The final time I saw Burton was in "Private Lives", with Elizabeth
Taylor. I saw it twice. He had aged a bit since the revival
of "Camelot". At the time I guess he was probably 57. I remember
being unsettled by his appearance. To me, he seemed a bit more
frail than he should have been at that age and that concerned me.
He was still very handsome, of course. But again, being smitten, he
always looked handsome to me.

Elizabeth seemed very enthusiastic about the production, Burton more
hesitant; maybe somewhat embarrassed. I got the impression during
the performance that this was definitely something that he was doing
for her. That she asked him to do it, and he did not want to
disappoint or insult her by declining. That she was desperate and
wanted to be with him in any capacity, and if she couldn't be
married to him, at least she was sharing a stage with him. I
absolutely understood. She was smitten, just like me! Again, amid
speculation that they were going to re-unite as a couple, he
surprised everyone by marrying Sally Hay. I think Elizabeth was
devastated.

Again, more talk of "King Lear", but fainter this time. Still, I
had hope-but trouble envisioning it.

I saw a picture of him in May of 1984 in the Star or Enquirer and I
was alarmed at his pale and drawn appearance. I had a real, deep
foreboding about him. Three months later, I was with my mom and her
friend returning from Manhattan back to Queens. This lady's son had
picked us up in his car at the train station. He turned around and
he said, "Hey ladies, did you hear about Richard Burton?" I put my
hands over my ears. I knew the rest.

I managed to get a ticket to his memorial in Manhattan. Fans and
celebrities gathered to mourn his passing. Actually, I had two
tickets, and when my friend failed to show, I searched the faces of
the fans outside the theatre who were unable to get a ticket.
Looking for the saddest face in the throng, I spotted a woman who
looked quite bereft. She looked like I felt (another smitten
woman). I handed her the extra ticket without a word. She must
have been praying for it because she accepted it without surprise,
as if somehow she knew it was coming. She took it in both hands and
pressed it to her heart and thanked me.

During his memorial, an actress, whose name I don't remember, who
worked on a film with Richard, (it might have been, "Ice Palace"),
said that he had frequently requested that she sing a certain hymn
for him. This hymn was titled, "Softly and Tenderly, Jesus is
Calling." She sang it for the audience so plaintively and so
simply; I put my head down and cried, along with the rest of the
audience. The silent tears flowed for the duration of the memorial
but when they played his voice at the end, unable to control it any
longer, I wept outright. An elderly Welshman, dressed in a tweed
suit, seated behind me, patted me on the shoulder and offered me a
hankie and some comfort. "There," he said, "you cry now girl. It's
fine. It's something to cry about. You let it out." When I exited
the theatre into the glaring hot sun, I saw a young police woman
standing outside, also weeping outright. We looked at each other
and wept some more.

What struck me was that one person after the next who got up to
speak about him almost all seemed to offer the same thing, "I
didn't know Richard very well, but………..." On the sad subway ride
home, I thought, "They should have had the old lady who sent the
Christmas cards and the disabled man up there to talk about him.
THEY knew him." Yes, and the elderly Welshman in the tweed suit and
the young police woman too.

As you know, he never did "King Lear".

This has been a happy walk down memory lane for me, and a little sad
too. I always wanted to share my experiences with other Burton
fans. Thank you.