Love, Lucy (Berkley Boulevard Celebrity Autobiography) - Softcover

Ball, Lucille

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593548388 ISBN 13: 9780593548387

Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2022

Inhaltsangabe

THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

The one and only autobiography by the iconic Lucille Ball, hailed by TV Guide as the “#1 Greatest TV Star of All Time.”

Love, Lucy is the valentine Lucille Ball left for her fans—a warm, wise, and witty memoir written by Lucy herself. The legendary star of the classic sitcom I Love Lucy was at the pinnacle of her success when she sat down to record the story of her life. No comedienne had made America laugh so hard, no television actress had made the leap from radio and B movies to become one of the world's best-loved performers. This is her story—in her own words.

The story of the ingenue from Jamestown, New York, determined to go to Broadway, destined to make a big splash, bound to marry her Valentino, Desi Arnaz. In her own inimitable style, she tells of their life together—both storybook and turbulent; intimate memories of their children and friends; wonderful backstage anecdotes; the empire they founded; the dissolution of their marriage. And, with a heartfelt happy ending, her enduring marriage to Gary Morton.

Here is the lost manuscript that her fans and loved ones will treasure. Here is the laughter. Here is the life. Here’s Lucy...

“The comic actress in her own words...intensley moving.”—San Francisco Chronicle

“Filled with light and laughter.”—New York Times Book Review

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Lucille Ball (1911–1989) was a beloved actress, comedienne, and Hollywood icon. Best known for her eponymous role in the hit 1950s TV sitcom I Love Lucy, she also starred in radio shows and appeared in dozens of films and television shows throughout her career, winning numerous awards, including multiple Emmy Awards, the Golden Globe Cecil B. DeMille Award, and in 1987 the Lifetime Achievement Award in Comedy from the American Comedy Awards.

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Chapter One

I'm a Leo. I was born on a Sunday, August 6, 1911. Unfortunately, everybody knows my birth date because I told the truth when I first came to Hollywood.

I grew up not on the sidewalks of New York City, as some people think, but in the beautiful resort area of Lake Chautauqua, New York, near the green, wooded Allegheny wilderness.

I used to say I was born in Butte, Montana-I thought it sounded more glamorous than western New York. I was conceived in Montana when my father was working for his father as a lineman at Independent Telephone Company in Anaconda. But I was born in my grandparents' apartment on Stewart Street in Jamestown, New York, where I was delivered by my grandmother Flora Belle Hunt.

My mother, DesirŽe Hunt-or DeDe, as we call her-was of French-English descent, with a touch of Irish from her father's side that showed in her porcelain-fine English complexion and auburn hair. DeDe was so talented musically that she could have been a fine concert pianist, but at seventeen she met and married a local Jamestown boy, my father, Henry Durrell Ball. As soon after my birth as my mother could travel, she insisted we return to Montana and Henry.

Henry was tall, with intense, penetrating blue eyes. He was a wonderful guy, according to everyone who knew him: full of fun, with a good comic sense. DeDe says I got my sense of humor from him.

People are always asking me if Ball is my real name. As a young model, I tried being Diane Belmont for a while, but that kind of phony elegance wasn't for me. All I know about the Ball side of my family is that they are descended from an English family that owned houses and lands in Herefordshire in some early period. There were Ball mariners, hunters, priests, and barons, but, it appears, no actors. As for the American branch of the family, there was some Ball blood in George Washington; his mother's maiden name was Mary Ball. Ball family records place them in New York, Pennsylvania, Vermont, and Massachusetts, and I found gravestones of several Balls on Arthur Godfrey's farm in Virginia when we visited him last spring.

For almost four years I was an only child. My young parents showered me with affection. I was at the center of the stage; life was a lark. DeDe tried dressing me in ribbons and bows, but I rebelled, never being the prissy doll type. My father roughhoused with me as he might with a boy, tossing me to the ceiling and catching me a few feet from the floor, and giving me piggybacks. I screamed with delight while DeDe worried about the tomboy she was raising.

I'm known among comediennes as a stunt girl who will do anything. Red Skelton flatters me by saying I have the courage of a tiger. I don't think it's a matter of bravery; it's just doing what comes naturally. I do know that if an actress has the slightest aversion to pie in the face or pratfalls, the camera will pick it up instantly. The audience won't laugh; they'll suffer in sympathy. Perhaps my willingness to be knocked off a twenty-foot pedestal or shot down a steamship funnel goes back to my earliest, happiest days with my father. I knew he was going to catch me; I wasn't going to get hurt.

DeDe says that I adored my young father. When I was about three, she got tired of the 40-below Montana winters and homesick for the gentle green hills of home, so eastward we went, to Wyandotte, Michigan, a suburb of Detroit, where my father became foreman of a telephone line crew.

Late one day the following January, my father caught the grippe and went to bed. Several days later a whopper of a sleet storm hit Detroit. Being a highly conscientious guy, my father bundled up to get the crews and payroll out. Despite his bad cough and fever, he climbed up poles in the sleet and snow, trying to secure the tangled fallen wires. He kept going until the emergency was over, only to return to bed, this time with his fever raging.

My young mother was five months pregnant when my father fell ill. To keep me under control, she tied me to a dog leash, which she then hitched to the clothesline in our backyard. Every time somebody would pass by on the sidewalk, I'd beg to be released. I must have been pretty convincing, because I was set free a lot. Then poor DeDe would have to frantically search the neighborhood for me.

My mother finally made arrangements with our kindly corner grocery store owner, Mr. Flower. He let me prance up and down his counter, reciting little pieces my parents had taught me. My favorite was apparently a frog routine where I hopped up and down harrumphing. Then I'd gleefully accept the pennies or candy Mr. Flower's customers would give me-my first professional appearance!

My father's condition never improved. His grippe turned into typhoid fever. He died not long after that storm. He was only twenty-eight and my mother was almost twenty-three. I was not yet four, but I remember vividly the moment she told me Daddy was gone. I could tell you where the tables were, where the windows were, what they looked out on, where the bed was. And I remember at that very moment, a picture suddenly fell from the wall. And I noticed on the kitchen windowsill some little gray sparrows feeding.

I've been superstitious about birds ever since. I've heard that birds flying in the window are supposed to bring bad luck. I don't have a thing about live birds, but pictures of birds get me. I won't buy anything with a print of a bird, and I won't stay in a hotel room with bird pictures or bird wallpaper.

From Wyandotte, on a cold March morning, we returned to Jamestown with my father's coffin, and DeDe says I showed very little emotion until the funeral service. As they lowered his coffin into the ground and began filling in his grave, she says, I let out a bloodcurdling scream she'll never forget and wouldn't stop until she carried me away. After that, my mother and I returned to her parents' home in Jamestown. The next few years were very difficult ones for DeDe. She had practically no money and her parents had little to spare. I think she was a little stunned by her unhappy circumstances. I can remember her shaking her head, saying softly, "Married before I was eighteen, a mother before I was nineteen, and widowed before I was twenty-three." The future must have looked very bleak to her. She had been deeply in love with my father. I know she missed him very much.

DeDe's parents, my grandfather and grandmother Hunt, were then living in a small place on Buffalo Street in Jamestown. Their only son, my uncle Harold, had died of tuberculosis just a few years before, when he was only eighteen. They hadn't yet recovered from that loss, so when DeDe gave birth to a fine baby boy four months after my father's death, they were overjoyed. My brother arrived on Saturday, July 17, 1915, and was christened Fred Henry after Grandpa Hunt, who passed out cigars at the furniture factory that day and boasted to everyone about his fine boy, Freddy. He really thought of Freddy as his very own.

I was largely ignored and I became very jealous. It's always hard to go from being an only child to having an infant sibling in the house. Since my father had just died, I'm sure I was particularly sensitive to the great fuss that was made over the new baby. DeDe must have remembered that because, in 1953, when friends poured into our house with presents for little Desi, she stood by the front door and reminded them to "be sure to say hello to little Lucie first."

I remember feeling jealous about Freddy. But it, of course, wasn't his fault-he was a calm and levelheaded little boy, cooperative and hardworking. He took good care of all his belongings and never broke anything of mine. He never strayed far from home either, or caused anybody concern or worry. I was the tomboy and the daredevil, not Freddy. By the time I was twelve and Freddy was eight, I...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2022
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593548388
• ISBN 13: 9780593548387
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 320
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: BERKLEY; https://www.penguin.com/?s=BERKLEY; ; Unit 2 Limavady Business Park; Limavady; County Londonderry; BT49 0HR; Vereinigtes Königreich
• Verantwortliche Person: preigu; mail@preigu.de; ; Lengericher Landstr. 19; Osnabrück; 49078; Deutschland