Despite my wavy-to-straight brown hair, brown eyes and dimple-less cheeks, I thought Shirley and I had a lot in common. I was cute (sort of), could sing a little (a voice only a mother could love), and loved to tap dance and act up a storm at the age of 5 (overripe imagination).
My mother and father encouraged my fantasy obsession with the littlest movie star by purchasing a record album of Shirley’s greatest hits; when the record went on the turntable, I strapped on my black patent leather shoes and clickety-clakked my little heart out while singing along with Shirley at the top of my lungs.
I developed my early love of movies watching Shirley on our
small black and white television in the afternoons, where her films seemed to
be in constant broadcast rotation. My favorites?
Little Miss Marker , Captain January, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, The Little Princess and, of course…Heidi, the ultimate Shirley saga: Goat Peter, horrible Aunt Didi, poor crippled
Clara, that wacky organ grinder’s monkey and the aptly named Fraulein
Rottenmeier made me yell, laugh and cry along with Heidi. When she screamed for her grandfather to
rescue her -- Grandfather! Grandfather!!!
-- well, that was the ultimate in riveting
drama for a little girl.
Life happens to all of us, though. Shirley Temple grew into Shirley Temple
Black, distinguished public servant, diplomat and Republican (nobody's perfect). I
grew up (happily!) to become Mrs. Sedd – and though I never did learn how to
properly tap dance, it hasn’t stopped me from “tap dancing” through career
stumbles and the occasional setback through the years. If I
have demonstrated any pluck from time to time, perhaps it's due in part to the powerful impression made by the confident little girl I
adored in my childhood. Thank you for
that Shirley Temple, and for all the joy you’ve given to generations of
children for decades, including my own daughter.
Baby, take a bow. Shirley
Temple, rest in peace.
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