Goodbye, Carole

Carole Lombard Gable died 70 years ago today. Amazing to think that it has been that long, as Carole left in her wake films and tales that seem so modern. I’ve often thought you could drop Carole down in this day and age and she wouldn’t miss a beat.

There is no denying that her death infintely shaped Clark Gable’s life from that day on. He was different…and he was never quite the same.

From “The Story Gable Wouldn’t Tell”, Modern Screen magazine, November 1942:

Dorothy Canfield Fisher once wrote a story about a girl whose parents’ love and dependence on each other grew with every passing year. Then her mother died. In the shadow of her father’s desolation, she cried out: “People shouldn’t be happily married. It’s too terrible when one of them goes.”

Of course she was wrong, though in first anguish many might be inclined to agree with her. Cut those three years with Carole out of Clark’s life, take his memories from him, and you’d leave him an infinitely poorer man.

They’d been everything to each other, their devotion more complete than even their closest friends could have foreseen, than they themselves could have foreseen perhaps. They’d both been around. It wasn’t first love for either, but that rarer thing–a perfect blend of love, companionship, undoubtedly treasured the more because they hadn’t found it earlier. Carole went into marriage with the single thought of making Clark happy. His way of life–animals, farming, hunting–hadn’t been hers. She made it hers, knowing he’d be miserable any other way, not caring what way she went so long as it was with him. So they lived on a twenty-two acre ranch, and she hobnobbed with beef and poultry on the hoof and carried pitchers of milk like any farmwife to her lord and master sweating atop his tractor.

Before their marriage Clark had had plenty of friends. Carole had always been the hub of a crowd. Now they were sufficient unto themselves. Not that they turned into solitaries; both were to warm and genial for that. But as one friend put it: “They found something in each other that took care of everything.” they’d spend weeks on the farm, content to see nobody. You couldn’t even get them on the phone.

Clark never wrote letters. The only exception was the letter he wrote once a year on their anniversary to the girl who was living right there in the house with him. Carole wouldn’t work when he was off. he might take it into his head any old time to say, “Let’s go huntin’, Ma.” She wanted to be free to sling their stuff into the station wagon and go. First, second and third she was his wife. Being a movie star could take its chances.

Then came the Friday when he left the studio at five to pick her up at the airport. He raised the top on the car, since she didn’t like it down. With him was a friend whom we’ll call Ed because that’s not his name, and he shrinks from any publicity resulting from Clark’s tragedy.

Ed went in to check while Clark waited in the car. The plane, they told him, would be an hour late, so they drive to a hamburger joint for sandwiches and coffee. Clark was in high spirits, because Ma was coming home. When they got back forty-five minutes later, Ed was informed that the plane had come down at Las Vegas with motor trouble. Clark shook his head. “There must be something wrong.” They returned to the office together.

“It’s all right, Mr. Gable,” the clerk said. “Just a little engine trouble. They’re putting the passengers up at Las Vegas overnight.”

“What hotel?”

“That information hasn’t come through yet.”

“Look, Clark,” said Ed, “why don’t you go home? Maybe Carole’s trying to get you there. I’ll call Las Vegas and find out what hotel they’re stopping at.”

“Come over to the house and do it.”

“No, I’ll do it here.” Why he wanted to do it there he couldn’t have said–call it premonition or natural uneasiness caused by the delay.

He was in the telephone booth, coins in hand, when three men entered the place. He looked at their faces, and knew the worst had happened. Heavily he hung up the receiver and walked out. “How bad is it?”

“Very bad–” They added the few essential details.

He went up to the sky room where and MGM executive was dining. They phoned the studio. Eddie Mannix got the job of driving out to Clark’s house. There had been an accident, he said, that was all they knew. He got back to the airport with Clark as Jill Winkler, wife of the publicity man who’d accompanied Carole, came stumbling out of her car. The radio had blared the news at her as she drive to meet her husband. Clark stiffened. His face went a shade whiter. But his mind refused to accept what his ears heard. His brain was blocked at one point. There had been an accident, that was all they knew, that was all they knew–

The last trip…

The people around him were shadows. All his will was concentrated on getting to wherever Carole was. There were planes on the field, he moved toward them. Someone led him back. Someone said they’d have to charter a plane. It wasn’t easy. Planes were needed for soldiers. At last they managed to get an old crate. Its capacity was limited. There wasn’t room for Ed. He stood on the field, watching it disappear into the sky out of which–short hours or an eternity earlier–they’d been waiting to welcome Carole.

On Sunday Ed went to Las Vegas to bring Jill Winkler home. Otto’s body hadn’t been brought down yet. The regulations were–army first, then women, then male passengers, then the crew. Carole and her mother had been found. Clark refused to leave till they could take Otto back with them. But Jill was prevailed upon to go.

One of the friends who’d accompanied Clark met Ed.
“He hasn’t eaten since we got here. Go see if you can get him to eat.”

“If you can’t, I can’t–”

“Maybe a new face–”

He went in. “Hello, Clark.”

Gable lifted his ravaged face. “Hello.”
His eyes returned to the window. But the sight of Ed seemed to have dragged him back to the incredibly beautiful time when there had been a Carole in the world–back and then forward. He looked up again. ‘We didn’t meet the plane, did we, Ed?”

Ed’s heart turned to water. “No, Clark,” He said quietly, “we didn’t meet the plane.”

Then, a little later, “Want something to eat?”

“No.”
“Mind if I eat something?”
“No.”

He ordered a hamburger sent to him there. Maybe it was a lousy idea, but what could he lose? It worked. “Think you could get me some stewed fruit?” asked Clark. Ed was out of there like a bat out of hell. He wasn’t leaving this to the telephone. With the fruit, he brought back a bottle of milk. Clark finished the bottle, by which time Ed had stealthily introduced another. Clark finished that, too. No general ever got more satisfaction from a well-planned maneuver than strategist Ed.

A crumbled world…

Clark kept himself going till everything was done that had to be done. Otto was buried the day after Carole and her mother. He insisted on going. He went with Jill. Then he relapsed into what seemed a kind of stupor. They couldn’t get him to love; they could hardly get him to speak. He just sat.

Gable’s been rated a tough guy, who could take what blows fate handed out and come back for more. Those who wondered over his collapse are those who confused toughness with lack of deep feeling. Sure, Gable’s tough, none of which precludes the softer emotions. Tenderness is none the less tender when wrapped in a gag. One day there had been Carole, warm, alive, the dear companion of today and all the years to come. Next day there was Carole, a searing pain. She’d woven herself into every fiber of his being. Torn out, he was left bleeding. She’d been the heart of his world. When it stopped beating, the world crumbled. He was in no stupor. He’d crawled into the hole of himself, because every outside contact flayed his raw grief.

The few friends he did see where those who had loved Carole, who kept their hands off his grief. Instinctively, as a child does, he grew closer to his father. It was to his father that he first spoke of Carole, and the older man silently thanked the Lord. It was like the shadow of a crack in the ice. Presently he seemed to find his only relief in talking about her–this was what Carole had said, this is what she’d done. He seemed to be walking with her in the past. Between him and the future rose a night of horror. He wouldn’t approach it.