My King

In speaking and remembering the passing of friends and people (although never met) who have influenced my life, I came across the newest issue of Vanity Fair with the beautiful Elizabeth Taylor on the cover.

It seems that now she has decided to release some of the letters sent to her by Richard Burton.

All of us of a certain age remember the tremendous scandal when Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor ran from their respective spouses and ran off with each other. It was the love affair of the era.

When Richard Burton died, there were many critics who said that he had wasted his talents by relinquishing the theatre for million dollar movie roles starring "Liz and Dick".

The one thing that remains certain in life is that no matter what decisions we choose, there will always be those who will criticize. The choice or decision has no relevance; the criticism will always be there.

For me, Richard Burton was a King.

As a child, I had one real friend.

The rest of my time was spent with my books, dreaming of the adventures that I would have when I was grown. I couldn't wait to grow up for there were no adventures to be had in our small town except for re-enacting in our neighborhood swamp every movie that we devoured on "Million Dollar Movie".

Directly across the street was the home of Edna and Clyde Wilson. Mrs. Wilson was crippled with arthritis yet she never complained. The only drawback was that she had this awful boxer, Suzie, who never actually attached me; she just drooled all over me.

Mrs. Wilson, like my mother was another staunch New Englander and my mother would send me there to help her. We soon realized that we both shared a passion for books and she became more of a help to me than I ever was to her.

Because she had a beautiful New England accent, she would have me read aloud poems and Shakespearian verse and gently correct my diction. It was at her feet that I first learned about King Arthur and Camelot.

I can still recall reading "The Idylls of the King" with her and running across the lines that described Sir Galahad:
"My strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure".

Many a rainy afternoon, that little house became the setting for legends, myths, damsels in distress, heroes and villains. In those moments, even Suzie' sat still and I did not have to contend with any drool.

My own home was often a center of sadness. My twin brother was brain damaged and any dreams my mother and father may have had were put on hold in caring for both of us. I, of course, always believed that I got the short end of things so whenever I could escape, I would bolt.

But escape meant only three places: the home of my best friend, Mrs. Wilson's house, and the library.

Every week, I would carry a bag and walk to the library with two paper cards: one for Mrs. Wilson and one for me.

She delighted in mysteries and I just grabbed anything that looked like it was an epic. With both cards, hand stamped, I would make my way home.

There is no joy quite like opening a book and losing yourself within its pages.

Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table and Robin Hood were my first heroes. I certainly spoke enough about them to the annoyance of everyone. I felt I knew them. I made them a part of my lonely life.

Yet, when I was 13, an amazing thing happened. The world, at least what I knew of it, was catching up with me.

Alan Lerner and Frederick Loewe followed their hit "My Fair Lady" with a new show called "Camelot". It wasn't an immediate smash but on Sunday Ed Sullivan had the cast on his show and all of America tuned in to Ed Sullivan.

The next day there were lines around the theatre for tickets.

My father, who had once been my childhood hero had begun to be a distant creature to me. Yet, he was one of those people who stood on line.

When he came home and announced that he had bought the tickets for us, I was astonished. I thought that he had tuned me out of his life and never listened to a thing I said except to yell at me. I couldn't believe what he had done and I couldn't wait for that particular Saturday matinee.

And then the date arrived and we drove into New York. We ate lunch and walked to the Majestic Theatre. Along the way, we bumped into Roddy McDowell, (who played Mordred). With camera in hand, he was looking up, seeking something that was camera worthy to photograph. I was so shy, if anyone who knows me can believe that, and I didn't say a word to him.

I can still remember the thrill of the first notes of the Overture. I can still recall the first words I ever heard in any theatre spoken by one of the greatest actors who ever lived who just happened to possess one of the greatest voices that has ever been heard.

It was Richard Burton, my King Arthur.

I remember them all: Julie Andrews, Robert Goulet, Roddy McDowell but, above all, I remember the King, the brokenhearted king who spoke the precious words that ended the performance with "Don't let it be forgot, that once there was a spot, for one brief shining moment, that was known as Camelot".

The tears that stained my face that afternoon have long dried and the child who shed them has gone through many metamorphoses.

But for one brief shining moment, my father, who had once been the world to me, had reclaimed his place in my heart. I still have the ripped tickets, the old Playbill and the original vinyl Broadway cast recording.

As the years passed, it would not always be that way. My father and I both grew distant and only after his death did I realize that he was a man who never had a dream come true.

Life had defeated my father and in those letters in Vanity Fair, it seems that Richard Burton's life was not always a million dollar showcase either. He, too, was haunted by family obligations and he did all that he could to fulfill them.

Perhaps, Burton felt that he had never truly lived up to his potential. I know my father felt that way and the bitterness that claimed him destroyed him.

In seeking my own path, I could not help him.

I can only say, now, after all these years that my father did the best that he could under very tragic circumstances. It wasn't my way but it was his way.

My brother, my mother and my father are all buried together. My best friend is buried near them.

Richard Burton is buried in Switzerland with a large stone that bears just his name and his years of birth and death.

Still the romantic, I want my ashes scattered to the winds. I want to become as Tennyson once wrote "a part of all that I have met".

I want to be remembered in some other time and place where legends and myths abound.

Let it be written in eternity that once I had a father that I adored and he made one of my dreams come true.

And once there was an actor who still lives in my memory as My King.
He was and always will be My King.

I am grateful to my father and to Richard Burton.

I have had my share of these "brief, shining moments".

May they occur in every child's life and as the years pass may the memory of those moments
light up what remains of our place in time.