Cary Grant (58 page)

He always began his presentation with film clips from
Bringing Up Baby, The Philadelphia Story, Suspicion, Notorious,
and
To Catch a Thief,
and the night he received his Honorary Oscar. Then the spotlight would come up on him already onstage and seated. He would tell stories to the audience, mostly off the cuff from a few prepared cue-notes, and end the evening taking questions.

In October 1984, after a particularly rigorous touring schedule, a gala for President Reagan at the Century Plaza Hotel in Los Angeles that the Grants attended, and a trip to Monaco for the Princess Grace Red Cross Ball, Grant suffered a slight stroke and was advised by his doctors to give up his touring show. He refused.

IN APRIL
1986, Grant and Harris celebrated their fifth wedding anniversary by renewing their marriage vows. They spent that summer together touring, and because of overwhelming demand, Grant extended his dates through Thanksgiving, after which he promised Harris he would take several months off and do nothing but rest and relax.

As time went on, his presentation became smoother, more charming, and more informative. The most gratifying thing for Grant was that even though he hadn't made a movie in nearly twenty years, the public, especially the college generation that knew him from their film appreciation courses, kept every seat filled. He became more comfortable giving his answers, with occasional flashes of the old charm and wit, and as word of the show spread, he regularly sold out threeand four-thousand-seat venues.

He loved the mix of questions and the notable lack of personal gossip, which students in particular seemed not to be interested in at all. One night someone asked him why more westerns weren't being made. Grant's standard good-natured reply was that he wasn't sure but that he would spread the word around Hollywood to get on the ball. A while later that same evening someone else asked the same question. Grant asked him his name and told him he ought to get together with the other fellow, and would either of them mind if he lay down for a while? The audience roared its approval at his quick wit. To questions about who his favorite leading lady was, Grant, with apologies to all the others, always cited Grace Kelly. As to which role came closest to the “real” Cary Grant, he never varied: “The bum I played in
Father Goose.”
Occasionally he sounded as if he were confiding in the closest of friends. Of his taking LSD, he said, “The doctor read a book over in the corner with a little light. He played music associated with my youth. Like Rachmaninoff. It would last three or four hours. I would see nightmares, and the fears, the scenes associated with nightmares. Out of these sessions I learned to forgive my parents for what they didn't know. And my [lifelong] fear of knives. After which I joined humanity as best I could. I no longer have hypocrisies.”
^*

One of the most frequently asked questions was whether he would ever return to the movies. “I don't have the energy for it anymore,” he told one crowd in San Francisco. “I loved my work, so I had fun making most of my films—especially those I did for Alfred Hitchcock.” One evening, when asked about his still superb physical condition, he said that he never exercised: “The best exercise I know of is making love.” That was his closing comment, and it brought the audience to its feet.

On November 28, 1986, the final stop of the thirty-six-city fall tour took eighty-two-year-old Grant and thirty-six-year-old Harris to the Blackhawk Hotel in Davenport, Iowa. They spent the morning touring the city under the guidance of local businessman Doug Miller. That afternoon Grant and Harris went to the Adler Theater for a quick technical rehearsal. Afterward an unusually winded and pale Grant told Harris he wasn't feeling well and went to his dressing room to lie down. After an hour he had Harris take him back to the hotel, saying that he still wasn't a hundred percent.

At seven o'clock he asked that the scheduled performance be canceled. At eight o'clock Miller came to check on Grant and, after seeing how weak he was, called his personal physician, Dr. Duane Manlove. “He was weak, complaining of dizziness and a headache, and had been vomiting,” Manlove later recalled. “I examined him and called for a cardiologist.”

At eight-fifteen Grant's face began to glaze over, and he started speaking out loud to no one in particular. “He was talking about going back to Los Angeles,” Dr. Manlove said. “But I knew that was impossible. He didn't have that much time to live. He was having a major stroke, and it was getting worse.”

At eight forty-five cardiologist James Gilson arrived. “I don't need doctors, I just need rest,” Grant protested, his voice now barely above a whisper.

Dr. Gilson called an ambulance. At nine o'clock paramedic Bart Lund and two others arrived. According to Lund, “We found Cary Grant lying on a bed—without shoes, wearing slacks, a shirt, and jacket. He was conscious and, despite his age, hardly looked as though he was ill. He told us, ‘I'm feeling a little pain in the chest. But I don't think it's anything. I don't want to make a fuss.'”

As he was being taken down the hotel service elevator, they hooked him
up to wires and monitors. A glassy-eyed Grant kept calling for Barbara, who was standing right next to him.

At nine-fifteen the ambulance arrived at St. Luke's Hospital emergency room. As Grant was being wheeled into the emergency room, he squeezed his wife's hand. “I love you, Barbara,” he said. “Don't worry.”

At 11:22
P
.
M
., Cary Grant was pronounced dead.

34

A
s word of his passing flashed around the world, tributes from friends began to pour in, paying homage to the little boy from Bristol who grew up in search of love, only to have the whole world fall in love with him. These are among the more notable ones:

Frank Sinatra: “I am saddened by the loss of one of the dearest friends I ever had. I have nothing more to say except that I shall miss him terribly.”

Jimmy Stewart: “He was one of the great people in the movie business.” George Burns: “He was one of the greats.” Charlton Heston: “What he did he did better than anyone ever has. He was surely as unique as any film star and as important as anyone since Charlie Chaplin.”

Loretta Young: “He was
the
elegant man.” Polly Bergen: “We have just lost the man who showed Hollywood and the world what the word
class
really means. He was the one star that even other stars were in awe of.”

Eva Marie Saint: “He was the most handsome, witty, and stylish leading man both on and off the screen. I adored him. It's a sad loss for all of us.”

Dean Martin: “He was one of my heroes. He was not only a great actor, he was a refined and polished gentleman. We were very close friends, and I'm going to miss him.”

Alexis Smith: “The best movie actor that ever was. There's a term ‘romance with a camera,’ and I doubt anybody had as great a romance with the camera as he did.”

President Ronald Reagan: “We were very saddened by news of the death of our old Hollywood friend. He was one of the brightest stars in Hollywood and his elegance, wit and charm will endure on film and in our hearts. We will always cherish the memory of his warmth, his loyalty and his friendship and we will miss him dearly.”

AS WAS HIS WISH
, there was no funeral. On Monday, December 2, his body was cremated by the Neptune Society. A small ceremony was held by his wife and daughter to dispose of the ashes.

At his death, Cary Grant was estimated to be worth approximately $60 million. His last will, signed November 26, 1984, left half his estate to his wife, Barbara Harris, the other half to be placed in trust for Jennifer until the age of thirty-five, with the ability to draw up to 50 percent of the principal until then, and the balance delivered thereafter. He left all of his real estate, including the four-acre home in Beverly Hills and its contents, to Harris, $150,000 to be divided among long-term employees, $50,000 to the Motion Picture and Television Relief Fund, and $25,000 to Variety Clubs International. He left $10,000 to Dr. Mortimer Hartman, who had administered many of the LSD treatments Grant took in the late 1950s and early 1960s, and $25,000 to Stanley Fox's son and granddaughter. Grant's extensive custom-made wardrobe, ornaments, and jewelry were all left to Stanley Fox, who was charged with dividing them among Frank Sinatra, Betsy Drake Grant, Irene Selznick, Roderick Mann, Stanley Donen, Kirk Kerkorian, and a few others whose names meant nothing to the public. A trunk filled with personal items associated with Grace Kelly was left to Princess Caroline of Monaco.

SHORTLY AFTER HER FATHER'S DEATH
, Jennifer returned to Stanford University, to complete her senior year in political science and history. She then studied law, until she decided to try acting as a career, something Grant had discouraged her from doing while he was alive. She became one of the regulars on the popular TV show
Beverly Hills 90210
and today lives as a single woman in Santa Monica, California.

The highlight of Virginia Cherrill's film career remains Chaplin's
City Lights.
Her last film was Albert Parker's
Troubled Waters,
after which she gave up movies to marry a wealthy British earl. She became the Countess of Jersey and went on to find real meaning in her life by doing selfless, some might say heroic, work during the bombing of London in the darkest years of World War II. Upon the earl's death, Cherrill returned to Hollywood, where she married twice more before choosing to live in wealthy seclusion in Santa Barbara, about ninety miles north of Hollywood. She died there in 1996.

Betsy Drake retired from films and became an “alternative” psychotherapist and the author of several books. She lives in Desert Hot Springs, California.

Dyan Cannon continued with her successful acting career. She married an older businessman in 1980 and retired from films. Three years later, she divorced and returned to her career in movies and television. She lives in Los Angeles.