TWO IS NEVER ALONE
By Bonnie L. Anderson

At the foot of green, gently sloping Hollywood Hills in back of Warner Bros. Studios runs scenic Forest Lawn Drive. Yesterday, my mother and I drove along that road in the customary, bright California sunshine on a solemn occasion.
     No sound of the furious freeway, from which we had just come, could be heard as we neared a stately, white colonial building behind high iron gates. In its beautiful dignity it accentuates the classic graciousness of Forest Lawn Memorial Park.
     We entered the groomed grounds and slowly drove beyond the impressive main building. There, completely hidden from the entrance, we found the Church of the Hills, a lovely, old white edifice with its tall clock spire designed from the Early American First Parish Church of Portland, Maine, which the poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, attended as a boy.
     Here we had come to pay our last respects to a man who had brought us, and millions of others, so many moments of film screen hilarity... our beloved Stan Laurel.
     Parking was easy, as we had arrived well before the 3 o'clock services. In fact, we were the first to arrive. Others came, and later we stood across from the church, awaiting the conclusion of a private service. The crowd was a mixture of people from lone young men to elderly men and women, with friends and families. There were few, if any, irreverent sightseers. Those who talked, talked of Stan, friend to all of them, it seemed.
     The members of the private funeral departed, and the crowd crossed the drive and gathered at the church doorway. People conversed in restrained tones. They may have been speculating, as was I, as to who of Stan's personal friends might be present. Each was silently concerned about getting inside, as the church could accommodate only 300 persons. My mother and I, fortunately, were among the first twelve to enter and file to the front pews.
     After being seated, I looked to the altar section; and under a bright, stained glass window I saw the light blue casket surrounded by hundreds of multi-colored flowers. I was able to read a few of the many messages among the floral wreaths: "From your Swiss Miss—love, Della Land." ...For Grandpa." ...and others. Familiar hymns from an unseen organ mingled with the resonant singing of a canary. An arrangement of living vines and flowers reached up to the wall toward the low ceiling. It came as a gentle surprise when the organist soberly played that delightful little theme, "The Cuckoo Song," as I had never heard it rendered before.

Babe London

I saw Babe London come down the side aisle where extra chairs had been placed. Over 300 people were now assembled in the church. Some moments later the Reverend Kermit Castellanos and Dick Van Dyke entered from a door near the front alcove from which Mrs. Laurel and personal friends viewed the service in privacy. Following the Reverend's inspirational deliverance. Dick Van Dyke stepped to the altar and proceeded to state earnestly what each fan and friend felt in their heart for Stan Laurel.
     He first spoke of his boyhood when he used to go to see Laurel and Hardy movies. "like from 11 a.m. to 9 p.m." And, how he used to imitate Stan Laurel, as his father did; and now how his own son carries on the tradition. He revealed that Stan was his inspiration to enter show business. The first year Dick was in Hollywood, he said he tried to get Stan's address or phone number, to no avail. And—where did he find it? Right in the West Los Angeles phone book.
     At last, he met his idol.
     Dick told of the time when he impersonated Stan on his TV show, and later phoned Stan to get his opinion. Stan informed Dick that it was just great... BUT... and he went on to point out his mistakes. "He was a perfectionist," Dick confirmed.
     When Stan was asked, "What makes people laugh?" Dick said that he usually replied, "How should I know?" Stan hid his genius, people saw only the humor.

Dick Van Dyke

One Los Angeles paper reported that Stan feared he had been "discarded and forgotten." This was far from the truth. For, as Dick said, Stan received stacks of mail from all over the world; which he answered ...every one.
     He was continually consulted and admired by his fellow comedians, many of whom visited his modest apartment: Jerry Lewis, Marcel Marceau, Red Skelton, etc. Dick Van Dyke, perhaps Stan's most ardent follower, went on to say: "And we were comforted to know that Stan's good humor prevailed to the last day, when he joked with his nurse about how he'd 'rather be skiing.'" Dick Van Dyke's tribute was filled with warmth and respect.
     The memories of Stan and Ollie are cherished by us all and I was not alone as I strived to maintain a composed face behind a damp handkerchief. Dick's unpretentiously attractive face reflected his sincere fondness of Stan when he asserted that "the halls of heaven must be ringing with divine laughter" as Stan and Ollie are together again. With equally comforting thoughts, Dick concluded the eulogy with a sentiment favored by Stan: "God Bless."
     After final prayers by Reverend Castellanos, everyone was then permitted to pass by the casket, each with sorrowful farewell in their eyes. News photographers snapped pictures as people emerged from the side exit. Many persons were wiping their eyes, or putting on dark glasses, like myself.

Buster Keaton

We lingered a while to see the prominent mourners walk to their waiting cars: Buster Keaton, Clyde Cook, Andy Clyde, George Chandler, Alan Mowbray, Pat Buttram, Patsy Kelly, Joe Flynn, Tim Conway, Leo McCarey, Hal Roach Sr., and his sons, had all come to pay homage to one of the brightest stars in all of film comedy.
     The procession of cars then winded their way up the hillside to the Court of Liberty: an open air court with terraced lawns leading to it, and a massive bronze and marble historical monument on the first level. People gathered on either side of the spacious walk, then quietly followed Ida Laurel and her stepdaughter, Lois, up the wide steps to the uppermost level. The colorful flowers had now been placed around the section of lawn which would preserve Stan Laurel's interred ashes. Rev. Castellanos informed us that a memorial plaque would be placed over them.
     After that last official act, many expressed condolences to the bereaved family.
     As we drove back down that peaceful hillside, I was gratified to think that, although I had witnessed the final curtain on a man's life, his remarkable image would live on in the hearts of all who have ever seen, or will see, that sweet, befuddled face, or hear that delightful, high pitched giggle which identified Stan Laurel.
     Stan and Ollie—"one together is two, and two is never alone."
     —8mm Collector (Spring 1965)

CLICK above to watch a poignant tribute to Stan, using moving footage from his funeral.

STAN LAUREL
By Harry Squires

Stan Laurel, the film comedian who always tried to help his partner Oliver Hardy but seemed to have a knack of messing things up, lived out his last days a happy man surrounded by a devoted family and scores of friends and fans.
     He resided in an attractive, ocean-front apartment in Santa Monica, California, with his wife Ida, and although he was not a wealthy man he had more than enough funds to live comfortably. His widow was at one time a Russian singer.
     The team of Laurel and Hardy played in more than 200 comedies, much to the delight of millions of moviegoers between 1926 and 1948. With the advent of television, millions of younger fans have laughed at the antics of the pair.
     Who can ever forget the open-faced, gullible character who wandered through life facing his daily problems with naive answers? This was Stan Laurel. Hardy was his fat, impatient partner with the black bangs who failed to appreciate Laurel's attempts to aid him. Together they created a team that has become a legend in motion pictures.
     Laurel was born Arthur Stanley Jefferson in Ulverston, Lancashire County, England, on June 16, 1890.
     "Dad frequently boasted that he was a Lancashire lad," Mrs. Lois Brooks, Laurel's only offspring, told this columnist. Mrs. Brooks, a Tarzana, California, homemaker, is the wife of Rand Brooks, who owns Professional Ambulance Service, Inc., in Glendale, California.
     "Rand is also an actor himself," his wife said. "Matter of fact, he played the part of Charles Hamilton, Scarlett O'Hara's first husband in the motion picture, 'Gone With the Wind.' My mother, who lives in Santa Cruz, California, was the silent screen star Lois Neilson."
     In 1910 Laurel came to the United States and worked as Charlie Chaplin's understudy for a while before he teamed up with an American-born comedian, Oliver Hardy.
     What was Laurel's daily life after he had retired from motion pictures upon the death of Hardy in 1957?
     "Dad had a stroke in 1955 but he was able to get up and around after his convalescence," Mrs. Brook told me. "He went out to dinner from time to time, enjoyed fishing, and answered the scores of letters and postcards that he received. Also, he was on the phone almost constantly. His telephone number was in the directory.
     "But I think the biggest thing in Dad's life were his grandchildren, our son Randy Jr. and our daughter Laurel Elizabeth. Several years ago Laurie (as she is best known) became a mother.
     "If Dad were alive, he would be a great grandfather—and he would have been so proud of Sam Wade Cook, the youngest member of the family.
     "We talked on the phone almost every day. He was eager to hear about the children's first bicycle ride and their first pair of roller-skates. On special occasions, such as holidays and birthdays, we used to get together."
     Mrs. Brooks revealed that riding in an automobile made Laurel nervous. "He never even liked to drive a car," she said.
     One person who was in close touch with Laurel near the close of the famed comedian's eventful life is the young actor and singer Hank Jones, of North Hollywood, California.
     "Stan Laurel was a bigger man in life than in my fantasy," Jones told me as we chatted in his cozy home. "He was a humble, warm person with a quality of simplicity that was genuine," the young actor added.
     "I remember how I met Stan," Jones reminisced. "I was a regular on the Tennessee Ernie Ford daytime TV show. One day after we had done our songs, we sat around and talked about one thing or another.
     "Someone raised the question, 'With what person in history would you have liked to spend an hour? One regular on the show replied, 'Christ.' Another said, 'Lincoln.' When it came to my turn to answer, I said, 'Stan Laurel.' I had always admired his sense of comedy in his movies.
     "I wrote him a letter and asked to see him. He replied and invited me to visit him anytime. When I arrived at the apartment, I intended to stay for only five minutes. I knew that he had other visitors and I did not want to tire him out. The visit lasted for an hour and a half and would have continued even longer if I had not gotten up and excused myself."
     As a result of this meeting, Jones began a correspondence with Laurel that continued until the death of the comedian.
     "Stan wrote that many people came to see him," Jones told me. "People like Dick Van Dyke, Danny Kaye, Marcel Marceau and many other Hollywood stars, besides just fans of his.
     "Matter of fact, it was Dick Van Dyke who delivered the eulogy when Stan passed away on February 23, 1965. The eulogy—and the entire service—was absolutely beautiful.
     "The Laurel and Hardy theme song, 'The Cuckoo Sing,' was played as a dirge. The actors who worked with Stan at the Hal Roach Studios were on hand. I recall seeing Buster Keaton, Andy Clyde, Clyde Cook, Patsy Kelly, Leo McCarey, and Alan Mowbray. The entire service was simple, poignant, not Hollywood phony. Most of the people there were older persons.
     "Stan was close to Hardy's widow Lucille," Jones told me.
     "Lucille has remarried. She is now Mrs. Ben Price and lives down the street from me in North Hollywood."
     Laurel's death was a sudden thing, his daughter revealed. "Dad suffered a stroke one evening," Mrs. Brooks recalled. "A doctor and a special-duty nurse came; by 1 o'clock the next afternoon he was gone. That was his first—and only stroke. The news was on the radio before I had been informed.
     "Although he had been a diabetic and had been taking insulin injections since 1948, he had gone abroad several times and had been relatively active until the very end."
     Laurel was recognized by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. He was given a special Oscar; he referred to the statue as "Mr. Clean". Throughout the country fans of Laurel and Hardy have organized themselves into an organization called "Sons of the Desert."
     "Each group is called a tent," Jones said, "and is named for a Laurel and Hardy picture. Out here in Southern California we have the 'Way Out West' tent. In fact, we have our own publication, 'Pratfall,' which is edited by Larry Byrd and goes out to Laurel and Hardy fans around the country."
     The rib-tickling antics of Laurel and Hardy that made millions laugh almost a half-century ago are certain to be enjoyed by this—and future—generations throughout the world.

     —Classic Film Collector (Fall 1974)

Los Angeles Times, February 26, 1965

HOLLYWOOD NEGLECTS ITS HEROES
By Bob Thomas

The passing of Stan Laurel on Tuesday underscored one of Hollywood's most notable failings: Neglect of its heroes.
     The eulogies detailed the contribution made to the screen by Laurel and his rotund partner, Oliver Hardy. Theirs was a classic partnership, as natural and satisfying as scotch and soda. The endless diversity of their comic patterns is a marvel to watch as their old comedies unreel on television.
     They had what is now known in the trade as a one-joke act—the mousey little fellow who was always ensnaring the big blusterer in trouble. But that one joke was good for 27 feature movies and more than 100 shorts, containing some of the funniest material ever filmed.
     And for the last dozen years of their partnership, they were unable to find work in Hollywood.
     When the movie jobs stopped coming, neither was a rich man. They had earned good money, but their wealth had been dissipated by lavish living and expensive marriages. To maintain their incomes, they were forced to make personal appearances in Europe, where they were still remembered fondly.
     Then came television. Their old films were sold to TV—the two comics never realized a cent from the sales—and Laurel and Hardy were more popular than in their movie heyday. The fan mail was mountainous, and they were recognized wherever they went.
     But ill health intervened before they could cash in on their new popularity. Both suffered strokes; Hardy's was fatal in 1957.
     Always a shy man, Laurel became timid after the stroke that partially paralyzed his left side. Following Babe's death, he said he would never act again. He never did.
     "The doctors call it a slight stroke," he remarked, "but I don't see how any stroke can be slight. Even if you get back to normal physically, you're mentally demoralized."
     He lived out his years by the sea, in a beach apartment at Malibu and later in a hotel on the Palisades at Santa Monica. Honors came to him, notably an honorary Oscar for his contributions to screen comedy. It was followed by a photograph and greeting From President John F. Kennedy.
     Stan seldom stirred outside the apartment except for an occasional drive. He didn't lack for company. Many of the recent comics—Dick Van Dyke, Jerry Lewis, Peter Sellers, etc.—made pilgrimages to discuss comedy with the master. Laurel remained delightful company, his observations on funny business often punctuated with his unabashed belly laugh.

—Associated Press (February 26, 1965)

LETTERS POUR IN TO WIDOW OF COMEDIAN

Comedian Stan Laurel's widow is receiving hundreds of letters of condolence from all over the world, she said last week.
     "I'm overwhelmed. everyone has been so kind,' said Mrs. Ida Laurel of 849 Ocean Ave.      "I can't possibly answer them all but I'm reading them all and I want to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart."
     Laurel, the slim half of the Laurel and Hardy comedy team, died two weeks ago in the beachfront apartment he shared with his wife.

—Los Angeles Times (March 14, 1965)

LAUREL-HARDY FANS HAVE UNUSUAL CLUB

Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy would have approved the antics of The Sons of the Desert, a small, but nevertheless international club, dedicated to preserving their humor and their films.
     "When we set up the club," explains Chuck Mccann, a 30-year-old New York City television (WPIX) comedian. "Stan was still alive and he told us that if we were going to form a club he just wanted us to get together now and then and get stoned."
     McCann and the other founding fathers of the Sons of the Desert took Laurel at his word.
     Article 8 of the club's constitution specifies the order of business for the club's annual meetings. Drinks are to be served during eight of the nine events on the agenda.
     In between the imbibing of alcoholic beverages, the club members are serious. McCann, who first saw a Laurel and Hardy film when he was 8 years old, and the other founding fathers consider Laurel and Hardy master comedians, men who set the format for present day comedy.
     Because many Laurel and Hardy films have been lost or have disintegrated, the club members spend their non-drinking moments rounding up what can be found and making fresh, preservable prints of old film.
     McCann met his hero Stan Laurel through comedian Jerry Lewis, back in 1959.
     McCann visited Laurel at his Los Angeles apartment and spent "a glorious day." The two corresponded until Laurel's death, and Laurel, aware that the Sons of the Desert was in the making, helped write the club constitution.
     The Sons of the Desert is named after a Laurel and Hardy movie and local groups are called "tents." Members in the New York tent include Orson Bean, Sammy Davis Jr., Dick Van Dyke, Jonathan Winters, Jerry Lewis and people who just like Laurel and Hardy.
     Caricaturist Al Kilgore designed the Sons of the Desert crest which carries in Latin the club's motto: "Two Minds Without a Single Thought."

—Press-Telegram (October 19, 1965)