One was a black girl, the other one a white Irish-American girl, and they were both growing into womanhood in a place, Kentucky in the 1930s, where black children and white children were not supposed to be friends.
But they were friends, the best of friends, one of them named Blanchie Mae Chambers, the other Rosemary Clooney. Blanchie Mae grew up and is now an active layperson with The Church of the Nativity Episcopal in Maysville, and Rosemary grew up and is now a legendary singer, one of the greatest of her generation. And they are still the best of friends.
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When Rosemary Clooney became a star, she did not leave behind her old friend, but rather remembered her, included her and took her along where she could, if sometimes only in her heart. Blanchie said, "She'd have taken me the whole way to Beverly Hills if I'd have just agreed to go."
In 1947 before the Clooney Sisters left Cincinnati to join Tony Pastor, they took a trip back to Maysville to say their goodbyes. Rosemary wrote in Girl Singer:
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We walked down Casto Street to say goodbye to...Blanchie Mae. Blanchie was thrilled. "I'm sure going to miss you," she said. "But I'm so happy for you." I put my arm around her shoulder. "Don't worry, Blanchie Mae," I told her. "We'll always be best friends." |
In 1953 when Rosemary selected her hometown of Maysville and the Russell Theatre for the premiere of her movie "The Stars are Singing," she insisted that Blanchie Mae share the spotlight with her during all the day's festivities.
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Black and white photos from the 1950s show Clooney and Chambers
enjoying the festivities the |
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Rosemary told everyone in charge that if Blanchie Mae couldn't be with her, then she wouldn't ride or participate. But the 1950s were not all that different from the 1930s. Segregation was still alive and well. So it was Blanchie Mae's idea that she would pose as Rosemary's Maid for the Day. That would avert the snide remarks that this young black woman considered herself a celebrity. Rosemary was angry about the necessity for this impersonation, but Blanchie Mae insisted. And if anyone asked about Blanchie Mae's presence, they were simply told, she was Rosemary's personal maid. Rosemary writes in Girl Singer:
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Our open car became a motorcade. I rode with Grandma, with our mayor...and with Blanchie Mae Chambers; I'd refused to ride without her. "You're my best friend," I reminded her when she protested that a black person in the car would upset townspeople, especially my snobbish Aunt Olivette. It was Blanche's idea, then to tell the press that she was riding with me as my personal maid. |
Blanchie Mae recalls that, of course, Rosemary didn't have any work for her to do. She really didn't act as a maid that day, but that designation kept people quiet.
In 1959, when Rosemary was appearing at the Kentucky State Fair, she again wanted Blanchie Mae with her, and so she phoned and asked for Blanchie to come and join her. They spent the entire day together, and Rosemary put on a spectacular performance in her home state and was well received by a very appreciative crowd. It was a day that Blanchie Mae will never forget, experiencing Rosemary's stardom right by her side, all day long, including security guards and loads of enthusiastic fans.
In the summer of 1997, after Dante, Rosemary, Nick and Nina had taken their annual trip, this time cruising the Greek islands and then to Rome and a visit with the Pope, they returned to Kentucky and visited with Blanchie Mae, still Rosemary's best friend. After a little local shopping and some more visiting they all went to dinner at Caproni's in Maysville. It was on that evening that Rosemary and Dante became officially engaged. Blanchie was there. And it was just a few months later that they were married at St. Patrick's in Maysville, and, of course, Blanchie Mae was there.
Theirs is a story of true friendship, of a courageous Rosemary battling Southern traditions in her own personal way and an equally courageous Blanchie Mae, protective of her friend, even to this day. Blanchie will talk only about things that Rosemary has already discussed in her books, but in an interview with the Palladium, she acknowledged that indeed their friendship was unique.
Rosemary tells of the friendship's beginning in her autobiography Girl Singer:
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Papa's store was across the street from the New Central Hotel, where he took me to meet Lizzie Chambers, the black maid. "Lizzie didn't have a chance to go to school," he told me. "She didn't learn how to read because nobody would teach her. That was very, very, very wrong. When she was just about as old as you are now, she was working in the tobacco factory. Doesn't matter what people say, doesn't matter what color her skin is, and don't you ever forget that." I never did. I became best friends with Lizzie's daughter, Blanchie Mae, who came to the hotel after school to wait for her mother to finish work. Lizzie worked late, so when I got home from my school, I'd go over and bring Blanchie Mae back to Papa's. Aunt Olivette, a born snob with a cruel streak, disapproved. "She shouldn't be bringing that colored child here. What will people think?" "They'll think that these little girls are friends," Papa said firmly, reminding his wife to make some of her fancy sandwiches for us to eat as we played together after school. |
It is possible that Papa Clooney was so supportive of their friendship because he was an Irish Catholic in a small southern town and knew all too well, what it was like to be on the receiving end of prejudice. He became very protective and encouraging of Blanchie Mae's and Rosemary's relationship. Blanchie Mae says, "he treated me as one of his own. Some Sundays, Papa Clooney would take Rosemary, Betty and I and treat us to a trolley ride around the town. It was great fun for us."
Schools were still segregated at the time. Blanchie Mae and Rosemary obviously went to different schools, and each of them had their own school friends. But even though Rosemary had other friends, she never ignored or slighted Blanchie in any way, but rather kept her close and spent as much time with her as she could.
Nonetheless, the times had dealt each of them a different hand. Rosemary could do things that Blanchie Mae could not do; she could go places where Blanchie Mae could not go. Was she envious? Did she feel badly because of this? Blanchie Mae says no. In fact, it was probably harder for Rosemary to understand and accept, than for Blanchie, because Rosemary wanted her best friend to be able to be with her, but neither of them ever pushed the limits. They knew that if the community made an exception for her, they would have to make exceptions for others, an unlikely turn of events.
Rosemary went along with that, but with a twist that showed commitment to a friendship. In those days, when they went to a moviehouse, blacks had to view the film from the "buzzard's roost." Whites could sit in the main hall. Rosemary and Blanchie Mae had several choices if they wanted to see the movie together. One of them was NOT Blanchie sitting with Rosemary and the rest of the white audience. Another was Rosemary downstairs and Blanchie Mae upstairs.
The two friends chose an alternative: Rosemary sat with Blanchie Mae and the other black citizens of Maysville in the balcony. And on the way home they'd stop for ice cream cones. And instead of Rosemary eating inside, the two of them ate outside, together.
Maybe the solution for the times was simple. Blanchie Mae says she and Rosemary didn't see each other as little black and white girls. They were just Blanchie and Rosemary.
When asked if she knew if Rosemary would be famous one day, she said, "Of course, we were all going to be famous. She'd sing and I'd dance."
Blanchie loves Rosemary very much, always knew she would survive and make it Blanchie says, "because that's what she is, a survivor." She's not envious at all or in awe of Rosemary's celebrity, though she is very happy for her. To Blanchie Mae, she remains just her old pal, Rosemary.
In looking at recent pictures of some of Rosemary's performances, Blanchie would hold the picture up, shake her head and say, "Awh, sweet child. What she's been through." She is very maternal with Rosemary, in part, she says, because she is a few years older.
She knows Rosemary so well, she can look at a picture of Rosemary and tell you how Rosemary is feeling. She was so happy when Rosemary and Dante finally married - and knows they adore one another. She believes the loves of Rosemary's life are her children and grandchildren, her music and Dante, not necessarily in that order.
Blanchie Mae has never been to New York to see Rosemary. Nor has she been to Los Angeles to visit Rosemary, although Rosemary has always wanted her to come. But she doesn't drive, and she doesn't like to fly. Her life is simple, but busy, very different from a star's. But that is not to say that she is not a kind of celebrity in Maysville. Practically every person encountered on the "tour of Maysville" knew who she was.
But a special friendship with a girl who became a star has not gone to Blanchie Mae's head. She is humble and doesn't brag, even when given the opportunity. We came across one Kentuckian whom we did not know, but we stopped and talked. He lived in Maysville and started to tell us stories about Rosemary and the Clooneys, tales that were wrong according to Rosemary's books and interviews, tales that Blanchie Mae knew were wrong because she had lived them too. Never once did she say or let on, "Hey, sir, I'm Rosemary's best friend." She's just not like that.
"Tenderly," Rosemary's signature song for a time, is one of Blanchie Mae's favorites, and when she is in the audience, Rosemary often dedicates it to her.
Some of the lyrics could convey the thoughts of two young Kentucky girls, one black, one white, looking at the Ohio River, wondering about their friendship and their futures: "Then you and I came wondering by, and lost in a sigh were we..."
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