Daum about Garbo's sex

Patrick McGilligan's insightful review of "Garbo" (April 2), a biography by Barry Paris, gives the impression that the world's most celebrated film star was, in her private life, "a lonely, pathetic woman" and "an empty vessel."

As a close friend and neighbor of Garbo's in New York for many years, I find it a disservice and a pity that film scholars like Mr. Paris perpetuate this counterfeit portrait that does not honor the woman behind the actress. I was privileged to know the private Garbo.

She was a highly intelligent, self-effacing, generous and kindhearted woman, and she had a delicious sense of humor.  The reviewer notes the chapter on "Garbo's puzzling sexuality" and quotes Mr. Paris's assessment that she was "technically bisexual, predominantly lesbian and increasingly asexual as the years went by." I think not.

Walter Wanger, who produced Queen Christina, told me in the 1960's that Garbo was the most sexually alive woman he had ever worked with, and added, "There is nothing she doesn't know about sex!"

"I think it is fair to say that a same-sex relationship was her obvious choice, despite numerous affairs with men", she once told me, "Homosexual love without discretion and dignity, if flaunted, is sordid." Garbo was haunted by a private code of conduct, trapped by the mores and traditional old-fashioned values of her generation.

Daum about Garbo's feet

(In 1993,  Raymond Daum wrote another letter to the Editor of the New York Times.)

Helen Manley's letter to the editor refers to a review by Robert Plunket of Susan Fromberg Schaeffer's book First Nights. Ms. Manley makes the point that, in her words, "Garbo was not sensitive about her feet."

As a longtime friend and neighbor of Miss Garbo, I can tell you quite honestly that she was sensitive to the widely held belief that her feet were big. (They were 8AA and the proper size for her proportions.)  I recall many shopping expeditions she sent me on for rain boots especially.

When I produced several pairs for her approval, one smart style impressed her. They were a perfect fit and she was thrilled with joy. But with tears she told me they were the wrong color -- red! -- and that they were too conspicuous to wear, bearing in mind the myth about her feet. I found suitable black ones later, but kept the red ones she adored as a sweet memory of this glorious woman. (I tell this story in my 1991 book, Walking With Garbo.)

Thanks to Snow-White