Life Lessons From a Great Lady
Lucille Ryman-Carroll: Live a life worth emulating
In the words of Rumi, “A Candle never Loses any of its Light while Lighting Up another Candle.” My husband, Andrea, has been blessed to have had seven “candles” in his life. Seven people who imparted wisdom and life lessons that had a profound impact and left indelible imprints on his life. Even many years after the last of them passed away, he hears their voices daily.
While I haven’t been as fortunate as Andrea, we did share one candle—Lucille Ryman-Carroll.
I met Lucille in 1990, when she was 84 and I was 29. Andrea had grown close to Lucille while her brother and Andrea’s mentor, Disney Legend Herbert Dickens Ryman (Herbie) was dying of cancer in the home he and Lucille shared. Andrea regularly visited Herbie as he endured his battle in the last months of his life.
After Herbie’s death, Lucille asked Andrea to assist in establishing The Ryman-Carroll Foundation to honor her brother, as well as to help her in producing a limited edition book of Herbie’s life and work that would span his international travels around the world, to his prolific fine arts work from MGM, to a lifelong career with his friend, Walt Disney and his company. It was an ambitious goal Lucille had set and she was in need of an experienced designer. Andrea contacted me about the project. I was hesitant at first because my schedule was already overflowing, but Andrea wasn’t easily swayed. “Camy,” he said, “I really need your help with this very special project for a Great Lady.” That was it—he got me. I agreed to jump in.
I have a vivid memory of walking through her expansive ranch-style home for the first time and seeing this wisp of a well-dressed woman in the farthest corner of the house going through stacks of slides in Herbie’s magnificent studio. After an introduction by Andrea, she held my hand and smiled warmly, looking me straight in the eyes, and said “I feel like we know each other.” It unexpectedly touched my soul. It almost made me cry. Neither Andrea nor I were blessed with living grandmothers, but from that moment on, Lucille became the grandmother I never had.
Background
Lucille was a formidable woman to say the least. Her life in the film industry was legendary. So much so that it was profiled in a 1987 People magazine article. She was the head of MGM talent from 1941 to 1954. Her boss was “Mr. Mayer”, who elevated Lucille to head of the talent department and tasked her with bringing new stars to the studio and shaping their public image. Lucille’s impressive career also made her the conscientious keeper of many Hollywood stories. At one time she was the highest-paid female executive in the country and is perhaps best known for befriending Marilyn Monroe and signing her to a personal management contract long before she became an icon.
Lucille had led a somewhat charmed and exotic life. A life some people only dream of, but you’d never know it meeting her. The only hints of her storied past were uncommon composure, dignified self-assurance, and grace. Always, grace. Contrary to what you may have expected, she was warm, welcoming, unpretentious, and authentic. Over the next thirteen years, Andrea and I were gifted with her invaluable life lessons and love.
Love and loyalty
Lucille had a fierce love for her family and unwavering loyalty to her friends. The home she built was a testament to that. It was designed to be two independent wings joined by a lovely solarium, with a guest cottage outside the back door attached to the garage. One wing was for her and her husband, actor John Carroll; the other wing was for Herbie; and the guest cottage was for her mom, Cora Ryman. The home was surrounded by beautiful gardens—a welcoming place for her beloved squirrels and birds.
When I first met Lucille, she was recovering from open heart surgery and a valve replacement. She had been taking care of Herbie as he was dying from cancer, and concurrently caring for her sister Christine, who also had cancer. Unbelievably, they died 16 days apart in Lucille’s home. The stress took its toll on her already arrhythmic heart. Nevertheless, despite being in her mid-eighties, her intense love and admiration of her brother got her back on her feet and birthed a dream to elevate Herbie’s work within the context of 20th-century fine arts in America. Over the next several years with laser-focused determination, Lucille formed The Ryman-Carroll Foundation (later renamed Ryman Arts); a youth arts program; A Brush With Disney—a coffee table book of Herbie’s life and artwork; and Herbie’s art was showcased in two nationally recognized museum shows.
Andrea and I were the fortunate recipients of Lucille’s deep capacity for love, caring, and sharing—practices that no doubt contributed to her longevity. Perhaps this was God’s timing, but with her family gone and without children of her own, Andrea and I became her family and she became ours. I’m convinced the example Lucille modeled influenced us to carry it through in our own lives, encouraging us in later years to bring my own mother to live with us and to create extended families to fill our own gap.
Grace and graciousness
We met every Monday night for dinner at Lucille's. When the tradition first began, she had a cook, a live-in companion/housekeeper, and a groundskeeper. She was happy to share what she had and was a gracious host. Initially, we met to work on what came to be called “Herbie’s portfolio project,” but as the evening proceeded— and typically turned into many hours of fascinating conversation—we would get Lucille talking about her life and recalling story upon story of her Hollywood experiences.
She was the keeper of a treasure trove of old Hollywood first-hand knowledge, and while she was very sought after by eminent celebrity biographers, she only granted a few interviews for books. Andrea and I begged her to do a book of her own… but she steadfastly refused. She insisted not to say anything bad about the people she knew and was convinced that “no one wants to hear about the good.” In retrospect, shame on us, we even tried to convince her that a book about her legendary life could benefit the foundation, but still, she wouldn’t budge. She lived with so much grace.
While I don’t purport to be as full of grace, I do often find myself staying silent instead of sharing negative thoughts about someone or something. Sometimes, silence is the most gracious gift we can extend to another person. Lucille taught me this.
Purpose and perseverance
It was fascinating to watch Lucille hop-skip her way through her eighties and into her nineties with a series of goals that gave her great purpose. She possessed a single-mindedness—fueled by this sense of purpose—that gave her the ability to tackle the unknown as well as persevere despite disappointments. As soon as she had accomplished one set of goals, she set her sights on new ones. After the prodigious goals of establishing the Ryman-Carroll Foundation, creating the best-selling book A Brush With Disney and mounting Herbie’s national exhibitions in prestigious museums had been accomplished, she shifted her focus to personal projects with the same vigor. Though these goals may have appeared to be less lofty, she was thoroughly engaged in cataloging all Herbie’s artwork, sorting through years and years of personal files, mementos, artifacts and furnishings to ultimately prepare for the inevitable. Andrea and I often marveled at the fact she just wasn’t content to be idle.
When I find myself losing steam, I think of how tirelessly Lucille pursued her purpose…no matter how small. Her example inspired me then and now, 20+ years after her passing, Lucille’s sense of purpose and perseverance still serve as the inspiration for how I want to live my life.
Learn and grow
Lucille had a daily morning habit: she read the newspaper from stem to stern. She wasn’t much for television. In fact, she would much rather watch (and feed) the squirrels outside her bedroom glass door than have the TV on. Well-versed in nearly any topic of the day, she could talk to almost anyone about relevant subjects. Remarkably, in her late eighties and into her nineties, she was a quick study when she needed to be—and she most assuredly needed to be in order to accomplish her dreams for the foundation she founded, the herculean effort of creating the book about Herbie’s life, and the ambitious task of mounting two national museum exhibits. She wasn’t afraid to ask questions so she could learn about every aspect of what she was endeavoring to do.
When the brain stops learning, it stops growing—there are two states in life, we either move forward or backward. Lucille only moved forward. She didn’t exhibit any signs of old-age brain fog until the last year of her life, when all her systems naturally were winding down. I truly believe Lucille’s mental acuity was due in large part to her desire to continually learn new things and her delight in the world around her…both keys to aging well.
Honesty and integrity
Lucille was nothing if not honest. She had an uncommonly non-confrontational way of expressing her dismay, and you always knew where you stood with her. It was a masterclass in deftly handling personal relationships…no doubt honed by temperamental personalities at MGM. She would kindly say her peace and move on.
One memorable day in particular, Lucille’s “out-of-the-mouth-of-babes (older person style)” comment inadvertently put Andrea and me in stitches. We still laugh about it today. We had introduced her to our friend who was a high-level executive and perhaps could have helped her navigate various challenges the fledgling foundation was facing. After meeting him, she was not seeing what we had hoped. When he left, Lucille looked us square in the eyes, and cut right to the chase, asking “tell me, is he a someone or a big fat nothing?!” Message received loud and clear.
I doubt I could ever be as blunt and brutally honest as Lucille until I am well into my 90s, but honesty equals integrity, and living life with integrity is a worthwhile pursuit at any age.
Elegance and decorum
Lucille had a simple elegance, even in her waning years. She was intentional about her appearance and how she held herself. Even how she chose to sit in a chair was a thoughtful composition. While many people find it to be too much trouble to maintain appearances, Lucille always put in the effort. Maybe it was her era and profession. Even into her mid-nineties, she had standing weekly appointments for her hair and nails, and she always made a point to swipe on a dab of lipstick and clip on a pair of earrings when we visited. Although she was often in bed resting when we arrived, she made sure to have on a pretty robe and perfume. Nothing fancy. Even how she held herself in bed—shoulders relaxed and hands intentionally placed—was simply elegant.
A good friend of Lucille’s, who was of similar age, once brusquely told her she shouldn’t bother with such things: “You’re an old lady, you can do whatever the hell you want!” As one would expect from Lucille, her response was honest: “I prefer not to look like you.”
No matter her health issues, Lucille didn’t give up on her appearance or her sense of decorum. I always left her home inspired by my time with a true lady.
Boldness
“Bold” is a strange word to assign to a woman in her nineties, but not much scared Lucille. She fearlessly tried things few 80 to 90-year-old women would dare. For example, when she was in her late-eighties, with her caregiver and oxygen in tow, she defied her doctors’ recommendations (who warned she would most certainly die) and flew to Washington, D.C. for Herbie’s show at the prestigious Corcoran Gallery of Art. Quite a feat for a woman in precarious health, but nothing was going to stop her. Whether it was a big cross-country adventure or the simple challenge of lugging her garbage cans up the steep drive to her house, she was undeterred by any obstacles in her way.
As I’ve gotten older and noticed with dismay that fears seem to intensify with age, I’ve often contemplated her fearlessness and indomitable spirit. Especially during tenuous times, I’ve found myself thinking “what would Lucille do?” and recalling her tenacity with admiration and awe. So many years after her death, I wish I could ask Lucille what her secret was…
Pragmatism
One day in the midst of planning our wedding—which was to take place in her home —she summoned us on the pretext of a very urgent conversation. We went into her bedroom, and without prelude, she bluntly announced “Kids, I want you to find a backup location in case I die.” We were alarmed. Had the doctor told her something? Did she feel ill? No. But just in case, she wanted us to have a plan B. Andrea and I honored her request and franticly started the hunt for an alternate venue. About a week into our fruitless search, the initial panic subsided and we started thinking more clearly. While we appreciated Lucille planning for the worst-case scenario, we decided we were willing to bet on her living to the wedding…which she did, and 8 years more!
That was a perfect example of how Lucille often spoke of death very matter-of-factly. As time went on, she was determined to leave this world with absolutely no loose ends. She not only disposed of mounds of paperwork and files but also began selling her valuables. We would be at her house and notice keepsakes or furniture missing, and she would cavalierly say, “Oh, I sold that.” When she was in her early nineties, she sold the beloved home she had built (which devastated Andrea and me), and had a massive estate sale to sell most of her belongings, taking only a comparative handful to her new home. I think we took it much worse than she did!
In the last decade of her life, in true Lucille fashion, she kept an envelope on her nightstand emblazoned with the words “When I Die,” which contained all her pertinent legal information. The entirety of her funeral arrangements was predetermined and prepaid. When she died, there was little for us to do, aside from attending her burial. She was amazing even in death. It’s gotten me thinking about that aspect of our life is… I have a new goal for 2023!
Candles burn bright
The Monday night dinner tradition carried on for 13 years until Lucille died at the age of 96. I have often thought that our unlikely relationship must have been ordained in heaven. Why would such a savvy older woman entrust her precious friendship to two young people—generations apart? How did Lucille know our intentions were pure? Lucille very much believed in kindred spirits. And she knew as we age and grow in wisdom, our purpose is to be a candle for others.
We kept some of Lucille’s most special personal belongings from pictures and books, to notes and mementos of her family that every now and again I still peruse. Sometimes, I am saddened that she didn’t have children to pass on her legacy. But then I realize she had Andrea and me… and that her candle burns bright in us.
I learned so many things from Lucille. Not because of who she was in the golden age of film, but how she lived her life. Ultimately, I learned to live a life worth living.
Thank you, Ron. I am so happy to finally share the Lucille Andrea and I knew with everyone… she was such special woman.
One-of-a-kind, that lady!