continued . . .

was first coming into its own, and she took full advantage of it, appearing in numerous (mostly unrecorded) live productions. On May 5, 1952, Life
magazine featured a plump-cheeked but still regal Lynn on its cover as one of "TV's Leading Ladies." That same year, she recorded two albums of
classical music for Capitol Records. During the next two years, she tackled stage roles on Broadway (Horses in Midstream) and in London, with
The Moon Is Blue, a comedy considered racy for its time.

Neither did she disdain advertisements for products ranging from coffee to mattresses. In May 1948, already a well-established screen actress, she
lent her services to Flame Glow lipstick; five years later, she lauded the merits of Lux Toilet Soap.

During her 20s, Lynn continued to make movies that, if not classics, were at least workmanlike and respectable. One of these, Track of the Cat, was
notable both for its magnificent cinematography and superb script, which included Robert Mitchum reading from a page of John Keats ("When I have
fears that I may cease to be ..."). During this same period, Lynn had guest starring roles, appearing in 13 live TV dramas in 1954-55 alone. Her acting
career was moving along at full tilt, despite her vulnerability to typecasting -- her winsome face did not square with villainy -- and an acrimonious
divorce from a man who called her an "emotional idiot".

It was then that she appeared as one of the two female leads in The Kentuckian, a 99-minute United Artists "Western" directed and co-produced by its
male star, Burt Lancaster. The movie -- presented in CinemaScope with the screenplay by A.B. Guthrie Jr., a former executive editor of
The Lexington Leader -- was based on the novel The Gabriel Horn by Felix Holt.

The story takes place in the early 1820s in Kentucky, with Big Eli Wakefield (Lancaster) seeking a new life with his son in the pristine spaces of Texas
("It ain't we don't like people. We like room more.").

To add realism, the movie was made in part near Owensboro and at Levi Jackson Wilderness State Park, southeast of London.

Lynn played a spinster schoolteacher named Miss Susie Spann, who just happened to be an accomplished pianist. During the filming, she experienced
the dark side of celebrity when, while signing autographs in Owensboro, an 18-year-old fan handcuffed himself to her and gave her some unwanted
publicity. To make matters worse, The Kentuckian -- officially released Aug. 13, 1955 -- received reviews bad enough to deter Lancaster from directing for
the next 20 years. Oddly enough, Europeans seem to have found The Kentuckian more to their taste than Americans; at the Venice Film Festival, the movie
was nominated for the Lion d'Or.

1955 was a watershed for Lynn, who appeared in only one more movie (Company of Killers) and that, 15 years later. She embarked on a successful second
marriage and had four children in seven years. Her movie career having ground to a halt, she assumed the position of director of GO (Travel) Agency in
Manhattan in March 1970.

Lynn's pixie-faced allure had faded somewhat between her last productive year in cinema, 1955, and the dawn of the 1970s, when, a middle-aged matron,
she offered a pensive, slightly melancholy smile for the photographer. Never one of fortune's darlings, she was poised for a comeback when the blow came.

Paramount had given her a lead role in the movie adaptation of Joan Didion's best-selling novel Play It As It Lays, a nihilistic expose of Los Angeles in the
late 1960s. Lynn was to play Helene, the thirtysomething wife of bisexual Hollywood producer B.Z. (Anthony Perkins). She retired from retirement and
returned to her native Los Angeles.

Before filming commenced, she suffered a stroke and brain hemorrhage on Dec. 9, 1971. She lay nine days, then died at Mount Sinai Hospital in Los
Angeles. She was 45 years old. Her funeral was Dec. 22 in Beverly Hills.

Thirty-one years later, I was pallbearer for my close friend and former Sunday School teacher, Lella Beckner, a native of London. During the dinner after
the funeral, I reminisced with her brother about The Kentuckian and the action scenes, particularly the one where Big Eli dashes across the river and
outraces a musket ball intended for his heart. Lella's brother was kind enough to mail me the video.

When I watched The Kentuckian for the first time in decades, I saw it through new eyes. The movie, given short shrift in its own day, resonated with me
on a personal level, because I grew up with people of Appalachian lineage who really do talk like that ("plumb forgot," "I reckon so," "sit down, y'all").
Furthermore, I saw that the experts had been too hard on The Kentuckian.

Whatever its flaws, the movie is pure Americana, depicting the frontier with all its joys and hardships, delights and drudgery, kindness and brutality.

The authenticity of The Kentuckian was reinforced not a little by Lynn, the child of Beverly Hills, who shed all traces of Nancy Langley while shrewdly
deciding not to mimic a Southern accent. The Kentuckian is, above all, a celebration of self-sacrifice, a subject not to be treated lightly by even the most
jaded critic.