BETTY WHITE, R.I.P.
This is only the second time I’ve paid tribute in this e-zine to someone I didn’t personally know. But Betty White was such an icon that I felt the need to laud her greatness in my own small way. (And she’s my fellow Capricorn, whose birthday was three days after my own, so how could I not?)
And yes, I am surprised myself that I never met Ms. White in all these years. After all, I knew Bea Arthur and Rue McClanahan well enough—Rue and Mr. X and I were all on multiple-party-throwing Lynn Redgrave’s permanent guest list, so I saw her quite often way back in the day, and Bea was a fan of my show, (which made us mutual fans,) so we were always happy to see each other at events around town. But sadly, even with us both being at many dog-centric events, Betty and I never ran into each other. (But Mr. X did work with her once, so there’s one degree of separation for me, which I am taking a tad of solace in.)
I wish I had met Betty White, even once. She has always been one of the most beloved people in Hollywood; I’ve honestly never heard even one bad syllable about her!
Way back in the day, Mr. X, (who’s an even bigger fan of old school TV than I am,) discovered Betty’s very first TV sitcom, Life With Elizabeth, and said she was absolutely adorable. Now that we can all find at least snippets of it on-line, I’m sure everyone will agree with that assessment.
Actually, when was she not adorable? Now that I’ve read-up on her whole life, I know that there was never a misstep in it. She was always funny, always entertaining, always kind. What wasn’t to love?
Rather than being sad that she left this earth just seventeen days short of her hundredth birthday, I’m thrilled that Betty White experienced such longevity. She was totally deserving of it, and I understand that she was even somewhat healthy until almost the end. That was a blessing.
And Betty White herself was a true blessing to the world.
RIP, Betty White. You definitely deserve the rest. I’m so happy for you that you’re finally reunited with the love of your life, Allen Ludden.
[Note: On a tiny sidebar, she is the only other Betty besides my sister whose name is actually “Betty,” not “Elizabeth.” For my entire life, people have asked me what my sister’s real name is. When I declare that it is, indeed, only “Betty,” they all say that’s not possible—that it’s only a nickname for “Elizabeth.” I’m sure Betty White has dealt with that forever, as well. And uber-pleasantly, to boot.]