Edward Gollin, a former Westport resident, died April 9 at the Golden Hill nursing home in Milford. He was 90. A friend wrote the following obituary:
With stardust still sparkling in his bedroom slippers, beside his bed at the Golden Hill nursing home in Milford on April 9, Edward Gollin joined his 24 compatriots there who succumbed to COVID-19.
He would undoubtedly have preferred final curtain glamorous companions, in keeping with his lifelong Hollywood attachment to stars and stardom style. But final is final.
From his New Jersey childhood, where his mother babysat for her neighbor Mrs. Sinatra, followed by his early days at Fox Studios in Hollywood, when Harold Robbins was merely a superb accountant, he became addicted
His father was a criminal, so young Edward very early adopted his mother’s name and never looked back (except when taking part in traditional family celebrations when he perennially brings up the subject to explain his lifestyle.)
Trained as Hollywood advance man, PR extraordinaire, he escorted Sammy Davis up and down both coasts, finding beds for themselves by spotlight and moon time, in back doors of hotels when that was their only option.
Harold got busy writing books to teach young American boys about sex. Ed babysat for him during book tours. Lent him cash between closing and opening chapters.
Later, in “retirement,” he regularly sent Harold and his latest wife, Jan, an addict’s supply of bagels and strudels from the best NYC bakeries.
A single child, he never could understand why Harold did not build him a personal addition to his glamorous Palms Springs suburban Hollywood retreat.
A list of his dazzling panoply of unfinished lifelong multimillion dollar projects would require a playbook of several dozen banks, reams of health care products, rehabilitation scenarios of dozens of old time movie idols and an exercise system to outdo Jack Lalanne.
In the long meantime he volunteered for many years to sit through the long NYC radio nights with famous perennial host Joe Franklin, faithfully recording the royalties due every single composer and lyricist whose music danced the night waves.
As a live-in house guest and companion, he accompanied me to Spain, Africa and China, jumping on the next available bus, after airport arrival, to introduce himself to the local radio and press, reminding them he is direct from “that Hollywood you will only ever read about”…..followed by dropping a few names to let them know he is of their tribe…..”And next, I want to let you know why you now need to know about Jacquelyn!”….
Then he always returns late to the new hotel, bagels and danish and newspapers in a tired cloth bag. If, by some strange, unexpected chance these new best friends don’t write about me in the next edition, he is on the phone. (That he knew nothing about the art world, he made clear to everyone, was totally irrelevant!)
I did not know his nursing home roommate. But I know by heart the stories I’m sure they all heard before they died. He was right, of course. Via him, he knew for sure, they all enjoyed a starry world well before they had to leave.
—Jacquelyn Thunfors, July 4, 2020
PS. Ed was 90 years old, born in 1929
