回复：【长篇阅读】公子的传记

Ol’ clothes don’t fit, but I’m hanging on to all my old stuff ’cause when I get through payin’ for these doctors, I ain’t gonna have money for any new clothes. In fact I don’t know where the money’s comin’ from now. God damn hospital room costs me ＄100 a day—had round the clock nurses cause I had to have em. Ursula couldn’t stay here—they wouldn’t let her and I just couldn’t even do nothin’ so that’s costin’ me about ＄150 a day and that’s getting’ a little old.
Soooo, I’m glad to be home and at least savin’ that money. I ain’t got a bita appetite—force myself to eat. Ursula makes up a batch of milk shakes with lots of eggs and milk and malt and I siphon off a small one of those every morning and in the afternoon, but I’m not eatin’ cause I’m not hungry—but that will all change—generally speakin’—take a little time . . .
Yesterday before they sent me home they shot me down to radiology and gave me a dose of cobalt and I’ll be takin’ it now everyday for 14 more go rounds—then we’ll see what happens. It should—if we’re lucky—it should do the trick for at least a few weeks—few months—something like that. Naturally you have to check on it all the time—get a booster now and then, I guess . . . I don’t know. But if you get ‘er whipped once, usually it’s for good. Sometimes they never get ‘em . . . I don’t know.

Well, Curly, I’m damn tuckered here. Haven’t been doin’ nothing all day. Came home, listened to the radio and took a little nap and that’s about all. By God I just ain’t got any strength at all. Anyhow, that’s all the news I’ve got right now, ol’ Bud. Wish there were more. Wish I could lie about some big fish I didn’t catch but I can’t even do that.
So . . . you all take care and I hope you have a great big juicy Thanksgivin’ Day tomorrow. We’re not doin’ a damn thing. Art and his wife are comin’ up from down at the barn and guess Mani will be over. No cabalt treatment tomorrow and that’s a vacation, but I’ll be back down there Friday morning.
So, you take care, old Bud. Glad you like your new Ford. They are nice, no kiddin’. Ford has come a long way and I think they're one of the nicest wagons on the market. I really do. I haven’t driven a car in so God damn long I’ll probably have to go to one of those driving schools . . . yeah, when I get back in to circulation I’ll probably have to take a refresher course, but it will sure be worth it.

Incidentally if you hear some wheezing sounds as I’m talkin’ here it’s that damn tube talkin’ back at us, but if it’s doin’ the job, I’m not goin’ to complain. OK, may, you tell Vi . . . Damn cough! Comes once in awhile and you just can’t do anything to stop ’em.
Anyway, you say hello to everyone and for God’s sake, keep well. I have enough here for everybody so go about your business. I’ll take care of that part of it. Have a good Thanksgivin’, Old Buddy, and drop me a tape when you have time and I’ll try to do better next time, OK?
Over and out . . .

Art said Taylor managed to walk around the stables when he was up to it, refusing to take pain pills though his discomfort showed clearly on his face. He did not talk about his illness and discussed only the goings-on around the ranch or cussed at Reeves about the damn tool shed. One of his biggest problems was deciding whether Terry should have a new bike, but he thought better of it until the old one fell apart.
Reporters were staked out on Mandeville Canyon Road and Art spent most of his time making sure no one got near the Taylor property. When he drove Bob to and from the hospital it appeared as though Art were alone in the car—Taylor crouched down in the front seat.
“Fortunately no one could see the ranch from the main road,” Art said, “and the gates could be locked. So Bob was able to get into the car without anyone observing him, but it was mighty tricky getting to the hospital which, fortunately, was not that far. We were always followed and it got to the point where I had to work out several plans with the doctors to get Bob in and out of the hospital without the press knowing about it.”

Taylor did not want to be photographed, but at almost any hour of day or night, at least one reporter was seen hanging around the entrance to St. John’s Hospital in Santa Monica.They questioned the doctors who would not reveal any information—not even that Taylor was making visits to the hospital or that he was seriously ill.
Two operations followed the major one—and back home he’d come. He refused to stay in the hospital unless it was absolutely necessary. He constantly asked permission for Ursula to take over the duties of the night nurse, but the doctors couldn’t let her. Even then, he persisted, but was turned down.

Tom wired Ursula: Did she need him? The reply was, “Bob’s message from the hospital stay where you are. We’ll come to see you in time. Love Ursula.”
Taylor had been admitted to St. John’s shortly before Christmas and was in serious condition. On Christmas Day, the doctor called Ursula at home to tell her Bob had terminal cancer.
There was no hope.
Ivy Mooring, Ursula’s best friend, was with her when the doctor telephoned. “She put down the receiver slowly and told me the news. I wanted her to cry, but she didn’t. Her eyes showed total disbelief. I wasn’t going to talk about miracles because I think I knew from the beginning Bob’s situation was a hopeless one, and Ursula was not a fool. She was every bit the realist, but she did not want to believe that Bob was going to die.”

Ursula made up her mind she would be with Bob every minute. She blamed herself for what had happened, and their many arguments about whether he should have the operation crept back into her mind. Maybe if he had done what he truly wanted to do—take his chances without surgery—he would not have had to suffer so much and watch himself deteriorate. This was the one thing he did not want to happen. He had watched Dick Powell and Dennis O’Keefe fade away, and it tore him to pieces. O’Keefe had laughed to the end, telling Bob he’d be up and “screwing the first piece of ass” even if it was one of the chubby nurses.
Also Taylor said he didn’t want the children to watch him die, but Ursula would have to tell them now about their father. She did not tell Tessa immediately, but she was open with Terry who said, “I understand.” Ursula told him not to say anything to Puss Puss and that she would be with his father at all times. Uncle Art would have to take over now.
A heavy smoker since he was a kid, Taylor quit smoking before his operation. He had given it up in 1962, but went back to chain smoking. Though he told Purvis (and for some reason Tom agreed) that he did not think cigarettes had caused his illness, he made television pleas on behalf of the American Cancer Society.

In January, Taylor returned to Ursulor Rancho not knowing he had terminal cancer. He had a telephone interview with Ivor Davis and Ursula said, “My husband is giving a beautiful performance—the greatest of his lifetime.”
His wife said that her husband was putting up a good front for a private audience. “Bob is not the kind of man to cry the blues.”
Taylor talked matter of factly about his disease almost as if he were chatting about a cold in the head. He sounded cheerful and optimistic when he said, “I think I’ve got it beaten but I know it’s going to be a long haul to recovery and I know it’s worth any amount of patience and care to get well again. The word cancer is initially very frightening, of course, but it no longer need necessarily evoke the terror it once did. The doctors say my chances are good. One good thing about this surgery –I was getting too heavy and needed to lose weight anyway!”
Ursula concluded the telephone interview and said, “We’re not a particularly religious family, but a very optimistic one. We’re all in this together and that’ll get us through.” (Ivor Davis, Los Angeles Times, January 12, 1969.)

The one thing that bothered Taylor the most was not being able to hunt and fish, but he found it too tiring even to clean his guns.
There was laughter in the house and everyone continued their same pattern of living, pretending that conditions would improve. Ursula, Terry and Art were the only ones who knew they would not. Nancy Reagan was a constant visitor, always helping out.
John Wayne kept in touch, trying to give Bob strength.
“When they told me I had lung cancer it was like being belted across the gut with a baseball bat, but I licked it!”
Dale Robertson was a frequent guest, as were Chad Everett and his wife Shelby, who gave Ursula a hand.
Rhonda Fleming came over to the ranch, put on an apron and helped Ursula in the kitchen. She often prepared the meals.
Barbara Stanwyck dropped by occasionally—still collecting her alimony. Observers said she appeared to be under a terrible strain and looked as if she were heavily sedated on her visits.
And then there were hundreds of letters.

Reporters, unable to get a glimpse of Taylor, continued to telephone him for comments. They kept a stake-out on the main road and at the hospital, still trying to find out what Taylor’s chances were. They pestered the doctors and nurses, who remained silent. They tried to stop Art when he was driving through the gates or Ursula or anyone who knew Taylor.
Heavy rains hit Los Angeles in February, 1969, and there was a report that Mandeville Canyon Road would be flooded. Taylor was at home and shrugged off the weather threats, but Ursula feared he might take a turn for the worse. She would be unable to get him to the hospital, and the doctors might not be able to get through to the ranch. Bob was running a fever, not too high, but this usually indicated a return visit to the hospital. She decided to take him there immediately.
Bob put up a fight, but Art took over this time! “C’mon, Bob, why do anything foolish now when things are going so well.”In any event, he was ready to use a little “gentle force” if necessary and Bob got ready to return to St. John’s.

Art was preparing to put him into the car when a truck drove up to the house, and he noticed a man hiding in the back.
“Don’t come out yet, Bob. Stay put.”
He walked over to the rear of the truck and looked at the man who was trying to pretend he wasn’t there. “I don’t know who you are, Mack, but you’d better get out of here, and I mean right now—or I’ll tear your hide off!”
It was a reporter, and he admitted it. He had been trying to get a look at Taylor for months and this seemed like the only way. Art made a move to jump into the back of the truck when the driver yelled that they were leaving. The rain was coming down and mud was everywhere. Every minute was valuable. Art was getting nervous watching the truck speeding down the road. He got Bob into the car and started for the hospital. There was a tie-up on the canyon road—cars were spread out all over the road. Art got out of the car while Taylor crouched in the back on the floor. The reporter whom he had threatened minutes before approached Art, who stood guard at the car. “I’m losing my patience, you bastard!” The man apologized, saying his city editor wanted news about Robert Taylor, and all attempts had failed. Meanwhile he was trying to look over Art’s shoulder to see if Taylor was in the car.

Reeves said, “I let that bastard go because I HAD to get Bob to the hospital before the flooding got any worse, but my temper had reached the limit, and I used control that I didn’t think I had!”
Taylor remained at the hospital, checking every hour to find out if therains had stopped. He checked out as soon as he heard “the road home” was open. His desire to be at the ranch was an obsession. He drove everyone crazy on the medical staff. He never asked for anything or complained but just demanded, “When the hell can I go home?” One of the nurses said Taylor was easy-going except for his desire to be with Ursula and the children on the “farm”.
On February 25th he wrote to Purvis. There would be other letters, but as far as Bob and Tom were concerned, this was the final one.

Dear Curley,
Yeah, I know . . . I’ve been neglecting my ole buddy—and I’m sorry. But I just ain’t felt like writin’ or tapin’ or nothin’of late.
My day consists of eatin’ a little—sleepin’ a little—watchin’ some TV—and hurtin’ a lot.
Thank God for pain pills these days and shots—otherwise I’d be goin’ out of my skull.
The Doc’s tryin’ to make me think everything’s O.K, but I know different. I’m losin’ this one, Curley—and as lousy as I feel and as fast as I’m goin’ broke, I’d just as soon it would hurry up and come to an end fast. It’d be better for Ursula and the children and everybody.
This has been the worst winter I’ve ever seen in California. Fortunately we’ve had no serious damage to any of our buildings but the place has really been torn up. Mandeville itself is a real disaster area and it’s still raining. From now on, Ole Bud, I wouldn’t plan on hearin’ from me. If things get a lot better you can bet your ass I’ll break out the recorder and shoot you a tape. If they get worse Ursula will, I’m sure, be in touch.
Meanwhile we hope all goes well with all of you—our love to everyone—take good care—and good fishin’.
Always,
Dilly

“Good fishin’,” was Bob’s way of saying Good Bye, and Tom knew it!
In March, Bob Stapler, producer of Death Valley Days, received a call from Taylor.“I’m lettin’ you out of your contract. I doubt I will be able to work this year.”
Stapler replied, “Get off it, Bob. We can postpone filming until August.” Then he asked Bob if he’d like to do a day’s work. This was strictly a gesture on Stapler’s part. There was no work, and he knew Taylor would never make it on location again, but he went out to the ranch with some of his TV crew and they did some tapings, and in general created as many things as possible for Taylor to do, assuring him that he was needed and they expected him to return to Death Valley Days during the summer when he was feeling better. “We’ll take it slow, of course . . . and don’t worry about starring in anything until you’re really in tip top shape. We will limit your work to a few introductions and closings for awhile.”
Stapler left the ranch in tears, but Taylor was in a good mood and he felt much better than he had in a long time. He had actually done a few hours work and surely Stapler wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble for nothing. He felt needed again, and this day was the greatest he had had during his illness. Ursula considered Stapler’s act one of the finest hours during those tragic months. For several days Taylor showed signs of improvement, at least in spirit. The cobalt affected him in strange ways, too, lifting him up mentally sometimes, but Stapler’s “day of work” was no illusion.

In April, Ivy Mooring noticed Bob’s mail pilling up and offered to have her secretary answer his letters. She said, “You know, Bob, when I was down and out after the war you offered me a job and one of my duties was to do your correspondence, but you always typed better than any professional stenographer, and I never did get the chance to earn a day’s pay. The least I can do is make up for it now.”
Ivy Mooring , now a Doctor of Psychiatry,came to California from England shortly after World War Ⅱ. Because it was difficult getting into the United States at that time, David Niven did a favor for Ivy and her husband by giving them jobs on his household staff, granting them entry to the United States. However, Niven’swife, playing a game with the children at Tyrone Power’s house, accidentally fell down a flight of stairs, and when she died, Niven’s life was considerably upset and he indicated to Ivy and her husband that it might be best for them to seek employment elsewhere.
Taylor, a close friend of Niven’s suggested she work for him and Barbara as a “household organizer” (correspondence, errands, shinning shoes and any other odd jobs), but it was actually a gesture on Bob’s part because he really didn’t need her assistance at all.