Many of the details of her knowledge came from later (read: adult) conversations she had with her grandmother, whose pre-Hollywood-yet-enduring-through-Hollywood friendship status meant that she knew all about the MacDonald status quo. She was three when they met, and later four, and seven and eight and lastly, she was fifteen. The difference, with Blythe, is that her recollections are from the perspective of a child. All warm friendliness with a ready smile and quick, bantering wit, never too far gone into the stratosphere to be one of the gals, but too extraordinary to truly pass as a mere commoner. ![]() Read the stories in the Golden Comets of the 1940s when Marie Waddy Gerdes was president the star meeting fans at the stage door and remembering their names the concert artist asking teenage girls how they’re getting home, making sure they will be safe in unfamiliar cities meeting them for ice cream wiring ahead to let them know when her train is getting in, to give them the chance to come and meet her inviting them to her Bel Air home when they had occasion to visit California and driving them back to town afterwards. Ask pretty much anyone who ever met her and that’s what you get. Anecdote after anecdote painted a now-familiar picture of an exquisitely beautiful human being whose warmth and grace illuminated everything she touched. I called her that evening and sat, spellbound, as she told me about her grandmother, a Philadelphia native and friend of the MacDonald sisters, as well as her own encounters with the clearly-adored woman she still refers to as “Miss Jeanette”. She responded affirmatively and gave me her number. When I was able to formulate a coherent response to this last message, I asked if I might call her, to chat with her and hear the story of the childhood lap-sitting (HOW IS THIS EVEN FAIR, UNIVERSE?) as well as how she came into possession of such a treasure. I think this is the part where I mention that I’ve spent a lot of time in my conversations with Blythe slack-jawed and not able to believe my own stupid luck. She’d be pleased to know someone who loves her has it. What?! I didn’t even know this woman! I asked her if she was kidding. Never one to shy away from striking up a conversation with someone I don’t know, I sent her a message and, as she familiarized herself with the efforts of The JAM Project, she responded to me, telling me that she had a gold compact that had belonged to Jeanette, with her initials on the back, and she’d like to send it to me. materialized, making a comment that she had known Jeanette MacDonald, and had, in fact, sat on her lap as a child. ![]() Imagine my delight when I was minding my own business in early May and Blythe K. Social media is really a marvelous innovation.
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