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Marie Dressler's
One
Great
This is the unpublished chapter of Marie's life — her own sad story of her love for Jim Dalton. She
herself, wanted it added to her life-story — at the end
This is the untold chapter of Marie Dressler's great life-story — the sad chapter that she, herself, wanted told at the end, to complete the story. To her, it was the most memorable, most tragic chapter of all. And it is told in her own words, as it should be told.
Two years and a half ago, she gave the details to Dorothy Spensley — a well-known Hollywood writer for years — asking only that the story be withheld until it could be transformed into one of her greatest memorials. — Editor.
M
A R I E DRESS L E R died the
heroine of a real-life romance far greater than any she ever played on the stage or screen. She was loved, honored, idolized, even worshiped, by kings and paupers, yet few of them knew that behind that warm, homely, kind face, with its broad mouth, its radiant smile and tolerant eyes, were memo ries of a love so vast that it filled the universe of this great-hearted, great-bodied woman.
One January day, two years ago, Marie Dressier said to me:
"Now is not the time to print the story, dear, but later it can be published. If it were printed now, it would only serve to remind me of a sorrow that was, when it happened, greater than I thought I could bear. It would only remind me of twenty years of the greatest happiness that
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one woman was ever to have. When I am dead, it can be printed, but they're not going to kill me off yet. Not for a long time! I'll fool them."
As she said this, a trace of the old vitality, the overwhelming vigor that was Dressler's, appeared. Mane was then, as she had been increasingly in recent years, tired, so tired, yet anxious to give her strength, her interest, to her friends, her charities, her film work. But she was already handicapped by the malignant disease that was then making inroads in her lealth. It was only a few months after the major operation which kept her a patient in Osteopathic Hospital during July, 193 1. My notes, carefully preserved, record that on that January alternoon in 1932 she went on to say:
What He
Meant to
Her
EXGEPT for my mother, Jim Dalton meant more than anything in life to me. I loved him, I loved him for twenty years, and I still love the thoughts of those years. They were not easy years. They were hard years. We went through thick and thin — poverty and riches, sickness and success, happiness and heartache.