The currents and eddies of life fascinate me. Half-asleep in bed tonight, I recalled something that never made it into either of my two books about De because the events happened later…so I want to share them here.

 

After DeForest Kelley passed away, he received two awards, both of which he knew he’d be receiving: The Gene Roddenberry Award and The Golden Boot Award. I found myself thinking about them this evening. I was the one who carried them home to Carolyn Kelley after they were awarded.

 

I attended the Golden Boot event. The venue was filled with the cowboys and cowgirls I grew up watching on TV. Although Roy Rogers had already passed, Dale Evans was in attendance and the remaining Rogers brood was well represented by Rogers sons, daughters and grandchildren. Dale was in a wheelchair, but still as radiant and beautiful (in my eyes) as ever. I regret to this day not taking a moment to stop by her table to thank her and Roy for helping “raise” this little girl into a decent human being.

 

Well-known western singers and bands entertained us while I ate and visited with the people I was seated with. Before De’s award was announced, they ran a 12-minute tribute to him–the same one that was shown at his Memorial Service. (You can watch it here on YouTube. Yeah, as usual, they spelled his last name wrong–an everlasting gripe of mine. De joked about that: “As long as the checks clear, I don’t care how they spell my name.” Well, I do!)

 

After that, Paramount Producer A.C. Lyles accepted the award on De’s behalf and shared some of his memories of making westerns with De. Backstage after the event, he passed the award along to me to take to Carolyn. She kept the award in her hospital room until she passed away some five years later. (De got to see the award ahead of time, before his name was engraved on it. Bill Campbell made sure of that, bless his heart!)

 

The Gene Roddenberry award, like the Golden Boot award, was issued the same year De died. I don’t recall where either event was held, but I remember getting to the Roddenberry venue and seeing all of the Star Trek stars there except  for Shatner and Nimoy. I remember saying hello to Richard Arnold and Nichelle Nichols, both of whom I knew relatively well–Nichelle because we’d shared a few meals while she visited De and Carolyn in the hospital, Richard because he attended Sue Keenan’s star ceremony party the night De got his star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and because he had visited my home in Encino a time or two when Kelley fans gathered there. They both took extra good care of me and commended me for the care I took of De the last few months of his life and for the care I was taking of Carolyn. (I served Carolyn for more than twice as long as I had De..more than seven months.)

 

What I remember most from the Roddenberry event are the few minutes that Nichelle sang “I Don’t Know How to Love Him” from the musical Jesus Christ Superstar. I remember it so well because 1.) I love the song and 2.) Nichelle dedicated it to me to thank me publicly for putting my life and career at Warner Bros. on hold to care for De (as A.C. had, too, during De’s memorial service.)

 

The song would have been poignant enough had she not dedicated it to me, and just dedicated it to the memory of De (whom I had described at his memorial service as “the kind of man God had in mind when He created Adam”, a true reflection of divine, merciful, agape Love). But when she did that, I knew for a fact that I was probably going to “lose it” before she got to the end of it. I was sitting at a table with eight or more total strangers and I really, really did NOT want to cry. But by the time she got to the last verse, tears were rolling down my cheeks: I self-consciously wiped them away, hoping no one would notice. One of the people sitting next to me did notice and put her hand on my back or shoulder to comfort or commiserate with me. Although I appreciated the gesture, it just opened the flood gates more. It was the first time, I think, I cried after De died. I had been so busy “staying strong” for Carolyn that I’d stuffed my own grief way down deep inside. Nichelle’s song gave me permission to feel what everyone who loved De had been feeling ever since he passed away. It hurt, but it also initiated the healing process.

 

Another two songs remind me of De every time I hear them.

 

[You Were a] Good Friend (Kenny Rogers version).

 

For Once in My Life (Robert Goulet version).  In my mind, this song has segued  from being a song about romantic love to a song about giving care to a loved one. This is because of a comment De made to me in his Lexus as I was driving him back to the hospital. This song was playing on the radio: I had no idea that  the lyrics were doing to him what they were doing to me–twisting themselves to fit this new, shared reality. As the song ended, he reached over, voice husky with emotion, patted my hand, and said, “I need you, dear girl…”  I burst into tears and said, “Perfect timing, MISTER Kelley!’  (I usually called him De, but this moment called for serious, serious respect!)

 

Another song title puts a bow on this blog post for me:

Loving Him Was Easier [Than Anything I’ll Ever Do Again]

 

I know a lot of you feel exactly the same.

 

I said the following at De’s memorial service at Paramount, and I will believe it to my dying day: “If the world was more heavily populated with DeForest Kelley types, it would be the paradise we all wish it was.”