When I was a child, I was furious with my mother for not remembering all about the day Greta Garbo died.
This is both more complicated and simpler than you think. The reason I was a child interested in Greta Garbo was because my uncle gave me two bargain books about her. That’s the simple part. The more complicated part is why I was a willing recipient.
But the point is, I really wanted to read her obituary. So my mother and I drove to the public library and got a lesson in microfiche. (My mother was constantly trailing along behind me, somewhat aggressively unapologetic for her strange son, while I was wounded that the women sitting on the other side of the desk of the Luling Historical Society should be addressing my mother instead of myself.)
I could never find Garbo’s obituary, though. I don’t know if we were looking at the wrong day or in the wrong section or what, but I was so disappointed I vowed to never allow my own children to suffer the indignities of microfiche. Which is the exact moment I began clipping and saving movie star obituaries.
I believe Claudette Colbert was my first.