When she arrived at the Saloon, we rushed to treat her like the star she was. She was about my height and had the sweetest smile. In one hand she carried a matching purse and the in the other, a book. Once I draped a cape around her, I brushed her hair and led her to the shampoo bowl.

She said in the softest voice, "You do know I have a tint on my hair." I replied that I did, and after I shampooed her hair and returned to the styling booth, she took a picture from her purse and asked if I would try to do that style. As I seated her in the dryer, a young girl came for an autograph. Ms. De Havilland graciously signed her paper, and then I pulled the drier bubble over her curls. While she was under the dryer, other clients wanted to know about my client. When it was time to comb her, I placed a drape over her shoulders, and we returned to the comb-out booth. She asked if she could rest her feet on the bar. Her nylons and beige dress reminded me of a sweet grandmother.

She was more than pleased with my work and asked to return the next day for a comb-out, the third day for another shampoo, and the fourth day for a comb-out. (Her tip was more than gracious.) She and I would work together for four days.

During our time together, she shared that she was writing her autobiography that was not to come out until after her death. I asked for a copy, and she assured me a signed copy would be ready for me at that time. We agreed to keep in touch over the years and if she were ever back in Owensboro, she would call on me.

We never met again, but were penpals for decades, exchanging birthday cards and letters since 1978. When she failed to respond to my last letter, her secretary wrote on her behalf, explaining she was not able to reply but asked the secretary to write for her. She lived in Paris most of her life and was there when she died in her sleep. I'm regretful we never met again.