An Afternoon with Debbie Reynolds, A Month of Sundays with Mary Tyler Moore

Two bright lights of our entertainment heavens, Debbie Reynolds and Marry Tyler Moore left us recently. They both had charm, beauty and a perky sparkle of personality that shone like the true stars they were.

An Afternoon with Debbie Reynolds

I was a student at Lincoln High School in Des Moines, Iowa when I spent an afternoon with Miss Reynolds who was still a teenager herself. Someone at MGM thought she should go on a press tour to promote one of her first major films made with actor Carlton Carpenter, now 90, called “Two Weeks with Love”. The wrinkle was the press conferences were with high school newspaper writers and photographers. I was taking a journalism class and occasionally wrote for our school paper the “Rail-splitter.” On the appointed afternoon a carload of us were driven to the stately Kirkwood Hotel and rode up the elevator to the top floor and a suite. I had never been in a hotel suite. There was a large room with flowers, windows with views of the city, and a coffee table that held tubs of chilled bottles of Coca Cola and large bowls of Potato Chips for refreshments.

High school journalists and photographers from the four other high schools began arriving as we waited for Miss Reynolds. Across the room were two double doors which I presumed went to the bedroom or another part of the suite. Was there a back entrance to the accommodations? We were all facing a large sofa on the other side of the coffee table as we sipped our cokes and tried not to make noise crunching potato chips until the double doors opened and a press representative from the studio said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss Debbie Reynolds.”

I seem to recall a collective gulp as a beautiful, young, five foot two, California tan girl emerged from the other room smiling it seemed at each one of us. She wore a light blue dress and matching pumps as she walked to the upholstered arm rest on the sofa and sat down, crossing her legs choosing to dangle part of a shoe off the end of her foot. An assistant handed her a coke and the boys, anyway, grabbed their pencils in hopes of writing some answers to questions they and the girls had trouble framing. When she asked “What do you do for fun in Des Moines” there was a round of awkward laughter that broke the ice and from then on our group relaxed.

The press conference was a smart idea. All over the city the next edition of the school papers had stories and pictures about Debbie Reynolds new movie, the one that had the song “Abba Dabba Honeymoon” It became a big hit. Her next film was her breakthrough “That’s Entertainment.” Little did I know I was in the presence of someone who was destined to be one of our country’s great entertainers who continued in her craft nearly up to the end, truly she was “The Unsinkable Molly Brown.”

A Month of Sundays with Mary Tyler Moore

The Betty Ford Center opened in Rancho Mirage California sometime in October of 1982.

Their treatment program was based on the model of the Long Beach Naval Hospital and Hazelton in Minnesota using the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous as part of the spiritual path to recovery.

Frs Andrew and Barnabas helped arrange a Betty Ford Day

 at the 1985 General Convention in Anaheim California. 

Both did volunteer ministry at the Betty Ford Center in the 1980s and 90s

. 

One of the directors at BFC, in fact the second person hired, was the Rev. Vernon Suter an Episcopal Priest. From the beginning they established a Sunday morning chapel service roughly based on morning prayer but significantly adapted to meet the needs of people of any or no faith. The first Clergy in 1982 to lead the program was a recovering Lutheran Pastor and the second person as me. I began when the Lutheran retired in 1984.

In those days a lot happened in the central administration building from admissions to lectures. Betty Ford had a small office off the main entrance accessible to patients from which she would walk to give her lectures and talks. We had a close knit sense of community. On the grounds there were three well designed resident building. In the center of each was a sunken living room where the counsellor gave talks. There were no private rooms at BFC. Our chapel, if one could call it that, was a circle of chairs in one of the rooms in the main building. We used printed leaflets for the service guide. No singing. Alcoholics weren’t ready for that. The program was more spiritual that religious.

I knew there was the probability of well-known people showing up. The Betty Ford Center had a strict rule of confidentiality in place. That’s what Anonymous means. It was only if the individual made a public statement about being present at the center could we acknowledge his or her presence. Several celebrities had come and gone. The of people there were alcoholics like me seeking sobriety and recovery.

One Sunday morning I was setting up the chairs and putting out the service leaflets as worshippers arrived when I saw a woman I recognized walking through the doors. She was wearing a white blouse, tan slacks, loafers, and a sweater around her shoulders. It felt like my jaw dropped. It was her. Had to be. Mary Tyler Moore. Like all newcomers, life was a bit strange and out of kilter for her. Others in the circle tried to be at ease. It was late fall, I think, and very chilly for the Coachella Valley.

I made some comment about how cold it was in the desert, and I hoped everyone had a coat of some kind. Truthfully it was about fifty degrees. There was a chuckle or two. Mary snorted and said something like “You people don’t know what cold is. I’m from New York where it is really cold. Let me tell you about cold.” The other easterners chimed in and the game was afoot. No pun intended but my comment about cold weather broke the ice.

Here is what Miss Moore wrote about how she felt in her own words years later: “Inside I was scared. I knew I’d gone over an edge, some edge, and I didn’t know what to grab for steadiness. I couldn’t, wouldn’t stop,” she wrote. That recognition, though, ignited light at the end of the tunnel. “Some part of my brain functioned well enough, however, to get me to the Betty Ford Center, where in 1984, over a period of five weeks, I grew up some,” she penned.

A person who has a successful four-week recovery experience undergoes a major transformation and the changes I witnessed over and over were nothing short of miraculous. Tears give way to smiles and joy, anger and resentments take flight replaced by hope for a better tomorrow. I suspect that’s the way it was in the first century church before Constantine brought us out of the catacombs and into the Basilicas

A writer in a Washington Post article following her death wrote, “Mary Tyler Moore grew to deeply admire Betty Ford, the former first lady and founder of the clinic where Moore — and several years later, her mother — finally found sobriety. Moore felt she could “be her sister.”

In one of her books MTM said, “You see, at that time (and less so today) many women felt that being a female alcoholic was a disgrace, the lowest of the low, and that an intelligent, well-read, dignified woman couldn’t possibly be a drunk,” Moore stated, But Ford “was, first and foremost, a lady (kind, well-mannered, gracious), anything but the commonly held image of an alcoholic woman.”

We all grew to admire and love Betty Ford whether worshipping with her at St. Margaret’s Church in Palm Desert or hearing a lecture from her at BFC or strolling the grounds at the Center. What a blessed person I’ve been to walk and work among the lights. Thanks Debbie, Mary and Betty. Thanks be to God for all your blessings.

The Rev Canon Andrew Rank SSP

And for those who are alone

That’s part of the Prayers of the People that the Intercessor bids us remember as we observe ourselves as community and pray for everyone in it.

We then leave it to God to take care of “those who are alone”, our duty done by mentioning them in the morning’s prayers, giving rise to our satisfaction that we have consigned ‘those who are alone’ to God’s care. Nothing more that we have to do.

Oh, but there is. Many of us live alone either by choice or by chance, but alone we are. When we gather on Sunday morning with our fellow parishioners, we seem less alone, and for the time it takes for the service and coffee afterwards, we aren’t. We therefore add to the prevailing notion that God is doing God’s job in taking care of us ‘who are alone’, leaving everyone else to go about their lives without a second thought about us ‘who are alone.”

Friday nights and Saturday nights are another thing entirely for ‘those who are alone.’ I wondered today how many of us phoned up Deedra Hardman, who lived alone, to see if she might want to come over for supper or take in a film or go out to a concert. I didn’t, and perhaps that was part of my feelings of grief as I sat there at her funeral, more than conscious of the lost opportunities that I took for granted and put off. The Cathedral nave was filled with friends there to mourn her death and to celebrate her life among us, but how alone was she?

Then a look around the Nave as I got into the pulpit to read. Many of us count among ‘those who are alone,’ and a different sadness swept over me as I regained my seat. Not time for an exact count, but quite a number of us ‘who are alone” who would leave the service and reception to follow and return to aloneness.

I don’t mean this writing to be a diatribe nor a lament per se, but instead, a reminder that we are God’s hands in this life and those hands are meant to do God’s work. While we pray for ‘those who are alone’ and hope for their security and health, we can do a great deal toward their happiness. Phone up someone who lives alone and ask him or her over for a hamburger sometime. If you don’t phone (so old-fashioned, huh?), then maybe a text message or an email to invite one of ‘those who are alone’ out for a drink or a movie. In short, let’s be in touch, and not wait around to show our regard for our friends who are alone until we gather to watch their ashes being carried up the Cathedral’s central aisle.

Robert Heylmun

Being Found: Homily at the Celebratory Memorial of Drusilla Campbell

Like many of you I followed her blogs that she so bravely wrote even after her diagnosis sharing her reflections on life and death…with candor and humor... Here’s one of my favorites…

I like to think that Art and I have had as-close-as-it-comes ---to a Perfect Marriage. But that’s not quite true. There are three things I can think of that made it less-than-perfect. First, the clothes. I have not seen my husband in a good-looking suit since the late 1970s— and it wasn’t a very nice suit then. Since that time, when Anglos insist on wearing suits for formal occasions, he wears his kilts. And although he looks like Sean Connery in the Highlands, I’d like him to look a little more James Bond…

You’ll need to visit her blog for the other two.

But of course it wasn’t just in her writing that she lived fully, Dru lived her whole life to its that way, ever pursuing new experiences, new adventures, seeking new and deeper truths…she indeed had a wanderlust for life. I think it’s very fitting that we are celebrating Dru so close to Thanksgiving as well…the national holiday when we surround ourselves with our ‘kin’ – Dru’s word for her family and friends ….Dru recorded her thanksgivings years ago which Art discovered and posted posthumously…

For you my dearest ones in the world, those with whom I hope to spend many more lifetimes, I want you to know what I am most grateful for at this moment, now, as I sit writing this with tears streaming down my face. That way, when I am dying you will know that I have loved my life and learned from it.

I am grateful

… — That I got to have a marriage to my soul mate.

— That I had a family I loved with all my heart. That I had the joy of raising children and that we stayed friends through thick and thicker. That our family had pets and music and trips and mess and jokes and screaming in ears. That we did more things right together than wrong.

— That I had a brother and sister and we were great friends as well as siblings. That Kip and I shared the love of plants and dogs and together could remember things like the house on College Avenue and those interminable driving trips to Canada. That Margaret was with me when the boys were little. That she could make me laugh like no one else and only she really understood that I could love our mother and be driven crazy by her.

— That I had a mother and father who, for all their failings, had a great many strengths. They loved me and from both of them I received wonderful gifts.

— That I had friends I really loved who loved me back, friends with whom I shared the blood of my feelings and who shared in return.

— That I had the inexpressible joy of work I loved and that I never gave up on it even when wiser souls might have.

— That I got to teach, children and adults. My students helped me stand up straight.

— That I stopped drinking and doing drugs in 1983 and was introduced to the Twelve Steps beginning with that most difficult of all: “We are powerless over drugs and alcohol”… and everything else.

Be watching for me in a garden somewhere. Listen for my voice on the wind. I will never leave you.

Our Gospel this morning spoke of the Good Shepherd as the metaphor for God – the Good Shepherd of God in Christ who also, will never leave us…the Good Shepherd who cares for her flock, who looks out for the strays, and those on the outside, the Good Shepherd who leads us to green pastures and along still waters…and who will ultimately lay down her life for us…

In many ways, Dru lived her life as a good shepherd.

As we have heard, she loved her children and her family intensely, Art shared with me the story about how it seemed she was going to take over the school board in order to make sure her kids got the best education possible– the Good Shepherd protects those she loves

She wasn’t just a teacher but was a mentor to writing students, she showed them tough love as she helped them hone their craft and tell their stories in ways they never thought possible – the Good Shepherd challenges us to imagine more

Like her characters in her novels, she had a heart for those on the outside of society, for those that we try to pigeon hole and categorize and cross off…she looked for the inner soul of all she met – the Good Shepherd knows that we are each, are marvelously made

Even in my case, though I had known Dru and Art for years, I was by no means a close friend, but that didn’t stop her from taking me under her wing. I’ll never forget the time as Joe and I were sitting on the runway about to embark on our honeymoon, Dru messaged us, “now if you find yourself arguing on your honeymoon, don’t panic, it’s perfectly normal.”

But even Dru who spent so much time looking out for the rest of us, had her own moments of feeling lost. The title of her last novel In Doubt, was very much Dru’s state of mind when she and I began our conversations about faith…she was facing death and despite her lifelong wanderlust for spiritual truth– she and God weren’t on speaking terms at the moment …

As with many of us, she had long since outgrown the faith of her childhood – the straightforward God as she put it. As we struggled for words to describe something that is inherently beyond them, we found common ground in the language of relationship –I noticed how our conversations about faith kept drifting to her relationships with her family and her beloved husband and so that became the hook we were looking for; a tether that might lead her back to the faith she was longing for. Dru understood that like relationships, there is no light switch for faith; relationships can’t be turned on when needed, that like her garden, they too needed to be fed, to be nurtured and watered, and shown patience …and when we do, our relationships teach us to get outside our ego, to let go of some of our willfulness…they teach us to trust… She knew too that relationships must endure arguments, sometimes fights, even long periods of estrangement or neglect, and so our dialog about rekindling faith became about restarting a conversation with God. After all, all relationships begin with conversation. We decided that be her homework for the days ahead.

As a seminary student, I realized Dru was also teaching me a truth that I had studied but not fully appreciated -- and that was, at some point along the way, the church got things reversed. Somewhere in the institutionalization of the Gospel, we started to put belief before belonging, doctrine above relationship. But that was never the model of the Good Shepherd. Jesus began the conversation with his disciples by asking them to follow him, to be his companions, his friends on the journey, and to eat with him...as we are about to do through the Eucharist. Belief flowed from that relationship…sometimes. As our beloved St. Thomas taught us, faith can walk alongside doubt; our faith need not be a perfect one.

As I was coming to this intellectual conclusion, Dru was experiencing it as she was wrapped by the love of the beloved community. In those last days as she saw the face of the Good Shepherd answering her call in the form her kin -- something was slowly rekindling. I am reminded of the words of one of Dru’s favorite hymns which we will sing in a few minutes – I once was lost, but now I am found. Those famous words describe the process that most of us will live out over and over again throughout our lives. At its best, our faith is a living breathing conversation. We will have moments of doubts, even years, we will have arguments, periods of estrangement and exasperation, even boredom… Perhaps that describes your faith this very moment. Well, as Dru once said to me, have no fear, don’t panic– it’s perfectly normal!

The Good Shepherd will find us -- one way or another.

During out last visit, just days before she died, as I was saying goodbye and she was drifting off to sleep, my last words to her were to ask, "by the way, how’s that conversation with God going?” Her eyes flashed open, she leaned forward turned to me with a broad smile, and said, “very, very well.”

Dru lamented not having the time to time to write her best novel, but I think most of us would agree, her best novel was the one she inscribed on our hearts; The one whose final chapter she’s left for us to write…may we all never give up our wanderlust for life, for each other, and for God. May we always stay in the conversation…and be found.

Be watching for me in a garden somewhere.

Listen for my voice on the wind…I will never leave you.

The words of the Good Shepherd…and of our good shepherd, the Queen of Joy, Drusilla Campbell. 


Canon Chris Harris

Remembering 9/11

Dear Friends in Christ,

 

If you have been attending to the media this week then you know that our country is working hard to make sense of 9/11. We are remembering, reflecting, and once again sharing our feelings about that horrific crime as well as the decisions and events of the decade that followed. This Sunday at Saint Paul's we will be doing something just a bit different, i.e., praying our way through that trauma and wondering together what it is that God is doing in our midst even now. What others intended for evil God intends for good - that is a line from the first lesson this Sunday and a central tenet for all baptized believers. We are resurrection people who trust that God can take the worst situation (betrayal, torture, and crucifixion, for instance) and turn it in a way that is life giving.

At the core of our proclamation is the call to forgiveness - you will hear that call strongly enunciated in all of the readings appointed this week. The morning liturgy will honor the departed, pray for all affected, and call us to a deeper commitment to being agents of reconciliation in the world. The forum will be given over to a more detailed parsing of our shared concerns. Evensong will feature a homily by Bishop Mathes and Faure's entire requiem. The yin/yang rhythm of grief and hope will influence all of these offerings. I sincerely hope that you will be able to join us for some or all of this as we present ourselves again to God as prisoners of hope.

Peace be with you, 

 

(The Very Rev.) Scott E. Richardson

(Image of St Paul's Chapel on 9/11/01, from Trinity Wall Street).