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God love Ava; her hometown sure does

By RONDA RICH

Whenever a native North Carolinian gives driving directions that will require passing close to a certain small town, he or she will inevitably say, “You’ll see the signs for Smithfield. That’s where Ava Gardner was from.”

And so it is a big deal for the quiet, little town that one of the most beautiful stars in cinematic history was raised within its tobacco-growing borders. Before she belonged to the world, she belonged to Smithfield. They have never forgotten it.

Nor, apparently, did she.

“She used to come back here and visit right regularly,” proudly explains the friendly woman who collects the money for a tour of the Ava Gardner Museum, which is housed in gleaming new building on the town’s main street. “She never forgot her friends and family back here.”

Though Gardner, renowned for her volatile temper and three marriages to famous men — actor Mickey Rooney, orchestra leader Artie Shaw and crooner Frank Sinatra — lived the last three and a half decades of her life abroad (Spain and England), she came home to Smithfield when the camera faded out for the last time.

In the town’s cemetery, a mile from downtown, there is a well-kept walkway that leads visitors to the spot where she was buried in January 1990. It is marked with a simple tombstone but visitors will find flowers on her grave and small, empty bottles of vodka or bourbon, an ode to her legendary fondness for a stiff drink.

Her earthly remains lie within close proximity of five towering magnolia trees, befitting for one of the toughest Southern women ever recorded by history.

“When I lose my temper, honey, I can’t find it anywhere,” she said so often that it is embroidered on hand towels that are sold in the museum.

Her most explosive temper tantrums were, apparently, reserved for Sinatra, the man she alternatively loved and hated. Hollywood folklore says it was the pain of loving and losing Ava that taught Sinatra how to sing a torch song. Millions of records sold say that he learned very well.

So, Ava, the country girl who left Smithfield, N.C., to find stardom, fortune and marriage in Hollywood, came home to rest. Her request was to be buried simply among the people she loved in the land from which she sprung.

I’m not one bit surprised.

Southerners, particularly our women who are notoriously sentimental, are devoted to the place we know as home.

Like Ava at 18, many of us dream of escaping from home and small towns. Then, slowly, as we accumulate wisdom, we think only of returning. The South is powerful in its allure to draw its children home.

In the museum, a boisterous, spirited life that ended at the age of 67 is chronicled through costumes (an incredibly tiny waist), shoes (size six at most), stunning portraits, video and knickknacks that belonged to the movie star. Over 1,200 people visit monthly in a sparkling new museum that looks like Hollywood nestled on Main Street.

“The museum is important because it brings many visitors to town,” explains director Billy Stevens. “There is a strong sense of pride that she came from Smithfield.”

She, apparently, felt a similar pride since she returned there for her final rest. Personally, I’m glad that Ava Gardner insisted on coming home to be buried. It would have been a shame otherwise, if she had forgotten the town that remembers her so lovingly.

(Fade to black).