Jane Ellen Wayne, the author of The Golden Girls of MGM: Glamour and Grief remembers the day she found the screen goddess roaming Manhattan wearing galoshes and buying vegetables
The Golden Girls of MGM
Introduction
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IT WAS a dreary day in New York. The skies were about to open up but I continued my walk on Madison Avenue. In the Fifties women dressed well on the East side of Manhattan. Mink coats, alligator bags and high-heeled pumps were the fashion. I was a working girl and not so elegantly attired, but my raincoat and hat were from Bergdorf Goodman. My galoshes weren't fancy but practical considering the puddles.
The reflection of Greta Garbo |
As I strolled uptown I couldn't help but notice a woman in a floppy hat, shabby raincoat, walking shoes and galoshes like mine. In that getup she was probably someone's housekeeper, but there was something oddly familiar about her. When she stopped to look in a store window, I did too. And there it was the reflection of Greta Garbo. I didn't know what to do, but I knew what not to do and that was stare at her or, God forbid, offer a Hello, Miss G. She walked on and so did I. She stopped at a kerb for a red light and I looked and saw her profile that famous magnificent profile that was breathtaking, despite the damp droopy hat. Nobody paid attention to her. She walked ahead of me and I almost collided with her when she suddenly stopped at another store window. I pretended to be interested in women's winter suits also.
Again that reflection, but this time she glanced at me so I yawned to show my indifference. I wondered why she was interested in suits since she rarely wore them. Slacks and sweaters were her preferences. I continued on alone and stopped at a boutique window. It was one of my favourite shops but too expensive for me. I was so interested in their negligées I didn't notice that Garbo was standing next to me. Sheer coincidence, of course. Why was she looking at these sexy items? Was there a man in her life? Yes, I learned later on. It was George Schlee, who was married to the fashion designer Valentina. They lived in the same building at 450 East 52nd Street. Our walk continued. She bought some fruit, talked to the shopkeeper. She took off her sunglasses, lit a cigarette and chatted with the man about some vegetables. Beans and carrots, I think.
Garbo in the rain
Garbo followed me out to the street |
She lit another Kent cigarette and paid for her fruit. I bought an apple. This time I dared to look at Garbo in the face because she was so involved discussing vegetables. She wore no makeup. Just a dash of pale pink lipstick. Her eyelashes were very long. When she blinked, they curled up like blooming tulips. She had honey-coloured skin, majestic cheekbones and blue-green eyes. The hair over her forehead was silver brown. It had started to rain and I put up my umbrella. Garbo followed me out to the street, but she didn't have an umbrella. I wanted to share mine but didn't dare to offer. She walked uptown and I headed downtown. Suddenly New York City was a very lonely and empty place. Goodbye, Miss Garbo, thank you for an unforgettable stroll.
When I got back to my office at the National Broadcasting Company my secretary said: My God, a glimpse of Garbo in person is more exciting than spotting a UFO. I had seen many stars at NBC. It was no big deal for those of us who were veterans, but Garbo was in a class by herself. She always had been and always would be. Those who are too young to remember Greta Garbo most likely think my respect for her was absurd. They would rush for an autograph or a piece of her hair. But we had stars in the Golden Era, not celebrities. Their aura made them untouchable.
I often think of that rainy day that I spotted Garbo. In my mind's eye I can see her reflection that was so haunting. When she removed her sunglasses, I couldn't resist looking at her up close. Those extraordinary eyes expressed love, hate and boredom all at once. It was as if the cameras were rolling. But she was merely a goddess buying some French beans.
Thanks to SnowWhite |
