"The Happy Time" stuff

So this was slightly awesome!  I ran across a picture of this old poster for The Happy Time that was actually in color!  Who guessed that suit was blue?  Or, well, probably gray.

There's just really not enough of Bobby in color to tell us much about his coloring and for us to get the full effect of how his hair matched his eyes, and other things, particularly as an adult.  We can tell from collecting the pictures and screenshots we do have that his hair was about medium brown, and his eyes were probably hazel-ish.  As far as whether or not he was fair-skinned, rosy-cheeked, slightly tan, etc., I'm not sure we will ever know!  Though if anyone reads this who has either seen a highly detailed colored portrait, or better yet, saw Bobby in person at one point, please feel free to speak into the situation.  I'd love to know.

And by the way... I say the coat must have been blue because of this colored poster, but the color may have been added later and just done in whatever hues the illustrator wanted to use at the time.  I do know that one such poster I saw of The Window renders Bobby's eyes blue, which I do happen to know from word of mouth that they weren't.

Speaking of The Happy Time, I found this little blurb in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette from Oct. 19, 1952:

Young Bobby Driscoll, who plays the role of Bibi in "The Happy Time," spent much of his time manipulating a player piano. It was called for by the script, but Bobby became so entranced with the foot-pedalled contraption that between scenes he continued giving the mechanical piano a work-out.


Bet we can just guess how annoying that must have been for everybody else :)  But it has to make you smile.  What a kid thing to do!

Bobby Driscoll Website

Hi all.  I made a mistake with this entry by starting in on telling people what happened to remove bobbydriscoll.net from us... but then I realized it isn't my story to tell, and even if it was, I don't know all the details anyway.  But I accidentally hit some kind of "hot key" on my keyboard that published while I was still on the first paragraph and didn't have a chance to back out of posting about it...

So here it is, and it's all I'm going to say.

I just want to tell the author of the site that the comprehensive collection of Bobby's works -- particularly the radio programs most of us will never be able to find again -- was priceless.  I know this person must have poured time and resources into the project, and I hope they are able to find peace and move on from any hard feelings.  When blogging about or sharing information on a public figure, there's often bound to be some controversy.  I'm not here to expound on any of that, because it isn't my business.  I only wanted to thank you for what you did give to us for a time.  It will not be forgotten.

But I do want to say one last thing to everyone:  please be kind.  Always.  People can make mistakes with content, facts, etc., but I don't feel it's usually done with malicious intent.  If you ever have questions or concerns about what someone posts, the best thing to do is send them a private email and just have a discussion.  Even if things look a certain way to you, please don't accuse without just talking first.  The internet is a tricky place, and even though I comb my stuff regularly to be sure I haven't posted anything private that belongs to anyone else, I could always overlook something.  It could literally happen to anybody.  That being said, DO be careful, any time you're posting about a public figure, to check and double-check copyrights just so nothing slips up on you.

Also:  for those who wonder if the website was mine, because I do believe there's been confusion about that before... it wasn't.  I have neither the skill nor resources to take on such a big project.  Therefore, you all have to settle for some good ol' subjective blogging out of me!

And that's all.  I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas, and has a Happy New Year.

Pic from "Laughter Is A Boy"

So this morning a dear friend sent me this precious thing:

This is a still of Bobby from the "Laughter is a Boy" episode in Medic.  Isn't the 50's hair great?  :)

The person who supplied me with this also told me how the young actor portraying Bobby's younger brother -- Peter Votrian -- had nothing but good things to say about working with him.  I've actually heard this from just about everybody, but Tommy Kirk also gave them when he played a youngster in "Ah Wilderness!" alongside Bobby.  It goes to show one of the ways in which Bobby seemed to have a big heart.  Alot of us know about being "bullied by the older boys."  But he was no such one.  A wonder, when you think about it and recall that he himself was bullied in high school.  It would have been typical for him to try to take his rage out on a younger set, but he didn't. 

As far as anyone knows so far, he never did.  The one and only time I've heard of that he let his rage at another human being get the best of him was in the case of the car washing heckler.  And even then, it sounds like what started that whole thing wasn't as much the names the guy was calling Bobby as the lewd comments he was making toward Suzanne.  Not that I'm saying Bob still shouldn't have taken the high road here, but my point is, most accounts tell of him being loving and accepting versus moody and unforgiving.  One of the many of dozens of reasons he is my favorite.

Wonderful Screen Shot "Artist"

Good morning All!  I hope everyone's holiday season is shaping up nicely.  I'm quite sorry for having not been very active lately.  While always and forever inspired by Bobby, I struggle sometimes to know what to blog about that's related to him.  I'm working on a post about DiDi, but I've failed to locate some of the sources I was going to use for it... so it's still a work in progress!  I'm also hoping to do some commentary on a couple more of my shows.  That takes sitting down and doing it, however, and I've clearly not been great about that either...

But I will! 

For now, however, I want you all to go look at this girl's Pinterest board, because she has taken some gorgeous screen shots of our guy.  I will post just one here as a teaser:

Go look at the rest of them!  They're beautiful.  I wish I could be half as good at grabbing screenshots as she is, but I'm thankful I at least have access to them! 

https://www.pinterest.com/morganbridges32/bobby-driscoll/

In other news, anyone want me to do a Bobby Short Fiction for Christmas?  If I get response and know that it would be something people would want to read, I shall do it!  Please comment and let me know :)

Homelessness and Bobby -- So Many Questions

This week was Hunger & Homelessness Awareness Week.  As I've mentioned before, I work with the homeless and those in addiction, and so alot of the organizations like mine in our town pulled together and hosted a series of events.

One was a night to go to the theater and watch "Storied Streets," a documentary about the homeless, produced by Susan Sarandon.  It was a great experience, particularly as what I see here in my town varies significantly from what those who work with the homeless in big cities see.  It was mostly the big city homeless who were focused on in this doc.  By the way, I highly recommend it to anyone who wants to learn more about homelessness.  It's available on Amazon Prime for around $15.

Anyway, the most heart-rending thing about this documentary was the footage it featured of kids doing horrible things to those sleeping on the streets.  I had to turn my head at one point, and I won't go into the details here, because why perpetuate the awfulness?  Watching and hearing about these things, however, got me wondering what Bobby's homeless experience had been in New York.  It hurt my very heart to think that any abuse was heaped upon him in this way.

Of course, I've mentioned countless times on this blog that there are more questions than answers regarding Bobby's state of affairs in NYC, and we know that obviously he was found on a cot in an abandoned apartment.  So he was, clearly, homeless.  But we can't know for how long, or if he'd had any experience sleeping on the actual streets.  The odd thing about Bobby's homeless experience is, there are contradictions to what you'd see out of the typical New York homeless person's life.  For instance, in the last two pictures taken of him, he was still well-dressed and somewhat stylish.  He was finding a way to get clothes, and it could be that they were charity clothes that he knew how to match well, but he also seemed to find a way to shave and clean up -- at least outwardly.  He also was using most of the time he was there, so I'm not sure how he was getting money for drugs, either.  The point is -- be it legitimate resourcefulness or through illicit activities, Bobby was finding a way to "make it" by slightly higher standards the brunt of the time he was in the city.  So I'm not really sure how much of his experience mirrored most of the rest of the homeless population there.

One must also, however, remember that the NYC of the 1960's isn't the NYC of today.  So I went searching for some information about being homeless during that time period, and found some video footage of some homeless people right around the time Bobby would have been (or shortly after his death).

If you're interested, watch it.  They may give some insight as to what life was like for him in those last months.  I've been surprised at how many additional resources can give a window into Bobby's life that doesn't actually have to do with him directly.

Another Great Image

I know I've been doing quickies lately, but I've also just happened to run across these new pictures...

I like this one! It's another of the plentiful The Happy Time images, only this one takes into account the cameras behind the scenes. Bobby has a sweet smile here, and I can't tell 100% but he looks like he might be laughing at the actor just below him.

Something for your week!

Sweet Pictures

These are some pics I found on Getty Images the other day of Bobby, James Baskett, and Luana Patten. 

When you look closely, it seems Bobby's wearing his Boy Scout uniform.  Utterly adorable.

East Village Visit/Pt. 2 of Tribute to Bobby in NYC (Scroll down for Hart Island)

Some of you probably remember my very first post, in which I told how I came to fully learn Bobby's story as an adult after having kept his face and name "bookmarked" in my memory from when I was a little girl and a teenager -- feeling from the very start that he would somehow become important to me.  It was the person I felt the connection to, not the "movie star," even though I've come to appreciate his work and his talent as an actor.  I see Bobby first and foremost as a flesh and blood man, with faults, hopes, dreams, a personality, and a life.  And even though there are far more details about Bobby that I don't know than that I do, I imagine there's not much I could learn from here that would dampen my affection for him.

These, by the way, are sentiments from a woman who works in both the substance abuse recovery field and with the homeless population.  I harbor no illusions about the "darker side" of human nature.  I know Bobby probably had alot of secrets, did alot of things he'd rather no one ever find out about.  He probably made alot of bad decisions worse and stooped to levels he never would have thought he could stoop to in order to support his habit.  But the illness, the addiction, wasn't actually who he was as a person.  It was a mask he was able to hide his vulnerability behind as a tormented teenager, and later must have found that he couldn't entirely pull off even when he tried.

By the time Bobby reached New York City in 1964, I'm pretty sure there wasn't alot left of who he had been before he was fused to the garish mask of addiction.  We don't know alot about his time there, and whether we care to admit it or not, that's probably a good thing.  Those were, in all likelihood, the darkest of days for him.  Did he have any clean time at all there?  His track marks had been healed for six months by the time they found his body, sure.  But evidently, there was methadrine in his system.  Had that taken heroin's place?  He always seemed well-dressed, and was clear-headed enough to read books at the library, according to would-be-biographer Brian Keith O'Hara.  So did he go days, maybe weeks or months, without using?  When he was thinking straight, what were his plans and goals?  Did he know he was going to die?  Why did he never reach out for help at any of the numerous rescue missions surrounding the East Village?  Or... did he, and no one ever knew?  Why did Sharon Morrill leave him in the end, and just when he was so sick?  Did she know he was going to die?  Did she care?  Or had he declined into the shadow of the man she'd known before, and she found it easy to just... move along?  Had he become difficult to live with?

Not that I'm judging a woman I don't know for circumstances I know nothing about, by the way.  I present these questions merely as an example of how little we know -- and probably will ever know -- about the twilight of Bobby's life in NYC.

I didn't visit the East Village while in New York for the purpose of finding answers.  If biographers, old friends, documentary producers, etc. haven't been able to find them, then I know I certainly couldn't. I think I just wanted -- in my old soul's way -- to be present in that lonely place where Bobby probably did alot of suffering -- and just to pay tribute to him as he was then.  Ugliness, warts, brokenness and all.  And I can say this....

As wonderful as it was to go to Hart Island, the East Village meant even more.  Quite unexpectedly.

So!  Enough of my dissertation on old souls, human connection, broken spirits, addiction, sap, etc.  I now bring to you the East Village excursion.

After eating an amazing grilled cheese at City Island Diner and telling my mom all about my feels from Hart Island, the two of us plus Gale took off to Staten Island to catch the ferry back to Manhatten.

Dumb, by the way.  At the end of the night after we went to see a show, we were less than 30 minutes away from our hotel in the Bronx, but after taking the ferry back over to Staten Island, were over an hour away.  It would've made a lot more sense to have just rode the ferry from Manhatten over to St. George's Terminal, then come back again.  Anyway, so there's an NYC travel tip for you regarding what NOT to do.

As I mentioned before, I took with me three other painted rocks to put down at various points in New York in memory of Bobby.  The first one I took to Hart Island, and the second, I placed in a windowsill of the Staten Island ferry.

In Brian Keith O'Hara's travels to NYC about ten years ago to see what he could find out from the older residents who did remember Bobby, he found out Bobby frequented the Staten Island ferry -- a free way (or cheap -- I'm thinking it wasn't entirely free back then) to entertain himself on some days.  I painted a red bird in a tree here, thinking of "freedom".... and how free Bobby might have felt from his troubles on the ferry, for just twenty minutes at a time even, staring out at the water, the beautiful skyline, the bustling activity of the harbor.

Mind you, I know none of these rocks will stay where I put them.  It would probably be an interesting story where they end up.  My focus was on the joy of painting them, and thinking of Bobby when I placed them, having that moment... and of course, having a picture that will last forever.  Even if the rocks themselves end up in a landfill.

So after getting off at Whitehall Terminal, we decided to take the subway to the 8th Street Station to get as close as a subway will take you to East Village.  That, by the way, was absolutely insane.  Me and Mom nearly broke out into a gunfight over whether or not the yellow R indicated on my phone app meant go in the R direction or the R AND W direction.  Of course I exaggerate about the intensity of our disagreement.  But nerves totally run high among a group of country girls navigating a city subway.

By the way, she was right -- we needed RW.  So, after an apology on my part for being stubborn, off we went!  Six stops later, we came up and headed on foot toward E 10th St.

The East Village supposedly had an entire culture all its on in the 60's.  It was an art district, a kind of bohemian area where Andy Warhol's Factory was located, and the New York version of Topanga Canyon was taking form, spearheaded by the East Coast Beatniks.

No one knows for sure where Bobby "lived" here.  I'm not sure if he couch surfed with various friends and acquaintances of The Factory, and how long he stayed in each place.  We know he was found on a cot in an abandoned tenement, but no one knows for sure how long- or short-term a home the flat actually was.

O'Hara once spoke to an older woman who told how Bobby helped her carry her groceries.  He was known among some of these older locals as having been a "nice kid."  He roamed these streets... he got to know people on some level.

When we got ready to turn onto E 10th St., we were met by this sight:

Grace Church.  Built in 1846, this sweet place is still open to the public to come inside, sit in these delightful old-fashioned pews (the kind that have the little gates on each row), and pray or have a quiet moment.  Gale wanted to go in here, and I did too, so we went.

It was beautiful.  And I wondered, did Bobby ever come here to pray?  Cry?  Think about his family back home, and where his life had gone?  He was known to hold a personal faith, even if he may have strayed further from it at certain times than others.  But by New York, he was probably desperate and tired.  Did he find comfort here?  I wondered, and took my own comfort from the idea that, maybe, he did.

Sitting in this old, beautiful, sacred place, the noise from the city around us seemed so far away.  There was alot of gorgeous stained glass... I kind of wish I'd taken a picture of every window.

 

So after sitting in here a little while and then getting back up and looking around, we continued to venture down 10th St.

The foot traffic became a little more sparse as we walked.  It was an absolutely beautiful day, and we passed alot of kids skateboarding, and shopkeepers and restaurant owners coming in and out of their shops to open up these neat little trapdoors right in front of their businesses that lead down into cellars where they stored things.  It definitely didn't look like the wealthiest part of town, but the atmosphere was calm and content.  

I wore some fancy Dr. Scholl's clogs on this little excursion, but the farther I walked, the more I noticed my feet being rubbed raw.  What must it have been like for Bobby to make his treks around this neighborhood, probably often wearing shoes that weren't great?  And in the dead of winter when he was used to sunny California?  I thought about these little things as we pressed on.

Here's an example of the artsy side of the East Village.  There were alot more examples, but my phone battery was running low and I wanted to make sure I had enough juice left to get all the other pictures in that I wanted to take.

By the way, I had the best sort of company to do all my pondering with, too.  My mom and Gale kept themselves busy by looking around and finding their own things to comment on to each other, giving me my space to just muse.  And it was really good of them to walk so far out of the way for me to do all this.  Thankfully it wasn't quite a mile when we came upon Tompkins Square Park.  It was a precious little patch of grass and benches.  We passed a guy practicing tai chi, or tai bo, or whatever it was over on our right, when to our left....

I was coming upon my next spot to put down a rock.  Tompkins Square Library.

Bobby was said to have spent hours here, reading books to pass the time in those later months (again, I credit all this knowledge to O'Hara's firsthand research).  I wondered if it was here that Bobby first encountered the works of Truman Capote, to whom he addressed one of his last letters in a plea to have his life story heard and recorded.  Of course the two shared a mutual acquaintance in Andy Warhol.  But I figure Bobby might have had a respect for the talent of Capote in particular, perhaps because he was familiar with it.

So here's the library as I came upon it.

I don't know why I didn't take a picture of the inside, but when I went in, I was met by an intimate  -- if slightly dreary -- atmosphere, complete with reading stations that lined a partition of the wall, where one could sit in a sort of enclave all to themselves.

We were all desperate for a bathroom at this point, but the rule of the library is, you must either be a child or WITH a child in order to use the one here, so that prompted me to hurry a bit quicker than I would have otherwise.

I left this rock on one of the shelves.

The symbolism here in the keyhole is that I thought of the doors to other places books may have opened for Bobby during the drudgery of surviving the New York streets.  In reading, he could pretend he was anywhere else.

I like to think this may be one of my rocks that will stay safe.  There was alot of homemade art in the library, mostly stuff made by kids.  If someone finds this rock, they may set it up somewhere around, supposing it belongs there.

After looking around for a few more minutes, we left to walk just another short distance to the place where I would leave my final rock -- the building in which Bobby took his last breath.

I had heard 371 E. 10th St. was now a treatment center for men in addiction, so I was kind of sad when what I came upon was an empty building being gutted and refurbished.  I don't know if the treatment center closed, or (hopefully) was just shut down temporarily for construction.  But all there was to see were men coming in and out with loads of bricks to toss into a dumpster which sat just outside.  Here's a pic from across the street:

Sorry it's not the very best picture.  Time of day wasn't really on my side here.

I don't think anyone knows exactly which apartment, on which floor, Bobby was found in, so I don't really have that information.

But the awesome thing was, up and down this block, there were little patch gardens all along the sidewalk.  And in the one that was right in front of the building (you can see it there on your left), I found the perfect place for my final rock:

A starry night sky, for the place he said his final goodnight to the world.  And isn't it cool how that tag next to it reads "Love Grows?"

I wondered if these gardens were planted by the people from the treatment center....

And so.

We went on from there, to eat at an amazing taco place.  We took a Lyft to Broadway, did some shopping, saw Phantom of the Opera... and went on to have a really nice trip.

But the best part of it all was knowing I'd made this trek through the East Village to leave tokens that may go unheeded... but prove that Bobby's life was not forgotten.

I hope you enjoyed this little account of my experiences in NYC honoring Bobby.  I encourage anyone who can every find time and money to go here to do so.  It really does give you a strange but beautiful glimpse into the final chapter of a complicated life.

And it gives a peace, despite the questions that will always remain.

Thanks for reading!

Hart Island Visit/Pt. 1 of Tribute to Bobby in NYC

Good afternoon!  I hope all my readers have had a peaceful last week, and are ready to see some pictures and hear some ramblings.

Most of you who have followed me awhile know that I was planning to finally visit Bobby's resting place, Hart Island, and explore the East Village of Manhattan, which he haunted in the last years of his life and in which he eventually took his last breath back in 1968.  I've been planning this for a year and a half now -- and even tried to do it this exact time last year, but ended up getting lost on my drive to City Island and, GPS-less (my phone was having network issues), completely alone in a big city, and sleep deprived, I gave up on everything and went to crash at my hotel before starting the drive back to NC.

But this year, it finally happened.  I decided to still drive myself up there, because I love road trips, only this time I brought along my mom and our friend Gale and we kind of made it a whole "Northern Adventure," stopping at a different place in each state on our way to and from New York.  I had every last thing planned to the tee, but you know how these things go.  Wednesday morning we were happily driving and chatting, having crossed over into Virginia maybe an hour before, when we were merged onto by an 18-wheeler.

Not even kidding.

THE WORST wreck I've ever been in in my life, and miraculously we all three walked away from it without one scratch, break, or bend.  My car wasn't even as damaged as you might expect from having been literally pushed along the interstate for a quarter of a mile before blowing out two tires. But because it's older, I do expect a complete total.  So, that wasn't awesome...

We got a rental and continued on, however, because we had a non-refundable room at Comfort Inn in the Bronx (gorgeous place, btw).  And of course, not that I'm blowing off the accident, because I have already cried MANY tears over my car by this point, but that doesn't actually have anything to do with Bobby.... so I'll save all my mourning on this count for myself, and bring you guys what I promised to deliver.  It just bears to be mentioned, though.

So we managed to do all my "Bobby-ing" on Thursday, and let me tell you, it was one break-neck day.  There was alot to see and do, but we did it, and it all started by my being completely unready to wake up at 7am to prepare for the drive from the hotel to City Island.  I'm sure I had a little PTSD from last year when I ended up so lost, but this year I had a better phone and people to help me, so I pushed myself up, got ready, and we ended up leaving the hotel about 8:10am.  The GPS said it was about a 30 minute drive, but I was not taking any chances, and would have left even earlier if people had been ready.

Traffic, as you can imagine for that time of morning, was RUTHLESS, and my sweet little Southern self had to learn very quickly that in New York, one doesn't merely wait to be let in when merging lanes.  One has to pretty much brutally CLAIM it, and starting nosing in.  Once I learned this, I was fine driving there, but was absolutely paranoid the entire commute that I'd be late.  But I wasn't, and we pulled down to the dock in City Island at 8:50am.

City Island is the sweetest little place, by the way.  Very small-town, very quaint.  Mom and Gale opted to explore the shops and diners while I went on my visit to Hart Island, and they were not at all disappointed.  If Bobby's lying in this corner of the world, I thought, I already feel at peace.

Here are some pics from that excursion, just to give you an idea.

Now, onto my actual visit, what I'm sure people have been waiting for me to finally get down to.

When I was dropped off at the dock, I was met by only a handful of other people.  Two ladies who were together carried a bouquet of flowers, but no one else seemed to have brought anything.  I myself had my sunflower bouquet and two painted rocks, one from me (the one with the balloons) and one in honor of a good friend, Jim Foster, who's been a fan of Bobby's pretty much since Day One and would actually be Bobby's age.  I painted a picture of a film reel on his rock, because movies are his passion, and he was inspired by Bobby's film career.

This was the dock, and the ferry.

At the gate, we met the captain, who was a very sweet gentleman who seemed to feel a passion and purpose for his job.  He talked to us briefly before we started, explaining a few things about Hart Island that most of us who love Bobby probably already know from having researched the island before -- that's it's a potter's field in operation since the 1800's, how people come to be on the island through city burial, etc.

After this, while we were walking to the ferry, I couldn't resist complimenting one girl on her cat-print sweater dress and newsprint leggings.  She thanked me, then asked if I was a member of the New York Adventure Club.  Apparently, most of the people with us were, and came along just to sight-see and learn about the island.

So we signed in, showed our ID's, and boarded the ferry.  Anyone reading who has researched gazebo visits to Hart Island probably notices one missing step -- having our electronic devices locked away prior to leaving.  Well.... that's because it didn't happen.  Upon noticing this, I asked the captain if things had changed and pictures were now allowed to be taken on the island, but he said no -- it's just that he likes to go more on the "good faith" system instead of taking people's items away from them.  He just asks that visitors respectfully not take pictures.  I told him I totally understood, so... I'm afraid I don't have any pictures for you all other than these taken from the dock, and I'm sorry about that.  But I'll try to be really descriptive!

Here's a photo Mom took of us boarding the ferry, so you can see just how few people there were.  I have to admit, I was thrilled to have found such pretty sunflowers to take there....

This pic taken by my Mom, again.  There, on your right, is Hart Island, and the ferry.  It shows you just how close it is to City Island.

On our way to the island, we saw all these yachts, etc. off the shore.  It was really very picturesque, particularly because the island itself, even from afar, looked....

Sweet.

Not at all scary, foreboding, depressing, etc. like you always hear.  When we got there, we walked a short path to the "garden" area, which was a small white gate surrounding the gazebo, a bird bath, a couple of pine trees, and the famous Potter's Field stone which was itself set in a sort of mini-garden framed by rocks.  A few of the condemned buildings could be seen in the distance, and truth be told, it was rather picturesque.  I hope maybe one day photography will be allowed on Hart Island, and someone who has talent with a camera can convey the proper sense of bittersweet serenity for the public.

After reaching the gazebo, we all sat down on the benches for people who had them to ask questions and to listen to the captain talk about the place.  I didn't really have anything to ask, and therefore sat quietly in the back, half-listening and just soaking in the atmosphere... wondering in which direction Bobby was laid to rest.  It's impossible to tell because when we look at this map, we can't even see where the 1960's trenches are.  I have a yen they may be on that bottom, slightly right-from-center shoulder that sticks out the farthest, and I have this long complicated reason why I think that (I have obviously given this some thought!).  But there's no reason to elaborate on it here because it's all just a theory, and I could be just as wrong.

The captain -- also a prison warden for Riker's Island -- stated that, to his knowledge, burial plots have never been reused on Hart Island.  However, I know that a retired prison guard reported that they have, so it's something we may never know because no two people seem to agree.

I wondered if Bobby would be mentioned at all, and he kind of was!  A man asked if anyone famous had been buried in the island, and the captain answered, "Well.... there was an old black and white Disney child actor that ended up here, um... I can't remember his name..."

Upon waiting a moment to see if the name would surface, I couldn't help myself, and murmured "Bobby Driscoll."

The captain thanked me and said yes, that's right!  He had evidently done his research at some point.

Then, after he showed us a map of the various buildings on Hart Island and their previous functions, he came quietly over to me and said I could put down my flowers and rocks anywhere in the enclosure I wanted to.  He then asked me if I knew about the actual family visits -- after which I told him I wasn't a family member -- I assume because I was one of the only people carrying momentos to lay down.

So that's when I had my time, and it was glorious.  It took me a minute to decide on the perfect place to lay down my sunflower bouquet, finally laying it against the Potter's Field rock enclosure.  I know it won't be there forever, probably not even until next month, as he said (upon my asking) that they do clear the momentos from time to time in order to mow and keep the place looking nice.  I also interwove my painted rocks in with the other plain ones in the border, hoping that they would be out of the way and therefore, perhaps, left longer.

As I stood there, thinking about the heartbreaking circumstances Bobby had endured, feeling pierced to the heart at the thought that it all ended in him being brought here to be buried in a pine box as John Doe... my sorrow turned to peace.  I don't think this was what he would have picked for the end of his life, obviously.  But I somehow knew, as I stood on that spot of land, that he is happy where he is now and knows he is loved.  The breeze was gentle, the sun was out, and the island wasn't so far from "civilization" after all.  It felt tranquil... but not eerie and dismal, as we've so often heard it is.

I am so incredibly grateful for this experience, and that -- after a year and a half of planning -- I was finally able to stand on the soil Bobby sleeps under.  The relief that washed over me as I set foot on that island, thinking back over all the many obstacles I've pushed through just to do this, was unparalleled.

I wish a Hart Island visit for everyone who truly loves the man.  I obviously very much wish it for his family, who will get to go even farther and stand closer to his grave, and may receive the closure they so deserve after a lifetime of heartache.  And I wish it for those of us who just ended up -- accidentally or otherwise -- connected in spirit to this remarkable person.

And if you plan to go, let me encourage you to paint rocks!  Maybe if enough "Bobby Rocks" make their way over to the garden, they'll keep them there to create a memorial all their own.

Stay tuned for Pt. 2 about the East Village!  It'll have more pictures....

Good morning!

I haven't yet found time to post screenshots and reviews of the other couple of Bobby's shows yet, but please know I will!  It's on my list of things.... which never seems to end.... and I'm sure we can all identify.

It seems a new update from Lost Boy: The Bobby Driscoll Story isn't here yet, either, but here's hoping we'll see it by the end of the month!

Since I have nothing new or worthy of commentating and elaborating on today, I shall give you screenshots!

I've been really into screenshots lately.  Sorry if anyone's getting tired of them, but we can at least SEE some "new" Bobby, even when we can't hear anything new.

This one is from "The Ordeal of the S-38", which is available on YouTube for anyone to watch.  I took it primarily because it's the only time I've ever seen Bobby wearing a hat other than a cowboy hat in one of his shows or movies.

These next two are from "Incident of the Captive," a Rawhide episode.  Most of us have seen this one, too, as it's also available on YouTube, and one of the few opportunities we have to see Bobby play a "bad guy."  He's more of a smartass than anything, and frankly, it's adorable. 

I love the playful expression he wears here.

And here.  I've heard tell quite often that he was a fun guy, playful, and somewhat of a flirt.  You can see why, what with the glimmer of charm and mischief in those eyes.

These last two I'm throwing in here because I just think they're rather sweet.

There's enough of our muse to keep us going until the LB update, hopefully!

NEXT WEEK -- HART ISLAND.  I wish I could take pictures for you guys, but I will definitely take pictures of some of the East Village stuff I'm going to see even though I'm not allowed to take a phone to the island.  I'll write up a nice big shpiel about the trip when I get back.

Everyone have a lovely week!

M Squad - Pete Loves Mary

I've already blogged about this show once, a year or so ago, so I won't go into a big summary again.  This episode used to be available to view through Bobbydriscoll.net, but I'm not sure if it ever will be again as the website hasn't been updated in quite awhile despite promises for an upload of the videos to youtube :(

So, unfortunately, you'll have to settle for my poor quality screenshots.  I really hate that the film quality I was able to access wasn't that great, which explains why I didn't get more.  These, as it stands, aren't the best, but better than nothing!

I especially hate that because Bobby brought a couple of really sassy mannerisms and expressions to the table in his dealings with the FBI agent after his prison-escaped brother.  If you ever get a chance to view this yourself, pay special attention to the scene where the agent comes to sit down with him at a cafe table, and again when the guy runs into him shopping at a street vendor.  Grade A material!

The other issue with this episode is that the last part of it happens at nighttime, so take the poor quality and multiply it times ten.  I could see virtually NOTHING during the last five minutes of the show.  So I don't have much from that end...

Anyway!  Here's what I DO have.  Enjoy!

Bobby does wear a ring on his wedding finger in this episode, though it doesn't actually look like his wedding band.  He does something similar in  "The Ordeal of the S-38."  I think these were filmed pretty soon after his marriage, and he might have been keen to "look married."  We're given lots of evidence that tells us Bobby was a hopeless romantic, so I wouldn't put it past him.  I think he also liked rings, because I've seen him wear them NOT on his wedding finger countless other times.

I know these weren't much, but I hope you enjoy looking at them anyway!

Crusader -- "Fear" Screenshots & Summary

Today I'm giving commentary on an episode Bobby did in 1955 for the show Crusaders called "Fear."  It was the second on the disk of Bobby's TV work I received from a friend.  He is Josef, a German orphan who came to live in the U.S., but was immediately targeted by a suspicious member of the police force who had been terrorizing immigrants for the past few years.  I've never heard Bobby take on an accent for his work before aside from a very subtle Southern draw for a couple of radio shows, but he did take one on here.  He did a pretty passable job, actually!  The execution wasn't flawless as it might have been later on in Bobby's acting career with practice (had he had that opportunity), but it definitely wasn't as bad as so many fake accents I've heard actors try to pull off.

Here are our first screenshots, the opening scene in which a brooding Josef has been brought a letter by a man helping refugees stating he's found a place for him to live in America.

Not sure why we're rocking some wild, wolfman hair on this show, but it's kind of precious and James Dean-y.  I wonder if this was how Bobby was just doing his hair at this point, not something he did for the role.  He was 18 here and freshly graduated from high school, so maybe he was feeling bold and brassy.  :)

By the way, I feel pretty sure I've identified a mannerism that might have actually belonged to Bobby.  We've probably all seen it before, but in a good deal of scenes spanning his work, when someone addresses him and he turns to them, his eyes flit to theirs for just a moment before he drops them and seems to gaze down in deep thought, brow furrowed.  I realize an actor is paid to fake emotions, but when you can trace little consistencies like this, you wonder if you've actually hit upon something that belongs specifically to the actor that mirrors onto the characters.  What is acting, anyway, if not, essentially, "What would I do if I were in this situation?"  Something tells me that little nuance of the eyes is all Bobby, and he probably did it alot in life.

Anyway!  Moving onward.

Josef is sent to live with a man in a poor but happy little neighborhood of New York, and instantly makes friends, but doesn't forget his connection to Matt Anders, the freelance journalist who helped him settle in the U.S.  Here are some amazing shots of them together after he pulls up to check on Josef, who was outside playing ball with another boy.

I love these shots, by the way, as Bobby looks so handsome and happy.

So Josef seems to be doing well at his new home, were it not for the suspicious Martin, a police officer bent on profiling those involved with Germans, who comes to his home one night after Josef runs out for ice cream and shoots his new adoptive father.

Of course Josef is instantly disheartened about this, despite Matt's promise to get to the bottom of the racial injustice he sees here.  In this scene, he lashes out about the fact that Americans are all afraid of him, just as he knew they would be all along.

Here we're treated once again to Bobby's unique little eyebrow trick, where, when he's wrought with emotion, his left one drops way lower to his right.  He's able to show desperation with such sincerity...

So next thing we know, Josef's late father's best friend's wife has taken him in, determined she isn't going to be frightened off from showing kindness to the boy.  The friend himself, however, is not on board, and we catch him shunning Josef the next morning at the breakfast table.  What follows is a game of "Look over and then away" that each of them seems to play as the awkwardness grows.  Finally, however, the man stands up....

....And surprises us all by placing a fond hand on Bobby's arm.  He's decided to stand up for Josef along with his wife.

This is just about all we see of Bobby, but the story ends by Martin being apprehended due to the great detective work and advocacy of Matt Anders.

At the very end, we see Josef walking happily out of his apartment, free of fear, with his new adoptive parents, who look on proudly.

This was a good little show!  It was obviously meant to try to help the public change perspectives during the Cold War and in the wake of WWII regarding war refugees.  The acting was good all around.

Hope you enjoyed my recap!  Next week we will have TV Reader's Digest "A Matter of Life or Death."

Last Edit

From a Rawhide screencap.

Beautiful guy. ⚘

Rainy Day Ramblings and "Treasure Island" by Keith Althaus

So I don't usually run very dark themes on my blog regarding Bobby's life.  I suppose that's because, the darkness is something we all know about -- it seems to have defined his memory these fifty years since his death.  I prefer to focus on the light I catch peeping through the cracks every so often, the light that was Bobby's true spirit underneath the layers of pain and addiction.

However, we cannot ignore that the darkness did exist.  It was part of what molded him, what sculpted his mind and heart, and if we say we love and appreciate who Bobby was as a person, that does include an understanding of his world -- darkness included.

Therefore, when I ran across this poem, I decided I wanted to paste a portion of it here due to give us a glimpse into what life was like for Bobby during his addiction.  I have no way of knowing, actually, if the guy who wrote this actually did sit across from Bobby at a table at a drug dealer's pad or whether he just imagined all of this from hearsay.  I tried to contact him, but can find virtually no trace of him on the internet.

But, whether this particular poet did run into Bobby or not, the scene he depicts in his words is a scene we can know we would have seen, had we followed Bobby into his places of bondage.

This poem, published in a book of poetry by Keith Althaus called Ladder of Hours: Poems 1969-2005.

Treasure Island: For My Son

Beside me

on the couch,

finally quiet

after running all day; 

his knees stick out

like a pair of bruised peaches.

The room is bright,

a box of light

floating in darkness.

Windows on three sides open

so it's almost out-of-doors.

The noise of the swamp

drifts in: peepers,

and unknown wings

flapping, shaking loose,

bugs bouncing off screens,

the corners murmuring.

Although he can read now,

he'd rather listen,

like getting a ride

and watching the trudging 

miles go by.  

What does he see

as I read the description

of the bluff above the cove

where the pirate ship

lay anchored?  

A hill nearby 

where Truro

curves around the bay?

And he's Jack Hawkins, I'm sure,

but who's the Squire, the Doctor,

and Long John Silver?

Citronella circulates 

its smell from childhood,

now mimicking hashish,

and the lighthouse

from a mile off

casts its weak strobe

over land, together conjuring

another treasure hunt 

begun before you've got

an idea what you're 

looking for, only

what it is not.

Behind the laced sugar water

taste of the metal of the spoon,

like blood, and hear again

the heroic music turning tinny,

as everything slows

like a film caught until

it burns in front of

the projector's naked bulb,

a light behind the eyes

that won't go out.

That time is kept alive

like a match cupped

against the wind, a candle

in a skull, flickering tonight

in uneven breaths,

as sleep,

the dark sub-text,

the undertow

in the story-teller's voice

pulls him under, and carries

him off to an island 

overgrown with the vegetation 

of dreams and peopled 

by composites 

from the day's dismemberment

by clock hands.

Then, subtly altered, its mass

magnetized, his head

is charged with dreams,

and leaning next to mine

generates their waking 

counterpart: wishes,

but all in the negative:

may he avoid this, 

be spared that,

not have to go through 

something else... the list 

cuts out a silhouette, faceless,

blind with bliss,

while I revisit another night,

an afternoon stretched into evening

in a dealer's pad on Eleventh Street,

across the table from Bobby Driscoll,

who, someone told me later, 

"played the kid in Treasure Island."

Even the small town paper I was reading a few years later

carried the wire service obituary,

an overdose:

a clear proof of something

still unclear.

That night

when his connection came

he broke off talking 

and tied his ascot 

around his arm

and hunted for a vein,

then leaned back, eyes filled

with appreciation, overwhelmed

as soundless applause

spanned the living pain

separating the same person

years apart.

The dark is lined with fur,

fins, and feathers

rustling and fluttering,

their sudden silence

a trip wire across the lawn

leading to the swamp

where the tireless lighthouse

flashes its ambiguous message:

equal parts safety and danger, 

and its strobe shows

the night at work:

its jumping eyes, and vines 

of climbable shadows,

and interlocking circles

like magician's rings

spreading across the water

as rain brings music,

changing tempos, slowing, adding

a thousand strings

in all directions: so many

leaves struck, grasses bent,

and branches glazed.

He stirs at its cold scent; 

a shiver runs through him,

then me.  It's late.

I mark our place.

*****************

From what I can gather, this is more or less about a dad who shared the Treasure Island book-reading experience with a beloved son, and as his son fades into sleep, he finds himself thinking of all the things that could be for the little "Jim Hawkins" lying next to him.  In his semi dream-state, he then visits another time when he saw another Jim Hawkins making far different decisions than he would ever have his son make.

How sad would it have made Bobby -- bright-eyed Bobby with the adventurous and kind spirit, who was said to have loved children -- to see that he had turned into the kind of person parents were afraid of their kids following the example of?

For Althaus, the magic of childhood truly could turn to dust, and had before his very eyes.  Of course, as mentioned before, this could have been a scene he wrote out of assumption, not based on an actual experience he'd had with Bobby.

Addiction.  It's a terrible beast of a thing, and my heart hurts to think of the shame Bobby must have carried around, particularly in a world when so few people understood or had much patience with it whatsoever.  It is my feeling that -- as it so often is even today -- the biggest hook addiction had in Bobby was held by the company he kept.  It sounds as though he began a relationship with narcotics out of a desperation to fit in in high school with a brand of people who would accept him... and from there, the madness spiraled outward.  It's difficult to understand exactly what the Beatnik influence was on Bobby's drug use, as most Beatniks were known to be drug users, yet in Semina Culture it was stated that Wallace Berman wouldn't let Bobby come around him when he'd been using drugs.  This feels like a mixed message... but I know far too little about Beat Culture to know how much responsibility to place there.

We know Suzanne Carrier/Stansbury was a drug user, which served as a major bonding agent in Bobby's relationship with her.  Sharon Morrill was likewise a major addict and a criminal to boot.  The fact that Bobby filled his need for love with these women he also used drugs and committed felonies with didn't supply him much motivation to get clean, either.

Regardless of the reasons, Bobby made his choice.  But I can't help but feel he would be relieved to see how far addiction science has come since his own years of struggle.  I've thought about that alot lately as this month, September, is National Recovery Month.

I'm sad he wasn't around to see the progress.

Pic of the Week!

I don't typically have an actual Pic of the Week feature on here, but this week I do.  ;)

I just really love this picture of young Bobby and wanted to share it today, even though we've probably all seen it before.  It's amazing how his face never really changes from childhood to adulthood, aside from the typical growth you'd see.

Heads up, Jordan Allender is about to do another Lost Boy Update for us on October 1st!  For those who don't know, "Lost Boy: The Bobby Driscoll Story" is a documentary this young man has been working on tirelessly since 2012.  It's already looking like it's got some great content, including interviews with George Herms and Connie Stevens, and when it's released, it will be the closest thing we've got to a biography of Bobby's life to date.  We can know Bobby wanted his story told from the way he pursued Truman Capote shortly before his death about publishing a book, and thus far many have begun research on a biography, but no one's actually finished one.  This project may be the only commemoration we ultimately end up with (for time is swiftly passing, and taking with it many of Bobby's old acquaintances), so I encourage all Bobby aficionados to support it.

More Bobby edits with some thoughts thrown in

I think I'm just gonna post the rest of these since I don't have anything particularly good to blog about this week.

Now next week, get ready for an elaboration on "A Matter of Life and Death" from TV Reader's Digest!

I'll be honest, I"m not so big on this edit and may redo it.  The yellow effect on his upper lip kind of looks like a mustache.  But I added a link from the interview with red Brown he did back in 1962.  I have heard from more than one person that Bobby had a gentle spirit.  I may have even said this before, but a passionate, sunny disposition juxtaposed with gentleness seems to be kind of a unique personality blend.  I'd give anything to have experienced Bobby in person back all those years ago....

An edit I did of the main picture on this blog.  The earnestness in his eyes is not lost, for sure.

Another quote by Fred Brown that I thought is perfectly exemplified in this picture of Bobby.

A little of that Peter Pan magic, even years after...

I loved how this filter looked like a painting!

I only realized later that I used the same filter here as I'd used on the earlier Peter Pan picture, but oh well, it was a good one for this shot.

By the way!  I did get to talk to Tosh Berman one day this past week -- a total treat, given who his dad was to Bobby -- and he spoke of remembering family picnics his parents and Bobby/Marilyn/Kids went on in his very early years.  

This made me happy.  I read once in the very small selection of Semina Culture how Wallace had at one point put down a hard boundary with Bobby by telling him he could only come around when he wasn't on drugs -- a thing which Bobby apparently respected.  I'm not sure if that was in those early days, or later, but what I hope is Bobby was able to have fun with his children during these picnics without the influence of substances hanging over him.  I can't help but wonder how attentive a father he was when he was clean and sober, even if for just days at a time.  Was he easy-going with his children, or over-protective and anxious to pluck them up if they toddled too far away from where he was?

We may never know, but we can definitely imagine.

Hope you all have a lovely and fruitful week.  See you again next time, with more screenshots and episode descriptions!