Cover of the
@Telegraph in the UK- November 25th, 2000. Me, as an 8 year old boy, at the grave of my grandfather, James Mason, on the shores of Lake Geneva in Switzerland.
I was eight years old, standing at a grave that had taken sixteen years and a family odyssey to exist. My grandfather died in 1984- eight years before I was born. He died much younger than his parents and brothers- a fact that I have carried with me my whole life- knowing that if he had made it as long as they did, we would’ve had, at least perhaps fora few short years, the chance to connect and know each other.
That autumn day we finally laid him to rest beside his close friend Charlie Chaplin. My father Morgan was there. And so was my loving aunt Portland- brilliant, fierce, determined to see her father home. She and my Dad Morgan Mason had tracked the ashes, fought for the inscription, and stood with us in Switzerland. Only a few years later she was gone too.
The photograph on the front page of The Daily Telegraph that Saturday is me, a small boy in a black coat, placing flowers on a stone that reads: “Never say in grief you are sorry he’s gone. Rather, say in thankfulness you are grateful he was here.” Ted Kennedy shared those words with my aunt when he called her after James’s passing,
A quarter-century later the story continues. A new book, James Mason: The Movie Star Hollywood Forgot, has just been published. It is another act of remembrance.
Some families inherit houses or titles. Ours inherited unfinished business: a name, a voice, a body of work, and the quiet duty to keep it alive. ♥️
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