Love, Lucy by Lucille Ball (English) Paperback Book

Description: Love, Lucy by Lucille Ball Originally published: New York: G.P. Putnams Sons, c1996. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLERThe one and only autobiography by the iconic Lucille Ball, hailed by TV Guide as the "#1 Greatest TV Star of All Time."Love, Lucy is the valentine Lucille Ball left for her fans—a warm, wise, and witty memoir written by Lucy herself. The legendary star of the classic sitcom I Love Lucy was at the pinnacle of her success when she sat down to record the story of her life. No comedienne had made America laugh so hard, no television actress had made the leap from radio and B movies to become one of the worlds best-loved performers. This is her story—in her own words.The story of the ingenue from Jamestown, New York, determined to go to Broadway, destined to make a big splash, bound to marry her Valentino, Desi Arnaz. In her own inimitable style, she tells of their life together—both storybook and turbulent; intimate memories of their children and friends; wonderful backstage anecdotes; the empire they founded; the dissolution of their marriage. And, with a heartfelt happy ending, her enduring marriage to Gary Morton.Here is the lost manuscript that her fans and loved ones will treasure. Here is the laughter. Here is the life. Heres Lucy..."The comic actress in her own words...intensley moving."—San Francisco Chronicle"Filled with light and laughter."—New York Times Book Review Author Biography Lucille Ball (1911–1989) was a beloved actress, comedienne, and Hollywood icon. Best known for her eponymous role in the hit 1950s TV sitcom I Love Lucy, she also starred in radio shows and appeared in dozens of films and television shows throughout her career, winning numerous awards, including multiple Emmy Awards, the Golden Globe Cecil B. DeMille Award, and in 1987 the Lifetime Achievement Award in Comedy from the American Comedy Awards. Review Praise for Love, Lucy"We watched her, we loved her...Lucy fans will find the book fascinating."—Detroit News"Her story is one of triumph...a winner."—New York Newsday"A warm, conversational memoir...Lucille Ball died in 1989, so its a shock to hear the gleeful, guiless voice of Americas favorite redhead ring out with such vitality in an autobiography."—The New York Times Book Review"An extremely interesting memoir...Its a way to discover first hand what was most important to Lucy—like Desi, her mother, her family and kids, the career, her mentor Lela Rogers—and what was not. She was the geniuine article. So is this book."—Robert Osborne, The Hollywood Reporter Review Quote Praise for Love, Lucy "We watched her, we loved her...Lucy fans will find the book fascinating."-- Detroit News "Her story is one of triumph...a winner."-- New York Newsday "A warm, conversational memoir...Lucille Ball died in 1989, so its a shock to hear the gleeful, guiless voice of Americas favorite redhead ring out with such vitality in an autobiography."-- The New York Times Book Review "An extremely interesting memoir...Its a way to discover first hand what was most important to Lucy--like Desi, her mother, her family and kids, the career, her mentor Lela Rogers--and what was not. She was the geniuine article. So is this book."--Robert Osborne, The Hollywood Reporter Excerpt from Book Chapter One Im a Leo. I was born on a Sunday, August 6, 1911. Unfortunately, everybody knows my birth date because I told the truth when I first came to Hollywood. I grew up not on the sidewalks of New York City, as some people think, but in the beautiful resort area of Lake Chautauqua, New York, near the green, wooded Allegheny wilderness. I used to say I was born in Butte, Montana-I thought it sounded more glamorous than western New York. I was conceived in Montana when my father was working for his father as a lineman at Independent Telephone Company in Anaconda. But I was born in my grandparents apartment on Stewart Street in Jamestown, New York, where I was delivered by my grandmother Flora Belle Hunt. My mother, DesirZe Hunt-or DeDe, as we call her-was of French-English descent, with a touch of Irish from her fathers side that showed in her porcelain-fine English complexion and auburn hair. DeDe was so talented musically that she could have been a fine concert pianist, but at seventeen she met and married a local Jamestown boy, my father, Henry Durrell Ball. As soon after my birth as my mother could travel, she insisted we return to Montana and Henry. Henry was tall, with intense, penetrating blue eyes. He was a wonderful guy, according to everyone who knew him: full of fun, with a good comic sense. DeDe says I got my sense of humor from him. People are always asking me if Ball is my real name. As a young model, I tried being Diane Belmont for a while, but that kind of phony elegance wasnt for me. All I know about the Ball side of my family is that they are descended from an English family that owned houses and lands in Herefordshire in some early period. There were Ball mariners, hunters, priests, and barons, but, it appears, no actors. As for the American branch of the family, there was some Ball blood in George Washington; his mothers maiden name was Mary Ball. Ball family records place them in New York, Pennsylvania, Vermont, and Massachusetts, and I found gravestones of several Balls on Arthur Godfreys farm in Virginia when we visited him last spring. For almost four years I was an only child. My young parents showered me with affection. I was at the center of the stage; life was a lark. DeDe tried dressing me in ribbons and bows, but I rebelled, never being the prissy doll type. My father roughhoused with me as he might with a boy, tossing me to the ceiling and catching me a few feet from the floor, and giving me piggybacks. I screamed with delight while DeDe worried about the tomboy she was raising. Im known among comediennes as a stunt girl who will do anything. Red Skelton flatters me by saying I have the courage of a tiger. I dont think its a matter of bravery; its just doing what comes naturally. I do know that if an actress has the slightest aversion to pie in the face or pratfalls, the camera will pick it up instantly. The audience wont laugh; theyll suffer in sympathy. Perhaps my willingness to be knocked off a twenty-foot pedestal or shot down a steamship funnel goes back to my earliest, happiest days with my father. I knew he was going to catch me; I wasnt going to get hurt. DeDe says that I adored my young father. When I was about three, she got tired of the 40-below Montana winters and homesick for the gentle green hills of home, so eastward we went, to Wyandotte, Michigan, a suburb of Detroit, where my father became foreman of a telephone line crew. Late one day the following January, my father caught the grippe and went to bed. Several days later a whopper of a sleet storm hit Detroit. Being a highly conscientious guy, my father bundled up to get the crews and payroll out. Despite his bad cough and fever, he climbed up poles in the sleet and snow, trying to secure the tangled fallen wires. He kept going until the emergency was over, only to return to bed, this time with his fever raging. My young mother was five months pregnant when my father fell ill. To keep me under control, she tied me to a dog leash, which she then hitched to the clothesline in our backyard. Every time somebody would pass by on the sidewalk, Id beg to be released. I must have been pretty convincing, because I was set free a lot. Then poor DeDe would have to frantically search the neighborhood for me. My mother finally made arrangements with our kindly corner grocery store owner, Mr. Flower. He let me prance up and down his counter, reciting little pieces my parents had taught me. My favorite was apparently a frog routine where I hopped up and down harrumphing. Then Id gleefully accept the pennies or candy Mr. Flowers customers would give me-my first professional appearance! My fathers condition never improved. His grippe turned into typhoid fever. He died not long after that storm. He was only twenty-eight and my mother was almost twenty-three. I was not yet four, but I remember vividly the moment she told me Daddy was gone. I could tell you where the tables were, where the windows were, what they looked out on, where the bed was. And I remember at that very moment, a picture suddenly fell from the wall. And I noticed on the kitchen windowsill some little gray sparrows feeding. Ive been superstitious about birds ever since. Ive heard that birds flying in the window are supposed to bring bad luck. I dont have a thing about live birds, but pictures of birds get me. I wont buy anything with a print of a bird, and I wont stay in a hotel room with bird pictures or bird wallpaper. From Wyandotte, on a cold March morning, we returned to Jamestown with my fathers coffin, and DeDe says I showed very little emotion until the funeral service. As they lowered his coffin into the ground and began filling in his grave, she says, I let out a bloodcurdling scream shell never forget and wouldnt stop until she carried me away. After that, my mother and I returned to her parents home in Jamestown. The next few years were very difficult ones for DeDe. She had practically no money and her parents had little to spare. I think she was a little stunned by her unhappy circumstances. I can remember her shaking her head, saying softly, "Married before I was eighteen, a mother before I was nineteen, and widowed before I was twenty-three." The future must have looked very bleak to her. She had been deeply in love with my father. I know she missed him very much. DeDes parents, my grandfather and grandmother Hunt, were then living in a small place on Buffalo Street in Jamestown. Their only son, my uncle Harold, had died of tuberculosis just a few years before, when he was only eighteen. They hadnt yet recovered from that loss, so when DeDe gave birth to a fine baby boy four months after my fathers death, they were overjoyed. My brother arrived on Saturday, July 17, 1915, and was christened Fred Henry after Grandpa Hunt, who passed out cigars at the furniture factory that day and boasted to everyone about his fine boy, Freddy. He really thought of Freddy as his very own. I was largely ignored and I became very jealous. Its always hard to go from being an only child to having an infant sibling in the house. Since my father had just died, Im sure I was particularly sensitive to the great fuss that was made over the new baby. DeDe must have remembered that because, in 1953, when friends poured into our house with presents for little Desi, she stood by the front door and reminded them to "be sure to say hello to little Lucie first." I remember feeling jealous about Freddy. But it, of course, wasnt his fault-he was a calm and levelheaded little boy, cooperative and hardworking. He took good care of all his belongings and never broke anything of mine. He never strayed far from home either, or caused anybody concern or worry. I was the tomboy and the daredevil, not Freddy. By the time I was twelve and Freddy was eight, I adored him, and have never changed my mind. After Freddys birth, my mother became more and more depressed, so finally it was decided that she should go to California for a complete change of scene. Freddy stayed with my mothers parents, while I was sent to live with my aunt Lola, my mothers younger sister. Lola was a plump, bosomy, easygoing woman who ran the best beauty shop in town. She had just married a Greek named George Mandicos. George had been born and raised in Greece and spoke with an intriguing accent. He was the first Mediterranean type in my life, and he fascinated me. With my father dead, and me now separated from my mother, I naturally fell madly in love with Uncle George. My aunt and uncle were still honeymooning during this time. Distracted by each other, they couldnt have cared less whether I got to school or not. So most days I spent in my aunts beauty shop or following Uncle George. Once again I was an only child, with a mother and a father, and it was such a happy, relaxed time for me. DeDe, however, was miserable away from her children, so in a year or so, back she came to Jamestown. Shed been a widow for about three years when she married a big "ugly-handsome" Swede named Ed Peterson. He was a metal polisher who enjoyed his home-brewed beer on Saturday night and took pride in his handsome wardrobe. Ed was known as a "dresser," and when he turned himself out, he looked like the king of Sweden. Ed was a pleasant guy to have around, but despite his marriage to our mother, he never thought of himself as a father to me and Freddy. On DeDes wedding day, I remember, I sidled up to the new groom, so thrilled to have a father again. "Are you our new daddy?" I smiled up at him. Ed looked down at me with surprise. "Call me Ed," he said shortly, shakin Details ISBN0593548388 Author Lucille Ball Language English Year 2022 ISBN-10 0593548388 ISBN-13 9780593548387 Format Paperback Publication Date 2022-11-15 Publisher Penguin Putnam Inc Imprint Berkley Publishing Corporation,U.S. Country of Publication United States AU Release Date 2022-11-15 NZ Release Date 2022-11-15 US Release Date 2022-11-15 UK Release Date 2022-11-15 Pages 288 Illustrator Bob McMahon Birth 19500627 Affiliation Professor emeritus (deceased), University of British Columbia Position Professor emeritus (deceased) Qualifications MD MPA DEWEY B Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:144837868;

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