On a Sunday night, April 13, 1975, an eager audience of over two thousand people was jammed to the rafters in New York City's Town Hall Theater. They came for a one-night-only retrospective of Lana turner's film career billed as “A Tribute to Lana Turner, In Person and on the Screen.” After nearly two hours of film clips, the famous car scene from The Bad and the Beautiful was screened. Lana's screen sobs echoed through the packed hall, and following the spine-tingling scene, saved purposely as the last and final icing on the cake of Lana's career look-back, the giant movie screen went blank. The audience exploded in generous applause for the classic excerpts they had just seen.
The stage was empty now, save for a spotlight focused on its rear left corner. The applause had begun to wane for a minute, but was instantly energized when, into the white spotlight, a delicate female hand with perfectly manicured pink nails appeared, lingered, then seemingly swept the heavy curtain dramatically aside. In actuality, it was a hidden stagehand doing the work, but the effect was powerful. The living, breathing Lana Turner stepped into the blinding glare of the spotlight; a roar of approval swelled within the packed hall, and in unison, the audience rose to give her the longest, most gratifying standing ovation of her lifetime.
Lana stepped forward haltingly, overwhelmed by the response she was receiving, delicately making her way toward them, her adoring public, stopping now and again to look up into the balcony and acknowledge those in the cheap seats, as they are called. Her right hand came up to her breasts and lingered as she smiled regally, bowing her head in humble acceptance of their love and affection. In truth, she was simply overwhelmed by their enthusiasm. Not in her wildest dreams had she expected such an event.
Despite all that had been written about her over the years, and the image of her created by lurid headlines and the chronicling of her multiple marriages, notorious love affairs, and world renowned scandals, including the murder of her mobster boyfriend by her then fourteen year old daughter, Cheryl Crane, the private Lana Turner, whom only a handful of people ever knew, was actually a shy, girlish individual who never got over her innate insecurities and terror of large crowds.
Lana stood bathed in that stark, harsh spotlight, feeling waves upon wanes of adulation and approval flowing over her. The cheers, the shouts, the whistles, the clapping, the sheer exaltation went on as though it would never stop. Lana stood before them as a goddess, clothed in a designer gown of white, floor-length satin that accentuated her still-perfect figure. Over the gown she wore a matching white satin jacket with long, loose sleeves of beige chiffon, heavily beaded with dangling crystals. Her earrings were impressively large, genuine pearls mounted on near shoulder-length ropes of diamonds, and on her left hand she wore a magnificent, sixteen-carat marquise diamond solitaire. In truth, she was more glamorous and dazzling than any movie star had ever hoped to look. Few could.
Lana walked closer to her audience, nearly faint from the joy she was feeling. It was difficult to believe that only hours earlier, in the quiet solitude of our suite at the Essex House Hotel, overlooking Central Park, she asked me in the whispered tones of a timorous child, “Do you think anybody will show up?”
Her hazel eyes were large and wet with near tears as she searched my face for an answer. “Of course, they will” I answered, “but they'll be awfully disappointed if you're not there.” I lived in constant fear that Lana would pull one of her many 'no-shows” caused by frayed nerves and terror.
Now, however, she had her answer. Not only did they "show up", it was a sold-out event. More meaningful than any personal appearance Lana had ever done; including presenting the Oscar for Best Actor at the Academy Awards, because for this night, and this night only, it was all about one entity. The two Lana Turners. Lana Turner, movie star and Lana Turner, the private person.
Lana did not disappoint her audience. Many, in fact, were stunned at how radiantly beautiful and youthful she appeared at age fifty-four. She looked, in person, just as remarkable as she had on the big screen. She hadn't grown old and fat like many of her contemporaries. It was my joyous doing to listen to the comments and exclamations of those who saw her in other settings to question how such a thing was possible.
Quoting one lady-of-a-certain-age to another during intermission of one of the five live stage plays Lana would undertake during my ten-year reign as her personal manager, “How is that possible? How could she still possibly look like that?” The answer to her question, quite simply put, is that for Lana Turner, the options were unthinkable.
