Chapter One
October 31 was one of those rare smogless Southern California days — the clear sky revealed the majestic mountains of the San Gabriel Valley. It would have been nice to spend this Sunday afternoon basking in the glorious sunshine.
But it was Ethel Waters' birthday, and I wouldn't have missed her special day for anything. I knew "Mom," as she liked me to call her, was experiencing "stormy weather" with her health. Bill and Joan Brown and I planned to spend the afternoon with Ethel.
Halloween day, 1976, was the milestone of Ethel's eightieth birthday, and she was alone in a tiny private room in the hospital. For over five weeks now she had been receiving daily radiation treatments for cancer. Her suffering was very great, and each time I visited her, it hurt me deeply to see her writhe in pain.
Ethel had known suffering for a long while with her hypertensive heart failure, congestive heart trouble, high blood pressure, ulcers, diabetes which had caused partial blindness, and a tumor referred to by doctors as "the size of a volleyball." Now she awaited the important decision as to whether or not surgery should be considered.
As the Browns and I got out of the car and walked toward
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the hospital, we were laden down with bunches of fresh flowers, including ones from singer Doug Oldham, writer Eugenia Price, and a special friend, Fred Dienert. We also carried several packages which had been left with us to take to her. Ethel just wasn't feeling up to having other visitors, so we were the privileged messengers.
The words "City of Hope" marked the entrance to the hospital. We were grateful for this place, one of the nation's most outstanding cancer research centers. But we knew that Ethel was well aware of another "city of hope," one that was not located in Duarte, California, but in a special place prepared by the Savior she had come to love. We had often heard Mom talk about being "homesick for heaven." Once when I was with her in Seattle, she had told a reporter, "I know where I'm going and I've got my bags packed. I'm just waiting for my Heavenly Father to snap the lock when He's ready to call me to my final home."
In the hospital, the strong medicinal smell in the corridor was a sharp contrast to the fresh air outside. Walking down the long hall, I noticed some empty rooms which indicated a number of patients had recently gone home — either to their earthly or their eternal one. I couldn't help but wonder how much longer Ethel would have to be here alone in this institution.
Looking like a walking florist shop, we received smiles as we passed the nurses' station. One or two of the nurses who had been there when I checked Ethel into the hospital greeted me. Room 639 — the last one down the corridor — had a huge hand-written sign taped to its door: "Absolutely No Visitors, Including Staff." It seemed Ethel had been constantly bothered by visits from numerous staff members, nurses, and other office personnel from the hospital. It was not every day they had a celebrity as one of their patients. Ethel's private nurse, Mrs. Mickelson, agreed it was time for a sign to be posted on the door when one of the nurses came in to ask
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Ethel for her autograph while she was on the toilet!
But we were special, and so we ignored the sign, knocked gently and walked in. Ethel had been expecting us. She smiled faintly through much pain. Even though she had lost so much weight, she was too big to be really comfortable in the twin-size bed. Joan and Bill each took a seat in the corner by the window and I perched myself on the foot of the bed. Ethel lay motionless on her back, her copper-colored skin a sharp contrast to the white sheet pulled over her. Mrs. Mickelson quietly slipped out of the room so we could be alone with her.
Ethel was obviously pleased that so many had remembered her on her special day. The purple orchids and violets (her favorite color) cheered her and brought life into the little room bounded by the stark white walls. Her morning had been a busy one with telephone calls bringing love and greetings from Ruth and Billy Graham, Julie Harris and her dear friend, Mary Crowley, whose concern and generosity was making it possible for Ethel to have Mrs. Mickelson there with her.
I helped her unwrap her packages, saving the gift from the Browns and me until last. We had written to over a hundred celebrities and friends, telling them that Ethel would be in the hospital on her birthday and nothing would please her more than to hear from them. Almost every one of them responded. We had their letters and cards bound into a beautiful book and presented it to her. She was overwhelmed and the tears flowed down her beautiful face.
The first letter Bill Brown read to her was from Frank Sinatra, calling her his favorite sparrow. The warmth of their friendship was evident by his signing the letter with his given name, "Francis Albert."
I had read the letter when it arrived, but to hear it again and see how it touched Mom's heart brought tears to my eyes.
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Bill continued to read with a letter from comedian George Burns:
Don't ask me how I found out (I have spies everywhere), but I understand you are soon going to turn 80. Well, kid, I got you beat because I'm coming up 81 on January 20. Why don't we team up and show 'em what show business is all about.
Happy Birthday, Ethel! And many, many more. Hope to hear that you're back to good health real soon. I'm sending out special vibrations in every direction.
With Love.
From Bob Hope:
I hear by the grapevine that you are ready to celebrate your 80th birthday. My fervent hope is that you get out of the hospital very soon so you can entertain as you best know how by using your talent to make people happy.
I get a smile on my heart every time I see your picture in the paper and I know that other people feel the same way.
Again my congratulations.
Warm regards.
Art Linkletter's words pleased her:
I hope this birthday greeting doesn't get lost among the many you will be receiving today! More than anyone in our business you are the most universally admired and respected person I can think of. More, you are the most cared about, and the most loved. When I think of you it is almost as a symbol — except that no symbol can evoke the humaneness and warmth that you have always represented. Still, the world does regard you as a beacon, as a human goal to shoot
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for — because you are and have always been that rarest of the species: a great human being, wise in the wisdom of the heart.
We love you.
Warmest congratulations from an old friend.
Congratulations followed from Los Angeles Mayor Tom Bradley who sent a proclamation citing October 31 as "Ethel Waters Day in L.A.," a telegram from former President Richard M. Nixon, letters from First Lady Betty Ford, Dale Evans, Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire, Ralph Edwards, Carol Channing, a card singed by the members of the Billy Graham Team and letters from a host of others.
For more than a half hour Bill Brown read letters, and for more than a half hour Ethel Waters cried — finding it difficult to absorb all at one time such a large quantity of love from so many friends.
As Bill got ready to read the last letter, one from Corrie ten Boom, the heroine of The Hiding Place, I remembered back to the first time Ethel had met Corrie.
Corrie had arrived at Ethel's Los Angeles apartment with her secretary Ellen and Mr. and Mrs. Edgar Elfstrom. Ethel joyously embraced this woman who had suffered so greatly in concentration camp. Here were two women very different, yet very much the same. Two women who through their adversities in life had profoundly learned that Jesus is Victor!
In her print dress and long white hair pulled back into ponytail style, Ethel had taken her usual chair by the window. She began chatting away. Ellen and I were amused each time Ethel called Corrie her "precious baby girl," because we knew that Corrie was five years older!
Ethel had been excited with her special visitor. She dominated the conversation, hardly giving anyone else a chance to speak. When she paused a moment for a breath, Corrie seized the opportunity. She gently reached for Ethel's hand
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and quickly but quietly began to pray. She thanked the Lord for the witness and blessing Ethel had been to so many millions through her singing. Following the beautiful prayer, Ethel began to sing softly:
I sing because I'm happy,
I sing because I'm free,
For His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me.
That tender moment and the impact of the message had affected all of us deeply and we all had to fight back the tears.
I had stayed after the others left the apartment and was surprised when Ethel said to me, "Twila, did I say the right things? I'm really not feeling well. I'm in a lot of pain."
In spite of the pain, Ethel, the trooper that she was, never let it be known to Corrie.
Corrie's letter to Ethel on her eightieth birthday said:
We are both at the end of the second half of our lives. What joy that we know that the best is yet to be, a permanent house in Heaven, not made by man, but by God (2 Corinthians 5:1).
God give you a joyful 80th birthday and may you be very conscious of the presence of Jesus. How He loves you and me.
In Jesus the Victor United.
"They are all so beautiful," Ethel sobbed.
Knowing the activities of the day were almost too much for her, Bill said a prayer and we kissed her good-bye so she could get some rest.
As I opened the door to leave the room, I glanced back at Ethel. Her eyes were still misty. That day she had cried
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more than I had ever seen her cry. I was grateful they were tears of joy. Joy in her heart for so many friends who loved her and especially for the joy she felt from her "precious Jesus."
I was wrong, though, in thinking of her days of illness as "stormy weather." For through them the sunshine of God's love was able to dispel the cloud of darkness from her.
Years ago Ethel introduced the song, "Stormy Weather."
Life is bare
Gloom and mis'ry ev'rywhere
Stormy weather,
Just can't get my poor self together.
I'm weary all the time, the time . . .
All I do is pray,
The Lord above will let me walk in the sun once more.
"When I found Jesus," Ethel once said, "I stopped singing the song 'Stormy Weather,' which I had made world-famous. When I sang that song my life was like that. But isn't any more. Now my life is reflected in the songs I sing about God's love. If I get a heart attack, I'm not going to call on 'Stormy Weather,' I'm going to call on my Jesus."
