but her energy level had dropped alarmingly and she soon fell ill with flulike symptoms.
The hotel rushed a doctor to Bette’s side, but the man seemed muddled about how to help her. Deeply worried, Kath called New York and spoke to Harold Schiff, who advised her to fly Bette to the American Hospital in Paris, the home of some of the world’s preeminent cancer specialists.
On October 3, as a Learjet ambulance plane waited to take her to France, Bette insisted to Kath that she wanted to look “impeccably dressed and groomed.” When the airplane’s crew saw her they were surprised; according to Kath, “they were expecting someone in far worse condition.” She refused a stretcher, and was talkative and alert during the flight.
At the hospital, tests showed that Bette’s recent radiation treatment had failed; her body now was riddled with cancer. The doctors told a frightened Kath that Bette was much too ill to return to the United States, and that there was little they could do for her except to give her morphine injections to dull the pain. Unsaid, but clear, was that Bette would not survive for long.
Even with her body full of morphine, Bette remained awake and alert. Michael called and told her he was coming to Paris, but she asked him not to, insisting that she was going to be fine and would see him in New York when she flew back to the States. Over the next days, she talked at length with Kath, who remained by her side day and night and held her hand. “We spoke about life,” Kath recalled, “the unbelievable situation we were in, the years we had spent together, and all the great fun we’ve had.” Bette spoke of Ruthie and Bobby, of her fondness for Harold Schiff and her love for Michael and his family. She never mentioned B.D.
On Friday, October 6, Bette felt particularly weak, and she asked the nurses to leave her and Kath alone. They spoke further, Bette’s words sometimes barely audible. When a doctor came by to look in on Bette, Kath recalled, “she actually apologized for having been a burden to him, for arriving so ill and then dying in his hospital. It took all her energy to say the things she so badly wanted to say.”
The Paris day had been crisp and clear, but toward evening dark clouds began to gather in the sky, threatening rain. When Kath told Bette this, she smiled and said that she and Ruthie had long felt that rain brought them luck; it had always seemed as though the big professional breaks that set Bette on the road to stardom came while it was pouring outside. By 11 P.M., a steady rain splashed against the windows of her room, and she seemed to take on a preternatural calm. Kath sat on her bed and held her wasted hand as they said a few quiet words to each other. Moments later, with the sound of the rain in her ears, Bette passed away.
EPILOGUE
T
he death of Bette Davis made front-page news around the world, and millions mourned not only her passing but the close of yet another chapter of the Golden Age of Hollywood. Some of Bette’s friends expressed the view that she should never have made the wearying trip to attend the San Sebastián festival. Robert Wagner disagreed. “Why shouldn’t she have gone? She could have very easily stayed in her apartment and died looking out the window at Hollywood and wondering what might have been. But she was thrilled with that last hurrah. And she sure as hell deserved it.”
In Paris, Kath made arrangements for the body to be flown back to Los Angeles for burial. Although shaken by the death of the woman who had come to mean so much to her, Kath was able—with counsel by phone from Michael and Harold Schiff—to deal with the hospital, the American embassy, the mortuary, the airline, and the press and to make the kinds of decisions she felt would have pleased Bette.
She arrived with the body at Los Angeles International Airport on October 11. She had chosen, she said, “the most elegant casket in Paris. Its title was appropriate, ‘The Empress.’” Inside its mahogany and gold-leafed panels Bette lay dressed in “a black evening gown similar to the one she wore at the Lincoln Center gala in April,” Kath recalled. “I want you to know she was beautiful, her face serene and at peace.”
Bette’s funeral was held in the chapel of Forest Lawn Memorial Park at 11 o’clock in the morning on October 12, 1989. The air was redolent with the scent of the white roses and gardenias that blanketed the casket; the service—as Bette had preferred—was private and brief. Among those in attendance were Kath, Michael and Chou Chou Merrill, Robin Brown, Ruth Bailey, and Harold Schiff. Notably absent were B.D. and her family.
Following the service, Bette was interred alongside Bobby and Ruthie in the striking Davis family mausoleum atop one of Forest Lawn’s most prominent hills. Visitors to Bette’s grave can see the Warner Brothers studios down the hill on one side and Riverbottom, the home Bette shared with Arthur Farnsworth, on the other.
Etched across Bette’s crypt was the epitaph she always said she wanted: “She did it the hard way.” And seemingly standing sentry over all is a graceful six-foot statue of a young woman, placed there by Bette years before. She always fancied that the sculpture bore a resemblance to B.D.
On November 2, the Hollywood community gathered for a touchingly elaborate memorial service for Bette on soundstage eighteen of the Warner lot, where she had filmed scenes for The Letter, Now, Voyager, A Stolen Life, and other films. Three hundred and fifty guests paid tribute to Bette, including Clint Eastwood, Ann-Margret, Glenn Ford, Vincent Sherman, Lionel Stander, Vincent Price, Janis Paige, and Robert Wagner
.
The emcee of the event, David Hartman, opened the ceremonies as though he were speaking to Bette. “We’re here,” he said, “to celebrate how you matter to us, and recall the work that gave you such sweet joy and such dignity, not to mention so many damn awards.” After a screening of clips from Bette’s movies, Angela Lansbury told the audience that they had just witnessed a sampling of “an extraordinary legacy of acting in the twentieth century by a real master of the craft” and added that Bette’s film performances provided “encouragement and illustration to future generations of aspiring actors.”
James Woods, who had befriended Bette when he played a supporting role in The Disappearance of Aimee, said, “Miss Davis wrote poetry on the screen like Yeats might write.” She was one of those rare actors, he went on, “who not only approach the horizon but go beyond it.… What kind of courage does it take to open one’s soul so deeply?” He ended his remarks on a wry note: “Up in heaven they’re saying, ‘Fasten your seat belts. It’s going to be a bumpy eternity.’”
The service concluded, amid many moist eyes, with Bette’s recorded version of “I Wish You Love” as each guest was handed a single white rose. “As the song ended,” Kath Sermak recalled, “Robert Wagner got up and turned on a work light, which is how a film set is left at the end of a day’s filming.”
As Don Ovens was leaving the service, he asked Michael Merrill about Gary, who he had heard was ill. “He’s dying, Don,” Mike replied. “I’m losing my whole family to cancer. Aunt Bobby, Mom, and now Dad.” Five months later, Gary Merrill died in Maine.
Six weeks after Bette’s death, the provisions of her will were made public. Her estate was estimated to be worth nearly $1 million, most of it the value of her Colonial House condominium, appraised at $700,000. The rest comprised $41,000 in personal property, and nearly $250,000 in savings and investments. Bette left all her jewelry to Kath Sermak, along with “all checkbooks, recipes, my gold charm bracelet, the desk in my bedroom, two place settings of Bette Davis flatware [and] the furniture in her former room at Colonial House.”
The remainder of the flatware went to Michael, and all her clothing to his wife Chou Chou. To her friend Robin Brown, Bette left two paintings (one a portrait of herself) and a “pearl and sapphire watch.” Her niece Ruth Bailey was willed six silver condiment holders because “it was a gift from her mother to me.” The remainder of the estate was divided evenly between Michael and Kath. No provisions were made for Margot, as Bette had turned the responsibility for her care over to Gary years earlier. He had set up a trust fund for his daughter that is now overseen by Michael.
Most of the press attention surrounding Bette’s will, of course, centered on just one proviso: “I declare that I have intentionally and with full knowledge omitted to provide herein for my daughter, Barbara, and/or my grandsons, Ashley Hyman and Justin Hyman.”
Anyone who expected B.D. to feel sorrow or remorse at Bette’s death knew disappointment. Within a few days of her mother’s passing, she gave an interview to Connie Chung. “I won’t shed a single tear,” she said. “Her death was only a technicality—she died for me years ago.”
During a 1981 interview, David Hartman asked Bette, “How would you like to be remembered?” She replied, “I think I would like to be missed and respected by my children always. I think that would mean the most to me, although I’ll never know. They will probably say, ‘Thank God she’s gone!’”
As far as B.D. was concerned, Bette was prescient. But Michael fulfilled his mother’s wish. At the end of an edition of Bette’s autobiography updated by Kath Sermak in 1990, Michael (just as Bette had written to Ruthie at the close of the first edition of the book in 1962) wrote his mother a letter that expressed his love and admiration for her:
Dear Mother,
As I write this letter it seems as if you are still here to talk to me, help me and guide me through life. But you are not, and I miss you terribly. You will always be with me. My life was shaped by you. You were tough yet fair, honest, a perfectionist. Your desire to excel in your profession was unmatched. At home we had our difficult moments—what family doesn’t? But the warm and loving times are those that stand out in my memory. You always wanted me to be the best and you always wanted the best for me. Thank you for everything. My love forever.
Michael
Had she read her son’s note, Bette would surely have cried tears of joy as much as she cried tears of bitterness over B.D.’s treachery. And, as important as her work and her art were to her throughout her life, she would be gladdened too by the fact that, like Michael, her fans miss and respect her despite the fact that she was less than a perfect human being.
NOTES ON SOURCES
T
he primary source material for this book has been the over one hundred and fifty interviews with Bette Davis’s friends, family, coworkers, and acquaintances conducted between 1989 and 1992. I am deeply grateful to these fine people for spending the time to share their memories of Bette with me, and I will be forever impressed with the deep affection and regard in which they hold her—even when they had less than flattering things to say. Most of the individuals listed below are quoted in the text; those who are not nonetheless added much to my understanding of Bette, her world, and her times. Each name is followed by the date of the interview:
Ruth Allen (October 2, 1991), Lindsay Anderson (November 12, 1991), Richard Anderson (January 8, 1990), Bart Andrews (July 11, 1991), George and Carol Andros (October 6, 1991), Ruth Bailey (April 13, 1991), Phil Ball (May 16, 1990), Lynn Barrington (November 26, 1991), Al and Mary Beardsley (October 2, 1991), Dr. Stanley Behrman (July 13, 1991), Bunny Bell (October 2, 1991), Phil Berle (July 30, 1992), Robert Bernstein (November 18, 1991), Jim and Cathy Black (October 12, 1991), Walter Blake (January 16, 1992), Julian Blaustein (February 28, 1990), Florence Brooks-Dunay (April 27, 1990), Diana Brown (October 5, 1991), Douglas Brown (October 5, 1991), Perry Bruskin (December 5, 1991), Chuck Bullock (October 5, 1991), Sammy Cahn (March 9, 1990), Jorge Camara (May 2, 1991), Colleen Camp (July 1, 1991), William Campbell (May 4, 1990), Robert and Jane Carey (October 6, 1991), Elizabeth Carmichael (January 22, 1990), Connie Cezon (July 24, 1991), Larry Cohen (March 23, 1991), Gary Collins (April 24, 1990), Gary Conway (August 3, 1990), Frank Corsaro (May 26, 1990), Norman Corwin (May 29, 1990), Judith Crist (November 27, 1990).
Jules Dassin (June 9, 1990), Bill Doty (December 17, 1990), Milton Ebbins (November 3, 1989), Mike Ellis (April 17, 1992), Julius Epstein (May 2, 1991), Nanette Fabray (January 4, 1990), Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. (May 18, 1990), Georgie Farwell (November 24, 1989), Sally Favour (May 15, 1991), Rudy Fehr (July 5, 1990), Jon Finch (May 5, 1990), Charles Forsyth (January 20, 1992), Barbara Merrill Foster (December 16, 1991), Anne Francine (January 24, 1992), Harry Friedman (June 8, 1990), Stanley and Frances Frystak (October 3, 1991), John Gay (September 10, 1990), Madeline Gaylor (April 17, 1991), Bruce Glover (May 24, 1990), Vik Greenfield (July 22, 1992), Yetta Grossman (July 28, 1992).
Josie Hamm (October 10, 1991), Anthony Harvey (August 23, 1990), Helen Hayes (March 14, 1990), Bob Hendricks (April 15, 1991), Bob Henzler (April 30, 1991), Roberta Herzogg (October 6, 1991), Gordon Hessler (August 30, 1990), John B. Holt (April 18, 1991), Barbara Huebner (October 2, 1991), Kim Hunter (January 27, 1990), Janet Hutchinson (January 29, 1990), Tom Irish (May 7, 1991), Lucy Jarvis (December 31, 1991), Lynn-Holly Johnson (May 13, 1991), Ellie Jordan (July 1, 1991), Bob Jurgenson (November 9, 1990), Tom Kane (July 18, 1990), Andrea Keeler (October 6, 1991), David and Nancy Keeler (October 3, 1991), Bertha Kelly (July 8, 1991), DeForrest Kelly (January 12, 1990).
Hope Lange (September 18, 1992), Robert Lantz (November 29, 1990), Anna Lee (May 6, 1990), Nancy Lohman (October 6, 1991), Rudy Lowe (March 9, 1992), Betty Lynn (December 5, 1991), Karl Malden (June 1, 1992), Charles Mapes (October 5, 1991), Eleanor Coffin Marks (April 17, 1991), Dick Mason (July 30, 1992), Doug McClure (July 17, 1990), Jerry Merrill (June 9, 1991), Buzz Miller (April 3, 1992), Lee Montgomery (August 19,
1990), Charles Moses (July 2, 1991), May Muth (April 2, 1992), Thomas Noguchi (September 7, 1992), Patrick O’Neal (January 25, 1991), Fred Otash (July 25, 1991), Don Ovens (May 30, 1990), Janis Paige (January 4, 1990), Betsy Paul (June 24, 1991), Dr. Karl Petersen (October 7, 1991), James and Doris Pitcher (October 9, 1991, and September 26, 1992), Gregory Poe (February 19, 1992), Paul Poehler (November 27, 1991), John Poer (July 18, 1990), Vincent Price (March 12, 1991), Dr. Ivin Prince (December 1, 1990).
Ronald Reagan (November 14, 1990), Milton Repsher (December 27, 1991), Gladys Reuben (March 9, 1990), Barbara Rhodes (May 30, 1990), Florence Melanson Rogers (April 15, 1991), R. G. Rohrbach (October 7, 1991), Reva Rose (March 26, 1990), Bill Ross (December 17, 1991), George Ryan, Jr. (October 5, 1991), Mrs. George Ryan, Sr. (October 5, 1991), Janella Ryan (October 5, 1991), Leslie Santos (October 5, 1991), George Schaefer (April 23, 1990), Natalie Schafer (January 17, 1990), Bob Schiffer (July 9, 1990), Leonard Shannon (June 25, 1991), Ron Sharon (October 6, 1991), John Shea (July 17, 1991), Vincent Sherman (April 9, 1992), Marion Sherry (February 15, 1991).
William Grant Sherry (March 19, 1990), Anne Shirley (December 12, 1989), Dawn Langley Simmons (January 11, 1990), Herb Snitzer (December 6, 1990), Alix Snow (October 11, 1991), Burt Solomon (January 9, 1990), Ann Sothern (June 20, 1990), Jenny Sprague (December 6, 1991), Robert Stack (April 1, 1991), Lionel Stander (June 3, 1991), Warren Stevens (May 18, 1990), James Stewart (April 30, 1991), Ray Stricklyn (May 24, 1990), Barry Sullivan (June 2, 1991), “Doc” Sullivan (October 5, 1991).
E. J. Tangerman (November 27, 1989), Doris Taplinger (September 20, 1991), Daniel Taradash (February 7, 1990), Richard Tate (July 24, 1991), Steve Tramz (August 3, 1990), Doug Troland (January 7, 1992), Sir Peter Ustinov (May 8, 1991), Joan Van Ark (May 24, 1990), Mary Beth Voda (October 6, 1991), Robert Wagner (January 23, 1992), Mary Wickes (February 22, 1990), Meta Carpenter Wilde (June 4, 1992), Gladys Young (October 10, 1991).