Billie Dove's Magical Last Days at the MPTF

“Aside from a brief cameo in Diamond Head (1962), Billie Dove never returned to the movies. She spent her retirement years in Rancho Mirage before moving into the Motion Picture & Television Country House and Hospital in Woodland Hills, California where she died of pneumonia in 1997, aged 94.”
If you were to research actress Billie Dove on Google, you would read the above concluding information, and perhaps never know that there was a story behind those words, and that I, as a then Board Member of the Fund, was part of the story.
It began several years before 1997, in Rancho Mirage, one of the desert communities of Southern California. Rancho Mirage is not quite as celebrated as Palm Springs, but it is where my husband and I have a second home and spend many weekends in a pleasant setting for combined work and relaxation.
It was there that I first learned from a friend, who was acquainted with a niece of Billie Dove, that the famous actress of yesteryear was a patient at a local rehabilitation center. It was also mentioned to me that Billie had a strong desire to transfer to the Motion Picture & Television Fund, if that was at all possible.
I took that as a personal invitation to step right in and see what I could do. At that time I was a Board Member, and from time to time I had succeeded in abetting admission for eligible Industry participants. Besides, who wouldn’t jump at the chance to see and talk to a true cinematic legend? And if I could start the ball rolling for her to be transferred, so much the better.
My first step was to get in touch with the niece, whose name and telephone number had been given to me by my friend. I called and explained who I was and asked permission to visit her aunt at the Rehabilitation Center. This was arranged, and, a few days later I found myself inside a pleasantly furnished reception area of the Center, which turned out to be only a few miles from my house. I was no stranger to Long-Term Care facilities, my mother having been in one in Los Angeles for many years before her passing. Somehow though, perhaps because of the desert setting, this one seemed sunnier, more cheerful, less institutional-like.
The niece met me, as planned, and took me to her aunt’s room. This, too, was pleasant and comfortable looking, but the main feature, of course, was the frail looking woman occupying the single bed, intimations of past beauty still illuminating her face. She greeted me warmly, then put out her hand and I clasped it, more thrilled than I ever imagined I would be to meet in person the Queen of Silent Movies.
She must have been in her early 90s then, but her voice was steady and her mind was focused. The charm was evident.