Twitch Upon a Star (69 page)

Blymer also recalled how Lizzie once called Foxworth “the love of her life”; how Blymer talked with him shortly after Elizabeth passed away; how he told her that Lizzie never wanted to get old.

“So, she didn't.”

Award-winning actress, comedienne, talk show host, writer, political blogger, social advocate, and comedienne Lydia Cornell is a loyal fan of both Elizabeth's and
Bewitched
.

Best known as
Sara Rush
, the “virginal blonde bombshell” on the classic sitcom,
Too Close for Comfort
, Cornell became one of the most popular blonde female sex symbols of the 1980s, as was Elizabeth in the 1960s. On
Comfort
, Cornell was the happy-go-lucky TV daughter of the Emmy-winning Ted Knight, who had found fame playing the egotistical anchor-man
Ted Baxter
on
The Mary Tyler Moore Show
in the 1970s. Off
Comfort
, Cornell was struggling with an addiction to alcohol and drugs.

Beginning with the discovery of her young brother's body after he died of a drug overdose, Cornell has endured one shattering personal tragedy after the other. At one point, she says, “I had three boys and two dogs, including my husband, and they were all going through puberty at the same time.” Her stepson, whom she raised since the age of four, suffers from brittle bone disease. “He's amazing,” she adds.

Cornell's pretty amazing, too. In 1994, she halted her substance abuse during a “catastrophic spiritual awakening.” Today, she is a grateful recovering alcoholic, who mentors teens and is a motivational speaker for recovery groups across the country. “Every bad thing I've ever been through has turned out to be something good or something hilarious. I have turned it all into comedy, somehow. I am grateful for every ‘wrong turn.'”

Lydia's poignant stories of transformation are laced with an innate sense of humor and comic timing, some of which was inspired by Lizzie. She explains:

As to any personal struggles that Elizabeth may or may not have had with substance abuse, Cornell says:

A mindset Ed Asner (who co-starred with Cornell's TV dad Ted Knight on
The Mary Tyler Moore Show
) believes may have been instilled into Elizabeth by her father Robert Montgomery. “Maybe that's where the cancer came from?” Asner suggests. Or maybe it stemmed from a combination of a number of sources?

Whether an actor, singer, dancer, writer, or director, be it for the big screen, TV, or the stage, there are many prevalent and destructive patterns that develop for those within every section of the entertainment industry. The fame, the money, the perks: it all becomes intoxicating and self-destructive, in more ways than one.

For one, Whitney Houston's tragic death from a toxic mix of drugs, drowning, and alcohol on the eve of the Grammy Awards in 2012 shocked the world. Consequently, on March 8, 2012,
The Los Angeles Times
published an informative article about the rampant substance abuse issue pervading the music industry in particular.
The Day the Music Died
was written by Randy Lewis, who wondered, “If celebrities who have access to every resource available can't get help, what hope is there for the majority of people who haven't even experienced the smallest fraction of their success?”

Or as Harold Owens, senior vice president of MusiCares/Musicians Assistance Program (MAP) Fund told the
Los Angeles Times
, “You can't reach an addict when he's not ready.” Owens should know. He's been counseling others in substance abuse since he became sober approximately twenty-five years ago. “I've been through the struggle,” he said. “To an alcoholic, I like to think it's a self-diagnosed disease: Nobody can tell you you're an alcoholic until you tell yourself.”

Suffice it to say, Lizzie may have joked about drinking in interviews with John Tesh and Ronald Haver, and may have even joked about wanting pina coladas poured into her IV on her deathbed (as was explained in
People Magazine
, June 5, 1995). She may have inherited a drinking problem from her mother and her paternal grandfather Henry Montgomery, Sr. Her father Robert Montgomery may have driven her to drink. Her relationship with the father-figure alcoholic Gig Young may have increased that drinking. The social drinking era of the 1960s may have camouflaged her drinking issues. Her drinking issues may even have compromised her relationships with her peers, thus cutting her chances for any Emmy victories, and on and on.

Either way, if she had any real issues with alcohol, Lizzie never acknowledged them, at least not publically. She may have admitted it to herself, or to her family and maybe a few close friends. but not to the world, and no medical documentation or statement was ever made to suggest it.

Maybe that's all because, as Liz Sheridan had expressed on MSNBC's
Headliners & Legends
in 2001, Elizabeth never wanted to face anything that was “bad or ugly.” Upon learning that Lizzie had cancer, or even when she was started to lose weight, Sheridan believed her friend was in that “huge state of denial.”

In essence, Lizzie may have been inadvertently “protected” from the truth, because admitting the truth in such instances of substance abuse or even potential substance abuse, usually hurts. However, nothing hurts more than death.

Studies have shown that alcoholism contributes to and exacerbates colon cancer, which is what killed Lizzie. Her weight also seemed to fluctuate over the years, if ever so subtly. And research has proven that weight fluctuation also contributes to colon cancer.

The bottom line is this: Whatever adversities Lizzie may have failed to conquer, that doesn't tarnish her memory, or make her a
bad
person. Her losses, just as much as her victories, merely make her a human person. She was someone who cared for others, but somehow neglected her own well-being. She may have needed help in certain areas, but didn't know how to seek it, and then ultimately never received it, for whatever reason. Either way, she's not any less wondrous a being who brought countless hours of magic to the world. And her death may not have been in vain.

As Harold Owens went on to tell the
Los Angeles Times
, “There's a harsh saying, ‘Some must die so that others can live.' I think the impact that the deaths of Freddie Mercury and Rock Hudson had on the public perception of AIDS are a good analogy to the situation we have now.”

Randy Lewis of the
Times
also interviewed Recording Academy President Neil Portnow, who has worked in the music industry since the 1970s as a record producer, music supervisor, and record company executive. Portnow said:

Or as Lewis himself deduced, “If (Whitney) Houston's death contributes to a broader understanding of addiction and substance abuse, her legacy might include more than the million-selling recordings she left behind.”

In like manner, if Lizzie's demise contributes to the same, on supposition alone, her legacy might include so much more than
Bewitched
, her TV-movies, and even her charitable work while she was alive.

Elizabeth Montgomery may have placed too much emphasis on age, and she may or may not have made the best choices with regard to her health, consciously or subconsciously. Either way, she died much too young and long before her time.

Instead of expiring at a ripe old age, following the climactic incidents of what, by most accounts (wealth, fame, good looks) was a happy (public and private) life, Elizabeth swiftly withered away, taking with her extraordinary occurrences, circumstances, and situation comedies and dramas. Instead of her death momentously culminating with a massive celebrity funeral that could have easily been monitored by a widespread audience as a spectacular turn of events, she protected with great dignity a personal agony from becoming a three-ring circus (that she would never have invited
to town
).

She gave herself little credit for artistic accomplishments that also failed to win the formal acceptance of her peers. Her life had been full, exciting, difficult, short, and then she died, without the usual large-scale Hollywood horns and whistles services that have become popular in recent years.

Sometime before or after that, Lizzie's body was cremated, and she departed into a timeless realm, a world of the ageless.

Beyond the unbreakable bond with her devoted children, Lizzie's most intimate relationships with husbands and friends were not always the lengthiest. Her link with her parents, particularly her father, wasn't always the healthiest. Although she never won the coveted TV Emmy amulet and once deemed herself unworthy of any “Mother-of-the-Year” award, the lives of everyone she touched—be they family members, co-workers, peers, recipients of her altruism, once-close friends, or all-too-distant fans—were indelibly changed forever, and for the better.

For the ever-shy Lizzie, such illumination, by way of her celebrated birth in the limelight to later carving out her own celebrity status, came with a lofty price. The public perception of the fanciful
Samantha
, coupled with the high expectations of her father and her lack of confidence, was overwhelming, even for someone who was used to the glimmer and clutter of Hollywood. Robert Montgomery, her most influential relative, may have been her severest critic. Rebecca Allen, her most beloved grandmother, may have been her most loving influence. But Lizzie herself was her own worst enemy.

She lacked certain career ambitions, but still pushed herself too hard. She was raised in a chic environment, but her surroundings were underpinned with a weak foundation. She craved the
average
life, clamored for it away from what often becomes the false glitter of Hollywood. As an adult, she rejoiced in the simplest of pleasures, whether seeing a movie or sharing a pizza (as she would sometimes do with the crew on any one of her TV sets). Such everyday experiences were foreign and nonexistent in her protected and privileged youth.

But as she matured, she retained a youthful spirit. She abhorred haughtiness, but at times could be perceived as much too proud. She welcomed routine conversation, but entertained power-lunch types. She reveled in the spectacle of everyday living, but like most TV and film personalities, felt the periodic anguish that was magnified by celebrity status—a status that was placed upon her extremely likable persona. As Bill Asher said on 1999's
Bewitched: The E! True Hollywood Story
, it was “hard not to” like Elizabeth.

Asher met the criteria of the father-figure type that frequently caught her eye, an appeal also evident in her second marriage to Gig Young, whom she wed after divorcing her first husband Fred Cammann, who was her contemporary in age (she was twenty-one, he was twenty-four).

Her fourth husband Bob Foxworth was eight years her junior and fell outside the confines of the father-figure scenario, although his first name matched that of her dad's. They had met on the set of
Mrs. Sundance
in 1973, two years after the original network demise of
Bewitched
, not one episode of which Foxworth had ever seen and a creative staple that Lizzie wanted to leave behind. She was immediately enchanted with Foxworth who in turn fell expediently under her still potent spell.

Had she and Cammann met at a later time and place, their marriage may have stood the test of time. Instead they wed too young amidst the sophomoric pretense of high society that left them ill-prepared to meet the responsibilities required to make a mature marriage work.

Lizzie was a sophisticated and cultured descendent of American royalty, a royalty that may have had a skeleton or two in its closets, but royalty nonetheless. Throughout it all, she was still imbued with a delightful candor and near naiveté that some in even the most economically challenged families may never grasp. Although not metaphysical like
Samantha
, she was just as heavenly in her appeal. She may have lacked the magical capabilities of her most celebrated role, but that only meant she was a mere mortal like the rest of us, flaws and all. We're all human. We all make mistakes. To quote the title of Doug Tibbles' third-season opening
Bewitched
episode— the show's first color segment, and one in which we learn that
Sam
and
Darrin's
little daughter
Tabitha
has supernatural powers just like her mom— “Nobody's Perfect.”