Carrie And Me: A Mother-Daughter Love Story Part 21

One of our favorite memories is of the day when Carrie told Ted she wanted to write a screenplay in which he would play a part. He said, "I'd be happy to play your dad or your uncle." Carrie's response was, "Oh no! I want you to be my boyfriend." Ted loved that.

My memories of her are her big smile, her hugs, and her high-heeled boots. Also, you never knew what color her hair was going to be from day to day ... even purple! She was so down-to-earth and just ordinary folk. She loved animals as much as we do. We took care of her critters many times.

After she got so sick, we had been keeping in contact with her sister Jody and knew the end was getting near. When we learned of her pa.s.sing, it was so sad, but we were glad to know she wasn't suffering anymore.

Something strange happened. Carrie had given us a present of an answering machine and it went dead at the same time she pa.s.sed away. Maybe it was a message from her, but the thing is, we still have the machine and it's working fine. She was so special to us.

We buried the containers in the ground, and Carrie's friends and neighbors covered them with flowers. Birds-of-paradise.

Brian and I drove back down the hill and decided to have one last look at Carrie's beloved cabin. We had paid her a visit in her Gunnison digs a couple of years before. We had driven over from where we were vacationing in Telluride one morning, stopping on the way at an antique store, where I spotted an old Tiffany-style lamp that would appeal to Carrie's sense of decor. As we drove up the driveway to her home that first time, I was surprised at the vastness of her property, forty acres surrounded by majestic mountains. She and Pee Wee ran down the driveway to greet us. The two-story cabin was a little gem. The downstairs housed the living room, kitchen, and a dining room table. It was all open, with no walls dividing the s.p.a.ce. The upstairs (which she had built with the help of neighbors) was entirely devoted to the bedroom and bath. The s.h.i.+ngled roof had been hand-painted by Carrie-every single s.h.i.+ngle! Outside on the porch was her rocking chair.

Visiting Carrie at her cabin in Colorado with Great Dane Pee Wee in the background, 2000

I collected two things from the cabin to bring home: the Tiffany lamp, which she had loved, and one of her hand-painted s.h.i.+ngles. Brian had once again collected the rain in a water bottle, which he later transferred to another sealed perfume bottle.

Presenting Carrie with the antique lamp

In June 2002, my sister, Chris, my nephew Max, and I flew to Little Rock, Arkansas, and drove through Russellville, arriving in Belleville two hours later. I had spoken to the mayor (Mayor Kenny) a few times by phone before and had arranged the date for our visit, so we were expected. Special arrangements had been made for us to rent a small house near a golf course just outside of town for our three-day visit, but unfortunately, Brian, Jody, and Erin weren't able to make the trip at that time.

After we unloaded our suitcases we hopped into the car and headed for Belleville, just a few short miles ahead. As we drove into town I was surprised and touched to see a sign reading, WELCOME CAROL BURNETT AND FAMILY. Otherwise, it was exactly the way Carrie had described it. One main street, one cafe (the Memory Lane), one post office, one main store, one gas station, one fire station, one courthouse, and Ruth's Beauty Parlor.

Mayor Kenny and his lovely wife, Mary, took us to the Memory Lane Cafe for dinner. The place was packed, and we were greeted by the locals with open arms. The dinner was down-home delicious.

The next day we met the same old geezers Carrie had met when she first hit town that Sat.u.r.day afternoon (was it really only a little over a year and a half ago?). There they were, big as life, hanging out at the same old gas station. Mayor Kenny introduced me and they all said they remembered Carrie's visit. Amazing. It might have been Mr. Turnbull (the one who first recognized who Carrie was) who said to me, "Yep, that was some fine young lady. Never forget her. That smile of hers was wide as a barnyard door."

A smile as wide as a barnyard door

Logan White, the gravedigger, was equally enthusiastic about having taken Carrie to F.C.'s gravesite. "She was excited as all get-out over seeing where her ancestors had been laid to rest. She said that someday she'd like to come back and meet the whole town. Even said she'd get her hair fixed at Ruth's!"

We were taken over to F.C.'s house, where Nanny had been born. We were told that it had once been the finest house for miles around in these parts. It still looked pretty fine, with its new brick facade. The next day Mayor Kenny, who tooled around town on his motorcycle, handed me a helmet and I climbed up behind him and held on for dear life as we headed out to the cemetery. My sister and nephew followed us in the car. I had Carrie's ashes with me.

We reached Jones Hill, and found F.C. Jones's headstone. And now here I was, standing where Carrie had stood eighteen months ago. I took her ashes out of the container and scattered them over F.C.'s gravesite, then placed a bird-of-paradise on top, and as I was doing that, I heard Carrie's voice say to me, "Mama, I'd really like to go back to Belleville one day... ."

After Carrie died, I received many kind letters of condolence. Some of her friends wrote about their memories of times spent with her.

Dear Ms. Burnett,

My name is Kevan and I loved Carrie so very much. I thought I'd send you one of my favorite memories of her.

Carrie was such a wonderful friend to have and a wonderfully fun person to be around. I was forever asking to borrow clothes, shoes, or jewelry from her, she always obliged and fondly referred to me as the most voracious "prop queen" she had ever known! It wasn't long before the various parties we would attend or hold became unofficial compet.i.tions for us to upstage each other, either in outfits or behavior. It was always with much fun and love. I have to say Carrie outshone me every single time!

I remember a party I held at my house where Carrie turned up in the most outrageous Marie Antoinette costume complete with powdered wig and two footmen (!) by her side just to help her get her incredible dress through my front door. "We're here, dahling," she announced, and promptly gave me the most elegant curtsey one could ever receive.

The next day I called Carrie and said, "Once again girl, you upstaged me on every level."

"Nonsense, Kevster," she replied ... "Don't ever forget, I'm just you without a p.e.n.i.s!!!!!!!" She was INCREDIBLE. I miss those days so much!

x.x.xxx, Kevan

Dear Ms. Burnett,

Here is a very specific memory of one of the times I went to a "Carrie Hamilton House Party." Carrie's parties were always diverse, strange, and wonderfully weird, and that night was to be no exception.

As I was driving to the Hollywood Hills with my wife, Shawnda, for the latest event at Carrie's house, I had no idea what was in store for me that night. Upon arriving, we said our h.e.l.los to the usual cast of characters. Old, young, gay, straight-all there for an evening of fun and laughs.

Truth be told, I'm more of a wallflower, sticking by people I know and with whom I can easily converse. However, as the party progressed, I found myself in the kitchen, with a group of people who were mostly strangers to me. I could use the saying "one thing led to another," but a cliche would not accurately describe what went down.

Unplanned. Unscripted. Unusual.

The subject of what Carrie would or would not wear was omnipresent at her parties. Standing with her and a small group of guys, that subject naturally came up. Without any hesitation or forethought, Carrie challenged us to see what it was like to "be her"!

I suddenly found myself in her bedroom with the guys as Carrie started pa.s.sing out clothes and shoes. But the clothes were not for her or for us to merely look at, they were for us to wear! Very casually, nonchalantly, and with no qualms, our male clothing soon gave way to female clothing. But these weren't just any female clothes. These weren't just s.h.i.+rts and shoes one would see at any 'Insert Name Here' mall.

No, these were Carrie's clothes-unique, s.e.xy, and d.a.m.n hard for a guy to wear. Before long, I found myself walking down the stairs in a tight miniskirt and the highest high heels a man could possibly wear; all of us led triumphantly by Carrie.

That was Carrie. She made a non-drinking wallflower feel comfortable and at ease enough to put on a drag show in a room full of people. Something that I had never done and have never done since!

Thankfully, camera phones and social networking sites were not even on the radar at the time. All of us in that room have those unique and lasting visual memories, and that's more than enough. Thank you for the memories, Carrie.

Randy

From Philip Himberg

Artistic Director

Sundance Theatre Workshop:

July 8, 2002

Dear Carol,

The 2002 Theatre Lab starts today and I am enclosing our LAB BOOK, which is dedicated to Carrie.

Her spirit is very much here.

Much love, Philip

Dear Friends,