The complexities of life often reveal themselves in the most unexpected ways. This holds true even in the shimmering world of Hollywood, as we discover when we delve into the story of Blossom Rock, sister of the celebrated Jeanette MacDonald. While Blossom may not be a name as readily recognized, her life and experiences offer a fascinating glimpse behind the scenes of classic Hollywood, revealing hidden facets of her more famous sister and brother-in-law, Gene Raymond.
The photograph above captures Blossom Rock alongside Gene Raymond and Cliff Robertson in the 1964 film The Best Man, the sole cinematic venture she shared with her brother-in-law. This image, seemingly a simple still from a movie, becomes more poignant when we consider the layers of irony that history has unveiled.
Adding another layer to these ironies is the emergence of a letter concerning Blossom’s passing on January 14, 1978—remarkably, thirteen years to the day after Jeanette MacDonald’s death. This letter details a friend’s luncheon with Blossom just two days prior, painting a vivid picture of her final days.
To fully appreciate the significance of this letter and the true character of Blossom Rock, it’s essential to understand her background. For those familiar with Sweethearts, it’s known that Blossom endured a stroke in 1966. However, this physical setback did not diminish her sharp mind and vibrant spirit. Despite challenges with speech, Blossom remained an engaging and optimistic individual, dedicated to connecting with and supporting others. When the author met her as a teenager, communication was quickly established, proving Blossom’s ability to convey her thoughts effectively. Notably, it was Blossom who confirmed the neighborhood gossip about Jeanette’s deep affection for Nelson Eddy, sharing key details of their story through conversation, demonstrations, and photographs. She also played a vital role in validating and correcting information gathered from other sources. While there were documented instances of her speech briefly returning to normal, the consistent factor was her unwavering intellect and memory.
The limited scope of information gleaned from Blossom was simply due to the author’s youthful lack of pertinent questions. Looking back, there was much more to explore, and Blossom was undoubtedly willing to share. Her strength lay in responding to inquiries, rather than initiating lengthy narratives.
Over years of visits to the Motion Picture Home, Blossom’s residence after her Beverly Hills home was sold without her consent by her executor, Gene Raymond, the author developed a routine of day trips. These outings were far from somber visits; they were filled with shopping, lunches, and ice cream treats. The Sandcastle restaurant in Paradise Cove, Malibu, held a special place as Blossom’s favorite, easily accessible via a drive through Topanga Canyon from the San Fernando Valley. Alternatively, they explored restaurants in the Valley, Hollywood, and beyond, often embarking on longer drives to revisit locations significant in the lives of Jeanette and Nelson. Long before the era of GPS, Blossom expertly navigated, guiding drivers with clear directions from the front passenger seat, pointing out turns and freeway entrances. Her witty remarks about Los Angeles traffic always brought laughter, making drives with her a joyful experience.
Ventura Boulevard offered a plethora of dining options, and Topanga Plaza, California’s first indoor mall which opened in February 1964, became another frequent destination. While the author favored Pickwick Books, Blossom gravitated towards the May Company. The mesmerizing “Rain Fountain,” an innovative glycerin droplet display, captivated them both.
Topanga Plaza in 1964, a landmark indoor mall in California
This image from 1964 captures the modernity of Topanga Plaza at its inception. Below, the Rain Fountain showcases the era’s fascination with technological marvels.
Shopping excursions often included lunch at the Terrace Restaurant in May Company or the Jolly Roger within the mall, always with a view of the Rain Fountain. No day with Blossom was complete without ice cream. The choices were Thrifty Drugstore on Topanga and Ventura, renowned for its affordable cones, or Swensen’s, an early “gourmet” ice cream parlor that offered more premium flavors at higher prices.
The decision between Thrifty’s and Swensen’s often hinged on the number of scoops desired. Thrifty’s, famous for its nickel cones, had by then increased prices to a still-economical ten cents a scoop, or fifteen cents for two. Blossom, known for her frugality, appreciated the value of Thrifty’s, allowing for a “splurge” of two scoops.
Swensen’s, also located on Topanga Canyon Boulevard, boasted a rotating selection of unique flavors, including the surprisingly divisive pickle ice cream. Despite some questionable options, their generally richer, homemade-style ice cream offered a different treat.
Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlor in Woodland Hills was another occasional destination. With the author’s father working as their accountant, birthday visits sometimes warranted a free sundae. On other occasions, they shared a banana split.
However, Farrell’s high noise levels made conversation challenging. Their signature “trough,” an enormous ice cream sundae, came with a celebratory spectacle—firemen’s bells, applause, and a “pig” pin for those who could finish it.
Recounting these memories serves to illustrate the depth of the author’s relationship with Blossom. These were not just fleeting visits but full days spent engaging in ordinary, enjoyable activities. The last meeting occurred just weeks before Blossom’s death. The author, now married, visited with her husband, bringing Christmas gifts. Blossom expressed a sense of weariness and readiness to pass, yet brightened in the company of the author’s husband, always appreciative of good company. She regained her usual cheerfulness before their departure.
The crux of this narrative lies in addressing those who have historically attempted to discredit Blossom, citing her speech difficulties and questioning her mental acuity.
These attempts to invalidate Blossom as a reliable source are definitively refuted by a letter penned by Dorothy Cassidy. Dorothy and her husband, Thomas Cassidy, a long-time host at Los Angeles classical music station KFAC, were close friends of Jeanette and Gene. Upon Jeanette’s death, her extensive record collection was bequeathed to the Cassidys, with the notable exception of Nelson Eddy’s solo albums. These were given to Blossom, perhaps to subtly diminish any suggestion of Jeanette’s personal admiration for Nelson.
Dorothy Cassidy and her daughters were deeply involved with Jeanette’s fan club, promoting the narrative of a happy marriage between Jeanette and Gene. In her letter to Clara Rhoades, the fan club president, dated January 19, 1978, Dorothy recounts spending time with Blossom just two days before her death. The letter unequivocally portrays Blossom as far from incompetent. Dorothy wrote:
I’m wondering if you heard the news of Blossom. She passed away on the 14th. I was out to see her on Thursday, the 12th and we went to lunch at the Westlake Inn, took a drive like she always likes to do, and stopped for an ice cream cone at Swenson’s (sic)…another “must” when we are out. She was fine and really enjoyed her day.
Dorothy continued, detailing the swiftness of Blossom’s decline:
She took ill on Friday and died early Saturday morning (around 2:30 or so, I believe). The funeral was yesterday, the 18th…just thirteen years after Jeanette. So it’s been quite a week…Blossom’s services were lovely.
Emily is still in St. Croix, but I had her phone number there so Nannette (sic, their grandniece), did get in touch with her.
This letter serves as undeniable validation of the Blossom Rock the author knew and has consistently described.
An intriguing postscript involves Thomas Cassidy, who passed away in 2012. Prior to his death, a mutual acquaintance of a fan club member, Patrice Messina, visited the Cassidys. During this visit, the topic of Jeanette and Nelson arose. Initially, the Cassidys upheld the Jeanette-Gene narrative. However, Thomas Cassidy then remarked to his wife, “Come to think of it, after Jeanette died Gene did bring a different young man with him whenever he visited us.” The conversation abruptly shifted thereafter.
Gratitude is extended to Maria Escano for sharing Dorothy Cassidy’s letter. Further adding to this account, Angela Messino provided a letter from Emily West (Wentz) also announcing Blossom’s death.
Angela Messino’s notes on Emily’s letter highlight several points:
A couple of things struck me, Emily is writing this almost 3 months after the fact. In time for the next Comet [fan club magazine]?? Also, she gets the date of Jeanette’s death incorrect and whoever filed it just blindly copied it on the envelope, at some point it was corrected in a different pen. The letter is all about Emily and her woes and she includes a clipping about her and her family and trip, etc. which mentions Blossom’s passing and her relationship. This was all about her, all PR for how great Emily is. Wow. But she’ll certainly miss Blossom. What a cold one she was.
Nelson Eddy reportedly held strong disapproval for two women in Jeanette’s life: her mother, Anna MacDonald, and her secretary, Emily West, viewing their influence as detrimental to Jeanette, as detailed in Sweethearts.
In conclusion, Dorothy Cassidy’s letter, from within the “opposing camp,” inadvertently corroborates the author’s long-held portrayal of Blossom Rock. It’s a poignant revelation that this truth was obscured for so long, yet now, it surfaces as another of life’s subtle ironies. Blossom Rock, often in the shadow of her sister, emerges as a significant figure in understanding the authentic stories of Hollywood’s golden era.
