Becoming annoyed with Cash in the Attic because the geegaw auction is proving unintellectual, I peruse the Guide and find
oh yes, it’s true
The Blue Dahlia is on TCM. It’s a fine morning visit with Veronica Lake. Mother never liked Alan Ladd. She had the oddest reasons for her approval. Hated Sinatra (he was a thug, Daddy said he had “small man syndrome”), thought Alan Ladd was a “pansy” (this from a woman born in 1917- to Mom, “feminine” men were not gay – they just weren’t rough and tumble John Wayne-ish characters), and Spencer Tracy was a gentleman, despite his affairs of the heart.
She absolutely adored Jimmy Stewart and Danny Kaye. In the early 1950s (pre-me), she and Daddy ran into Kaye in the O’Hare airport. He was gracious, kind, and even spoke with Ann. Mom said he had the largest hands, but he was so gentle when he shook Ann’s hand.
Rambling on to chance meetings – a few years later, some other airport – my parents fielded me, brother John, and Ann through waiting area. Story goes – Richard Nixon was there. Shook my hand.
Airports just ain’t what they used to be. There’s a whole series of posts waiting in the back of my mind about airports, my brother and Daddy, and how it was, then. Airports were like train stations. Romantic. Now they’re just annoying.