Clifton Webb & Noël Coward - Part II "Age Defeated Him"

On October 17, 1960, Mabelle Parmalee Hollenbeck Raum Webb, died at the age of ninety one. Except for his time on the road, Clifton had lived his entire life under the ever present and watchful eye of his mother.

Mabelle's father was a railwayman. Her childhood consisted of frequent moves between Ohio, Indiana and Kentucky. And, when she married, she married Jacob Hollenbeck, another railwayman. Mabelle was also a frustrated performer. The Indianapolis Evening Star reported on two separate occasions in 1882, that mabele gave readings at the St. Nichol's Hotel in Indianapolis. Her chosen selections were "Mrs. Candle's Lecture," and "Order For A Picture." The article said, "All the recitations were well delivered but those of Miss Mabel Parmelee deserve special attention."

When Mabelle and Jacob married, they lived in Beech Grove, Indiana, a suburb of Indianapolis.When Webb Hollenbeck was born on November 19, 1889, Mabelle kept a sharp eye out for any theatrical ability. She must have seen something, because one day Mabelle boarded a train for New York, with young Webb, probably at the age of four or five, in tow. Jacob eventually located his family, and he and Mabelle divorced before her second marriage in 1897.

In truth, Webb was Mabelle's ticket out of Beech Grove, Indiana. And, was the victim of what we would call today, parental abduction. As soon as they arrived in New York, Mabelle enrolled her son in acting, dancing and singing lessons. If Mabelle couldn't be on stage, she would make sure her son would be.

Webb's attachment to Mabelle was rooted in this childhood experience. And it was a bond that even death couldn't separate.

Webb became inconsolable at the death of his mother.

On Monday, November 28, 1960, Coward wrote in his diary:

"Poor Clifton, on the other hand, is still, after two months, wailing and sobbing over Maybelle's (sic) death. As she was well over ninety, gaga, and had driven him mad for years, this seems excessive and over indulgent. He arrives here on Monday and I'm dreaming of a wet Christmas. Poor, poor Clifton. I am, of course, deeply sorry for him but he must snap out of it."

On Christmas morning, Coward took to his diaries once again:

"Clifton was fairly all right during the long drive, but since then he has devoted a lot of time to weeping and telling very, very long stories about the various deaths of his various beloved friends. He retails these gruesome memories with a wealth of maudlin detail. Neysa [McMein], Dorothy di Frasso, Adrian, Valentino, Jeanne Eagles. How he first heard the dreadful news of their demises, how he reacted, how they were laid out, how the memorial services were conducted, etc. These slow, slow ramblings inevitably end up with
Maybelle (sic), her last rites and the ear-rings which he remembered at the last minute to fix into her dead lobes, and then he breaks down and sobs and we all gaze at each other in wild surmise.

He admitted to me under a pledge of deep secrecy the other morning that he was seventy one. I expressed token amazement because the poor dear looks and behaves like ninety. There is much that is sweet about him but he is, and always has been, almost intolerably silly, and all this self indulgent wallowing in grief and the dear dead past is dreadfully exasperating. Coley and Charles are behaving wonderfully and so am I really, but it is tough going. He is leaving on 3 January to stay with Edward for ten days in a rented bungalow at Half Moon. That should be a morose little holiday if ever there was one."

In a Christmas letter to Joyce Carey wrote:

"He (Webb) is making an effort to snap out of it but the basic truth of the matter is that he's enjoying the wallowing. He doesn't know this, of course, but it is a leetle bit trying. After all she was 91 - on paper - and she has been on the gaga side for ages."

On January 7, Coward wrote in his diary:

"The party's over now. Coley drove Clifton, drenched in tears, to deposit his at Edward's bungalow at Half Moon. I somehow feel that it might not be an entirely cloudless visit. Edward is not exactly tolerant or kind when he gets a few drinks inside him. Poor Clifton! I gave him a loving but firm pep talk the night before he left and I think it helped a bit."

Webb's health was in decline, and he completed his final movie in 1961, "Satan Never Sleeps" which also starred William Holden. Multiple surgeries and the associated recovery, ensured that the parties that once filled the house on Rexford Drive were over. On October 13, 1966, Webb died. His secretary, Helen Matthews, felt that Webb couldn't face another anniversary of Mabelle's death which would be four days later.

On Sunday, October 16, 1966, Coward wrote in his diary:

"Clifton died two (sic) days ago. Another old friend gone. For his sake I'm glad. He's been miserably ill for a long time now. He was dreadfully preoccupied with his own bad health, poor dear. If Maybelle (sic) had died ten years earlier he might have survived better, but she left it too late and he wrapped himself in grief and dread every morning when he woke. He used to be such good company in the past. Age defeated him. I wonder if it will defeat me? I feel it won't, but you never know. Invalidism is a subtle pleasure."

For all his complaints about Webb's wallowing in the memories of "very, very long stories about the various deaths of his various beloved friends," his own diary became a chronicle of the passing of all his friends who went before him. I suppose we all do this in one form or another.