This is a blog which honors the great Carole Lombard. I am 18 years old and I love classic movie stars. Carole was a great woman who had great talent and a lovely and joyful personality in real life. She tragically died in a plane crash when she was only 33 years old.
October 6th, 1908 - January 16th, 1942
Background Illustrations provided by: http://edison.rutgers.edu/

Travis Banton and Carole Lombard. Banton is one of the unsung heroes of the Carole Lombard look. He was chief fashion designer at Paramount during nearly all of Carole’s seven plus years working there, and she liked his work so much that he helped design costumes for films she made at several other studios.

Travis Banton and Carole Lombard. Banton is one of the unsung heroes of the Carole Lombard look. He was chief fashion designer at Paramount during nearly all of Carole’s seven plus years working there, and she liked his work so much that he helped design costumes for films she made at several other studios.

Reblogged from avasgal  41 notes

After their marriage she started calling him Paw—playfully, not as a synonym for Daddy. Paw was what he did, she said, when he made love. Nevertheless, his response was to call her Maw, and the nicknames stuck. Even his third-person references to her were as Maw, although Pappy was what Carole usually called him for the benefit of other ears, reserving Paw for their private relationship. 
The private relationship in its most intimate expression was something else again. From the beginning, she regarded him as a boudoir bungler—a bull, all right, but a bull in a china shop. Carole didn’t regard sex as life’s main course, but rather as its dessert dish.
 She prided herself on a healthy sexuality. She said she was not oversexed. ‘I don’t think a person can be oversexed, it’s just that some people aren’t as dishonest as others.’ Nor did she think Clark was dishonest; but she would have had him be more romantic. 
She said it often, always disarmingly, knowing it wouldn’t get printed: ‘I love the guy, but to tell you the truth, he’s not a hell of a good lay.’ 
Once when Clark was trying to master bridge under Eddie Mannix’s tutelage, he became impatient and said, ‘Dammit, I don’t think I’ll ever learn to finesse!’ Carole smiled and said ‘Well, now, sweetie, every Metro script girl knows that…isn’t that right, Eddie?’ 
That may have been close to the truth, or right on truth’s button. The satisfaction sex had given Clark was a matter of large numbers but small moments. His triumph was akin to a thief’s, who’ll snatch and run. It was really a statistical thing with him—his scoring. It was the difference, Carole told him, between screwing and making love. She liked to make love. She simply believed that part of a man’s pleasure should be the satisfaction he could give to his woman. 
It was no small problem and it was chronic, but Carole found a way to deal with it, if not solve it: she joked about it. She teased him for his clumsiness, and she joked about it publicly at his expense. She knew how far to carry the jest, never extending it into the grounds of cruelty or humiliation. His joke became their joke, and there were many variations on the theme. According to several witnesses, Carole toyed with him in a routine similar to the following: 
Clark: Tell the truth now, how many men have you known who are better lovers than I am? 
Carole: Do you mean from my personal experience, or do you mean the public domain…what one might call common knowledge? 
Clark: Awe, come on, honey, you know I mean personal experience. But not ones who are just as good as me. Only the one’s who’re better. 
Carole: You know my memory isn’t as good as yours. 
Clark: Just try.
Carole: I’m sure to forget someone, but I’ll try. 
Clark: You could go by studios. You’ve played ‘em all, haven’t you? 
Carole: I think alphabetically is the proper way. 
Clark: For Christ’s sake… 
Carole: I’ll start with the A’s 
Clark: Why not go by nationalities? You could start with Dago crooners. 
Carole: Oh, you mean I can count dead people? That’ll make it a lot easier. 
Clark: Just stick to the alphabet. 
Carole: All right. There’s Richard Arlen, and Nils Asther. There’s…how about Dorothy Arzner? I know she’s a woman, but she’s better than you are… 
Clark: I’ll be goddamned… 
Carole: It’s going to be harder to remember all the B’s. 
Clark: Aren’t you forgetting Brian Aherne? 
Carole: Brian? No, I thought of his name. 
Clark: You mean I’m better than he is? 
Carole: Oh, I doubt that. 
Clark: Is he better than I am? 
Carole: Well, the odds would seem to favor him, and he’s British besides. 
Clark: You mean you haven’t— 
Carole: I really can’t say about Brian Aherne. I simply don’t know. 
Clark: My apologies. I shouldn’t have presumed— 
Carole: That is, I don’t know yet.  
Clark: Your A’s my ass! 
Carole: Starting with the B’s. Well, there’s Wesley Barry… 
Clark: Wesley Barry! 
Carole: That was in silent picture time. He was twelve and I think I was eleven. 
Clark: You can’t count that. 
Carole: Wesley was awfully good. 
Clark: You’re just making him up. 
Carole: Oh, no. He was famous for his freckles. 
Clark: Yeah. Now I remember who he was. 
Carole: I mean he had freckles all over! 
Clark: Honey, you’re putting me on. 
Carole: I just thought of something. 
Clark: Yeah? 
Carole: We can do this next week. 
Clark: Get on with the B’s. Why next week? 
Carole: John Barrymore, of course. Better, much better. 
Clark: What do you mean about next week? 
Carole: And Richard Barthelmess. Now they’re getting really good. 
Clark: They sure aren’t getting any younger, Maw. 
Carole: Oh, yes they are: Freddie Bartholomew! 
Clark: Let’s quit this game. You’ve convinced me. 
Carole: Well, I meant that next week you could ask me again about Brian.
 Clark: We will quit. What’ll it be: backgammon? 
Carole: Whatever you say. I’d rather make love. 
-From Screwball: The Life of Carole Lombard by Larry Swindell

After their marriage she started calling him Paw—playfully, not as a synonym for Daddy. Paw was what he did, she said, when he made love. Nevertheless, his response was to call her Maw, and the nicknames stuck. Even his third-person references to her were as Maw, although Pappy was what Carole usually called him for the benefit of other ears, reserving Paw for their private relationship.

The private relationship in its most intimate expression was something else again. From the beginning, she regarded him as a boudoir bungler—a bull, all right, but a bull in a china shop. Carole didn’t regard sex as life’s main course, but rather as its dessert dish.

She prided herself on a healthy sexuality. She said she was not oversexed. ‘I don’t think a person can be oversexed, it’s just that some people aren’t as dishonest as others.’ Nor did she think Clark was dishonest; but she would have had him be more romantic.

She said it often, always disarmingly, knowing it wouldn’t get printed: ‘I love the guy, but to tell you the truth, he’s not a hell of a good lay.’

Once when Clark was trying to master bridge under Eddie Mannix’s tutelage, he became impatient and said, ‘Dammit, I don’t think I’ll ever learn to finesse!’ Carole smiled and said ‘Well, now, sweetie, every Metro script girl knows that…isn’t that right, Eddie?’

That may have been close to the truth, or right on truth’s button. The satisfaction sex had given Clark was a matter of large numbers but small moments. His triumph was akin to a thief’s, who’ll snatch and run. It was really a statistical thing with him—his scoring. It was the difference, Carole told him, between screwing and making love. She liked to make love. She simply believed that part of a man’s pleasure should be the satisfaction he could give to his woman.

It was no small problem and it was chronic, but Carole found a way to deal with it, if not solve it: she joked about it. She teased him for his clumsiness, and she joked about it publicly at his expense. She knew how far to carry the jest, never extending it into the grounds of cruelty or humiliation. His joke became their joke, and there were many variations on the theme. According to several witnesses, Carole toyed with him in a routine similar to the following:

Clark: Tell the truth now, how many men have you known who are better lovers than I am?

Carole: Do you mean from my personal experience, or do you mean the public domain…what one might call common knowledge?

Clark: Awe, come on, honey, you know I mean personal experience. But not ones who are just as good as me. Only the one’s who’re better.

Carole: You know my memory isn’t as good as yours.

Clark: Just try.

Carole: I’m sure to forget someone, but I’ll try.

Clark: You could go by studios. You’ve played ‘em all, haven’t you?

Carole: I think alphabetically is the proper way.

Clark: For Christ’s sake…

Carole: I’ll start with the A’s

Clark: Why not go by nationalities? You could start with Dago crooners.

Carole: Oh, you mean I can count dead people? That’ll make it a lot easier.

Clark: Just stick to the alphabet.

Carole: All right. There’s Richard Arlen, and Nils Asther. There’s…how about Dorothy Arzner? I know she’s a woman, but she’s better than you are…

Clark: I’ll be goddamned…

Carole: It’s going to be harder to remember all the B’s.

Clark: Aren’t you forgetting Brian Aherne?

Carole: Brian? No, I thought of his name.

Clark: You mean I’m better than he is?

Carole: Oh, I doubt that.

Clark: Is he better than I am?

Carole: Well, the odds would seem to favor him, and he’s British besides.

Clark: You mean you haven’t—

Carole: I really can’t say about Brian Aherne. I simply don’t know.

Clark: My apologies. I shouldn’t have presumed—

Carole: That is, I don’t know yet.  

Clark: Your A’s my ass!

Carole: Starting with the B’s. Well, there’s Wesley Barry…

Clark: Wesley Barry!

Carole: That was in silent picture time. He was twelve and I think I was eleven.

Clark: You can’t count that.

Carole: Wesley was awfully good.

Clark: You’re just making him up.

Carole: Oh, no. He was famous for his freckles.

Clark: Yeah. Now I remember who he was.

Carole: I mean he had freckles all over!

Clark: Honey, you’re putting me on.

Carole: I just thought of something.

Clark: Yeah?

Carole: We can do this next week.

Clark: Get on with the B’s. Why next week?

Carole: John Barrymore, of course. Better, much better.

Clark: What do you mean about next week?

Carole: And Richard Barthelmess. Now they’re getting really good.

Clark: They sure aren’t getting any younger, Maw.

Carole: Oh, yes they are: Freddie Bartholomew!

Clark: Let’s quit this game. You’ve convinced me.

Carole: Well, I meant that next week you could ask me again about Brian.

Clark: We will quit. What’ll it be: backgammon?

Carole: Whatever you say. I’d rather make love.

-From Screwball: The Life of Carole Lombard by Larry Swindell

Reblogged from restingbitchfaces  139 notes
ragsmartinjones:

Happy birthday, Carole Lombard! (October 6, 1908 - January 18, 1942)
Her story is a simple one and must be simply told. For the truth is that she was a very simple woman for all her success and her love affairs and her final great love and marriage. They were extraneous. Her true life was within. She was a lusty, faulty, rowdy, two-fisted, terrific dame, who knew all there was to know about life and love and temptation, and that is why it is important to understand her laughter. The philosophy of her life was laughter. You see, that was her secret, the thing she seldom talked about. She believed that laughter bubbled up from the heart that was filled with faith. She had known black despair and heartbreak. She believed that you had to win through them and believe that good would triumph, that right made might, and thus that laughter was an outward sign of an inward grace. - Adela Rogers St. Johns

ragsmartinjones:

Happy birthday, Carole Lombard! (October 6, 1908 - January 18, 1942)

Her story is a simple one and must be simply told. For the truth is that she was a very simple woman for all her success and her love affairs and her final great love and marriage. They were extraneous. Her true life was within. She was a lusty, faulty, rowdy, two-fisted, terrific dame, who knew all there was to know about life and love and temptation, and that is why it is important to understand her laughter. The philosophy of her life was laughter. You see, that was her secret, the thing she seldom talked about. She believed that laughter bubbled up from the heart that was filled with faith. She had known black despair and heartbreak. She believed that you had to win through them and believe that good would triumph, that right made might, and thus that laughter was an outward sign of an inward grace.Adela Rogers St. Johns

Reblogged from avasgal  62 notes

Happy Birthday Jane Alice Peters aka Carole Lombard

(October 6th, 1908 - January 16th, 1942)

"Carole’s secret lay in her not being actressy: she did not seem to be modeling the gowns. Her clothes always looked as if they belonged to her. Nine out of ten actresses thought in terms of costumes, but to Carole they were just clothes. Some girls never learn to wear elegance naturally, but it seemed that Carole had always known how."

-Edith Head

"Probably the greatest actress I’ve ever worked with."

-John Barrymore

"Carole Lombard’s tragic death means that something of gaiety and beauty have been taken from the world at a time they are needed most."

-Errol Flynn