回复：【Gable Forever】#type#盖博传记介绍之〈C

下面post一些这本书的内容

Clark Gable’s widow tells about their life together and the son he never saw
One night shortly after my husband’s death, filled with an overpowering sense of sorrow, I went into his study and knelt beside his favorite chair. I prayed for him, and I wept. Then I felt the soft hands of my young son on my shoulder.
“Mother,” Bunker said, “crying isn’t going to bring Pa back, but if it helps you, go ahead. In the meantime, you’re sort of ruining Pa’s good leather chair with all that salt.”

There will be very little salt on these pages.
Clark Gable and I were married for only five years and four months. But we were ready for them, and we used them wisely. What we had in that time together was so beautiful that at first I —words to describe it. Then I realized it was really very simple—we had love.
Looking back over that period, I wonder if there are many people who, even in 25 or 50 years of marriage, find the happiness that Clark and I had. He loved me, and I loved him. Once that was established, we made no bones about it. We didn’t play silly games, like trying to make each other jealous. We were too busy trying to make each other happy. One way we did this was to listen to each other. We enjoyed talking together. There was a general communication between us. I think there are too many couples who talk AT each other.

赞，继续哦

来咯

I turned down the first invitation I received to meet Clark Gable. This was in 1942, shortly after I arrived in Hollywood. I had a stock contract at MGM, where he was the reigning star, and one day I received a call from Benny Thau, an MGM executive.
“We’re giving a little going-away party tomorrow night for Clark Gable—he’s leaving for overseas service,” Mr. Thau said. “I’d like to invite you as Clark’s dinner partner.”
This sounded like a command performance. I told Mr. Thau I was terribly sorry, but I had another engagement I couldn’t break.
Shortly after I hung up, another executive telephoned. He repeated the invitation. Politely, I declined again. Then came a third call. Mr Thau was back. He thought perhaps I had changed my mind. I hadn’t. Apparently, they just couldn’t believe an unknown young contract player named Kathleen Gretchen Williams would turn down a chance for a date with Clark Gable. “I’m sorry,” I repeated firmly, “I’ll just have to wait and meet him some other time.”
That time came about six months later. There were no intermediaries on the phone this time. “Miss Williams, this is Clark Gable. I’m home on leave,” he said. “I wonder if you’d have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
“I’m afraid I’m busy,” I answered.
“What day aren’t you busy?” he inquired, sounding just a little amused. I informed him that Wednesday was open, and he promptly replied that Wednesday was fine with him.
“How would you like to have dinner at my house?” Clark asked and added, “The ranch is really beautiful at this time of the year.” I said that sounded lovely. “I’ll call for you at 7:30,” promised Captain Gable.

He rang my bell at exactly 7:30. (I don’t think he was ever late in his life.)
We headed towards Clark’s Encino ranch. The big electric gate which guards the entrance opened for only a few of his closest friends in 23 years. Unlike many of his colleagues, he never invited the press into his house. His innate shyness, his reserve and natural dignity precluded any such wide-open door policy.
I’ll never forget my reaction as we drove the quarter mile of winding road to the house. It was not just what I saw, it was also what I sensed—an air of peacefulness. Solid hedges of oleander trees bordered the drive. Clark cherished the half-mile stretch of Etoile de Hollande climbing roses that he and Carole Lombard had planted during the early days of their marriage. So do I.
I should mention that we weren’t entirely alone on our first date. Clark had a Siamese cat named Simon, a dachshund named Commission and a beautiful hunting dog named Bobby. The whole troupe escorted us to the dining room. A few moments later, Jessie, the cook, came through the swinging door, bearing a large Spode platter with a tremendous roast of beef, surrounded by Yorkshire pudding and gravy. That platter was balanced on one hand, held high over her head.
Just as she approached the table, the cook tripped over the braided rug. She went down with a great crash. Yorkshire pudding plopped onto the table. Hot gravy splattered over everything. And that great big beautiful roast landed on the floor along with Jessie. But not for long.
Bobby, a hunter to the core, made the fastest retrieve in history. With jaws clamped firmly around the meat, the dog tore out of the room before anyone could recover. Meanwhile, the dachshund was attacking slices of beef, and the cat quickly grabbed a big hunk of Yorkshire pudding.

哈哈哈！！！好玩。楼主继续哦

先睡了，明天再更

My dress was soaked through with gravy. Clark looked over. “Well,” he said, flashing me that grin, “the first date you have with me, you end up in the gravy. I imagine I’ve made quite an impression on you.”
We ended up our first date at the kitchen table, laughing and talking over bacon and eggs.
Later, rumors had it that I fell madly in love with Clark at first sight and desperately wanted to marry him, but that he was executing a characteristic Gable defense maneuver. When we stopped seeing each other, about a year after we met, it was duly reported that I had overplayed my hand and had frightened Gable off.
The rumors didn’t particularly upset me. The reason was very simple—Clark and I were not deeply in love that first year. There was no great, great romance, just gaiety and amusing times together. When we stopped seeing each other, it was without any difficult scenes of parting. Clark phoned me to say good-by before he left for New York. As we were winding up our pleasant conversation, Clark remarked lightly, “Please, Kathleen, don’t get married again.” I replied, “May I say the same to you, my dear—and bon voyage.”
Clark didn’t write or telephone for the next ten years. Nor did I make any attempt to contact him.

盖博和他的继子继女

I think the tragedy of losing Carole Lombard, whom he loved so devotedly, had left Clark with deep restlessness. He needed time to repair his own emotional bridges—time to travel, to be free of responsibilities.
I, too, needed time to develop and grow. I was 25 when I first met Clark, and I needed time to get to know myself. I don’t think either of us was ready for a mature, meaningful marriage at that point in our lives. But Clark disagreed.
Often, after we were married, during those long, happy evenings we spent relaxing, he’d turn to me and say, “Ma, we should have gotten married years ago.” But today, sitting alone, I’m still not so sure.
In the ten busy years that Clark and I went our separate ways, we each had our troubles and our triumphs.
After he was discharged from the Air Force, MGM welcomed him back with open arms, but the wrong kind of scripts.
I was busy handling my own troubles. I really had no burning desire for a film career. After playing a number of bit parts, I turned in my grease paint.