I am working on a book about my life as Lucille Ricksen. I am writing it as a memoir. It will contain memories I have and the events that molded and shaped my life and untimely death.
I am almost fully completed with the first draft and I could not be more happy with the result! It’s not perfect but I am happy with the work I have done so far.
I’m going to share some of the stories that I remember. This is not what will be written in the book, they are just fragments of memories as they come to me. I’m working now on filling in the pieces for my book. There will be a ton of mistakes so please don’t be to harsh.
This story consists of Jack & Mary Pickford on set of the film The Hill Billy, and stories that Syd Chaplin had told me. It’s a short, sad story. But it is one that I remember well.
Hope you enjoy!!
One thing I remember specifically about Jack — he loved Coca Cola. I would see him walk around set with the glass bottle, sipping it down like it was his last drink. Knowing him, he probably spiked it with liquor.
Mary would often visit the set. All I can say about Mary is that she was stunning. Her golden hair bounced at her shoulders and her smile was darling. She is very small. She was wearing a white, casual lace gown with a sun hat when I first saw her. Mary is simply as cute as a button.
I would always observe Mary and Jack very closely from afar. Jack is only a few inches, if that, taller than Mary. She has such confidence about her; you know that she knows she is powerful. Jack, however, exceeds almost little to no confidence at all. Especially when he’s by Mary.
The more I worked with Jack, the more I felt sorry for him.
He often got himself into a lot of trouble, which explains why Mary and his mother would check up on him on set. I never saw the “bad” or “evil” side of Jack, and my guess is that almost none of his other co stars did.
He drank a lot. But only in his own privacy. Sometimes, if he drank enough, he would call out for a girl who had been dead for 4 years:
He would call out for her into the lonesome night, with only his echoes returning back to him.
Syd had told me stories of Jack. Painful stories that Mary had apparently blabbed to Charlie, among other people.
Stories of how Olive would plead to Jack,
“Don’t let me die! I don’t want to die!” She would beg him.
Olive died in his arms and he had been living with her voices in his head ever since.
He drank to silence the voices.
*Olive is Jack’s first wife who was poisoned on their second honeymoon in Paris of 1920. He was 24 years old when this happened.