Edwards - Judy garland - a biography

This book would never have been written without the cooperation and assistance of many individuals. Over a time span of several years I have, in the books behalf, corresponded with well over a hundred such individuals and conducted probably as many interviews. My gratitude to all, but especially I would like to thank (in no particular order of contribution): John Milne, Sr. (Judys uncle); Dr. James Milne, Jr. (Judys cousin); Frank Milne (Judys uncle); Mrs. F. Hessevick (Judys aunt); Mrs. Irene Mathias (Judys cousin); A1 Rosen; Joe Pasternak; Fred Astaire; Gene Kelly; Tom Drake; Mrs. Etta Berkeley; Busby Berkeley; Abe Lastfogel; Barron Polan; Bobby Cole; Dirk Bogarde; Burt Rhodes; Vivian Martyne; Tony Hatch; Jackie Trent; Bryan Southcombe and Matthew West; Judith Heard; Phillip Roberge; I. Blicher-Hansen; Hans Vangkilde; Mrs. Grethe Vangkilde; Hans Jorgen Eriksen; Telle Saaek; Mickey Deans; Robert Jorgen; Leonard Gershe; Victor Angerole; Ed Baily; William Prendergrast; Noel Coward (who was helpful when I was his neighbor in Switzerland); Geoffrey Johnson (Mr. Cowards secretary); Mrs. Beatrice Bumbles Dawson; Lloyd F. Hawe (Capitol Records); Alan King; Norman Mailer; Gerald Griffin (Curator of Museum of City of New York); Ms. Mary MacDonald (once head of the MGM school); Ms. Lorna Smith; E. Schwenter (former manager of the Ritz); Dr. Richard Grundy (of the Carson City Medical Group); Ms. Margaret Hamilton; Frank Bromber (former manager of the Stanhope Hotel); Charlotte Mayerson; Emil Abdelnour; G. A. Grahame (General Manager of the Ritz); John Francis; William Ludwig; Joseph Ruttenberg; Jerome Londin; George Eldridge; Joseph Dempsey; Glyn Jones; Jens Lyngby Jepsen; Mary McCarthy; Robert Blake; Harry Fredericks (Westinghouse Group W); Mrs. Bonnie Boyer (Superior Health Dept.); Ms. Leonore Terry (ASCAP); the staffs of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, the Lincoln Center Library of Performing Arts, the Stockbridge Library, the New York Public Library, the Bettmann Archive, the Palace Theatre, Time-Life; Ms. Anne Abel Smith of A. P. Watt, Ltd.; Ms. Susan Scott of the BBC; expert researchers Joan Saunders in London, Jay Schlein in Hollywood, and Eleanor Wolquitt in New York; Mrs. Martha Winston; Leon Becker; Harold Schiff; Walter Scott; Howard Shultsinger; Vivian Bell (William Morris Agency); Mrs. Helen Prince (Time-Life); Rachel Fleischman; Gene Callahan; Ms. Nina Digangi; John Behrendt (B.C.S.); Arthur Klur (souvenir book publishers); and Mr. Richard Twarog.

Special appreciation goes to Ms. Monica McCall; Ms. Jo. Stewart; Hilary Rubinstein; and William Ewald; my fine editor, Ms. Freya Manston, and to my two secretaries, Mrs. Marion Thompson and Mrs. Jessie F. Nielson; typist, Mrs. Lorna Sheldon, and my daughter, Catherine Edwards, who helped me with research.

But two people receive my greatest debt of gratitude: Mr. Steve Citron, whose love, encouragement and patience never flagged during one solid year of the books writing; andin deepest humility Miss Judy Garland, perhaps the greatest entertainer in my generation, or any generation before me.

ANNE EDWARDS

Stockbridge, Massachusetts
1974

The first page of the book is inscribed:

to Barron
In appreciation
of his many
kindnesses
to me

Letter accompanying book:

Barron darling,
My present is so late, that it can hardly be called a birthday gift, so lets [sic] say that its a symbol of fine friendship that proves itself every day of the year, not just the day your mother did me the favor of bringing you into the world.

Love and kisses
Judy

THE POEMS

THE WISH

Would that my pen were tipped
with a magic wand
That I could but tell of my
love for you
That I could but write with
the surge I feel
When I gaze upon your sweet
face
Would that my throat were
blessed by the nightingale
That I could but sing of
my hearts great love
In some lonely tree flooded
with silver
Sing till I burst my breast
with such passion
Sing, then fall dead to lay
at your feet.

THE FIRST CIGARETTE

I was a woman
Glamorous, sparkling,
With eyes that shone, guarding secrets untold,
Lips that were petulant, pouting and bold
With a body moulded to gentlemens delight
And pedicured toe-nails shining and bright.

I patronized night clubs,
Danced until three.
And hundreds of men
Were mad about me.

Then, in a panic
My dream began to cool,
I mashed out the cigarette
And was late for school.

AN ILLUSION

How strange when an illusion dies
Its as though youve lost a child
Whom youve cherished and protected
Against the wilds of the storms and hurts
In this frightening world.
Your child is dead.
An hysterical frenzy possesses you
Your precious, virtuous dream has been taken,
Torn from your defensive, guarding breast.

Next a morose loneliness descends
Youre a pitiful stumbling creature
Lost in the woods of despair.
Suddenly you see a light.
You straighten, and walk with steady footsteps into the sun
Time has done her work.
Your dream is goneyes
And you light a candle in your heart
In a remembrance of something never to be recovered,
But deep in your soul, in its embryonic state,
another illusion is maturing
Waiting to grow strong and radiant
Only to be crushed and join the other.

IMAGINATION

What is Imagination, that it should make me so wasteful?
We cast away priceless time in dreams,
Born of imagination, fed upon illusion, and put
to death by reality.
How many lives this illusive creature has.
We create him through ecstatic joy, morbid loneliness,
through mere pensive thought.
We nourish him, we glorify him, we build him,
we add to him to make him strong.
We place him on a pedestal with a heavenly light
upon his innocent head.
Then we crush him with a change of thought,
But he will be born again.

MY LOVE IS LOST

My love is lost.
I held it as a handful of sand, clenching my fist
to hold it there.
Yet, bit by bit, it slipped through my straining fingers.

Now, nothing but memories of every smile, every kiss,
and, above all, every word.
For twas not into my ear you whispered buta into
my heart.
Twas not my lips you kissed, but my soul.

And when I opened my tired hand and found my
love was gone
I trembled and died.

I struggle to hide my deadness.
To conceal the emptiness in my eyes,
that sparkle with tears always so close
but never come.

My mind quivers and screams, fight, fight to live
But why?
My handful of existence has vanished.
My love is lost.
My love is lost.

LOVERS GOODBYE TO A DEPARTING SOLDIER

How pitiful we are, my love.
How helpless against a world gone mad,
with strife, struggle, selfishness and hate.

How weak we are, my love.
Trampled beneath powers unknown to our hearts and minds.
How useless be our toil, my love.
Fighting to hold back such powers with our small
hands and hopes.

Let us cease our struggle, my love.
Tis to no avail.
For we have been dragged to the feet of fate.
Ordered into the bloody fray.
Commanded to hush the hideous drums that
rock the earths foundation.

Go from me, my love,
Go from the scene of your happy childhood.
Your happy, madcap, carefree childhood.
Ah, yes, remember such freedom.
Go from the cities you have learned to love.
Such tranquillity in their hubbub,
Such peace in their turmoil.
Ah yes, remember such peace.
Say au revoir, not goodbye, as the lady of our
hearts fades from your view.

She will be waiting,
As I shall be waiting to clasp you when you return.
Leave me, my love.