The Crowd

B.W. Cook

She won an Oscar for her supporting role in the 1948 film “Key Largo.”

Claire Trevor Bren made more than 60 films in a career that spanned the

golden age of Hollywood. She passed away Saturday in Newport Beach

without fanfare, without search lights chasing the sky.

In the end, as in most all of the dealings in this one remarkable life,

there was dignity.

Claire Trevor Bren was a woman of considerable substance. She was a woman

who accomplished goals that many others might have considered the apex of

the human experience. Oscars may be wonderful, but for Bren, the Oscar

was a wonderful part of the past.

She was a woman who lived very much in the present, never regaling old

glory. And, surely until her final breath, Bren had her primary focus on

the important things in life.

Hopefully, her stepsons and grandchildren had the chance to say goodbye.

For more than anything else, family is what mattered to the movie star

the world adored in the earlier part of this century. But in fact, family

and friends are as much her legacy as anything she did on screen.

“I am so blessed to have such wonderful grandchildren,” Bren often

repeated in many conversations and in many settings. At an awards dinner

in Orange County honoring the actress with life achievement status two

years ago, Bren sat at a table surrounded by her grandchildren and their

spouses.

She told the black-tie-clad audience, “My genuine life achievement sits

before you. My grandchildren have come here tonight to be with me, and

this is my greatest joy.”

And it was not only her grandchildren that brought light into her life.

Bren adored her stepsons, Donald and Peter. They were very much her own

children even though she did not come into their lives until they were

young men.

Marrying Milton Bren in 1948, a legendary Newport figure as well as

successful Hollywood producer and agent, Claire Trevor became stepmother

to the two young men.

She also had a son of her own, Charles, tragically killed in an airplane

crash in San Diego in 1978. It was a loss she would never recover from,

and one aspect of the past she would not part with.

In death, her spirit is reunited with the son she loved and lost too

soon, and the husband of 31 years she cherished.

Bren chose not to talk openly about the loss of Charles, although with

close friends she would share her memories. Rather, she would beam with

pride over the accomplishments of son Peter, a respected businessman

living in New York, and son Donald, chairman of the Irvine Co.

“Donald was always a very driven and goal-oriented man,” she once shared

in a conversation over drinks in the bar of the Four Seasons Hotel,

Newport Beach -- a property developed by the Irvine Co. under her son’s

master plan.

“Donald has always been decisive, and precise. He has a clear vision of

himself and for the projects he undertakes. I believe he was greatly

influenced by his stint in military school and then later in the service.

He also has some of the best of his father’s quality -- vision and the

brains and guts to turn a dream into reality.”

In the early 1990s Donald Bren assisted his stepmother in a move from New

York City back to Newport Beach.

“It was time,” said Bren, when questioned about her reasons for leaving

the East Coast. “I love New York. I still do, but Newport is more

peaceful, more relaxed, an easier place to live. And besides, I can be

near many of my close friends from the past.”

Born in New York City in 1909, Bren broke her ties with the city that

offered her the first taste of fame making Vitaphone short-subject films

in an early Brooklyn studio.

She studied at The American Academy of Dramatic Arts and went on stage as

a teenager. A few years later, at the height of the Great Depression, the

young actress was offered a Hollywood film contract. By 1932, Claire and her mother and father moved to North Hollywood.

“I never really took my career all that seriously until the Depression,”

she said. “My father, who was a very strict and stern man, was a tailor

who catered to the wealthy trade in New York. When the Depression hit, he

lost his business. One day he told me that I needed to earn a living.”

“I must tell you that I was shocked. I suppose that I had never taken my

work seriously enough until that point.” said Trevor Bren, who once had

top billing over a young cowboy actor named John Wayne in the film

“Stagecoach.”

“From then on, I worked. I worked for the joy of following a career path

I wanted. I also worked to make money, to provide a roof over my head.”

Bren went on to ask me what my children were doing. I confided that my

older daughter was exploring the world of acting.

“Tell her she needs to work and make money to support herself,” she said.

“Tell her that the business is not about playing around. Make it

abundantly clear that she must swim or sink -- and there is no safety

net. Otherwise, she may not have a chance.”

Bren took her career very seriously. She said that she learned two

important lessons early on: Save your money and never fall in love with

the leading man. They were axioms that Bren did not always adhere to, but

axioms of sound advice just the same.

“I just did my best,” she said. “Sure, I made some real loo-loo mistakes.

I fell for the wrong men early in life, before Milton. But I think

overall I was always a fairly grounded person. I got that from my

parents.

“And I also got a great deal of love and support. That made a big

difference in Hollywood,” she said. It also made a very big difference in

all aspects of Bren’s life beyond the lights and cameras.

In retirement, a word Bren did not particularly relate to, she found

great joy in just socializing with her beloved friends and family. She

painted, and she was excellent. Her canvas was vibrant and unique, coming

from a rich and intelligent life.

Filling her Big Canyon residence with art, Bren created a haven of

culture in her final years. There was an old-world feeling of taste in

her home. It was a level of taste she had developed over a lifetime of

exposure to the good and bad times, and the experience that comes from

survival. Bren was gracious, not solicitous. She was a lady, and she was

also a broad.

She loved her cigarettes and her cocktails, yet she abhorred people who

became too self-indulgent and too boring after too many drinks and too

many smokes. She never bragged because she never had to. She wore her

accomplishments on her face, in her eyes, within the corners of her grin.

She dressed with style, she moved with grace, she stopped tracks in a

room when she wanted to. She could also be invisible when she wanted to

be. She was just plain smart, talented, and most importantly, caring.

She leaves a legacy of family and film. I think she would like to be

remembered as a woman who had a greater sense of the world, of life

around her, than just her own sphere.

Ironically, she preferred her own protected and quiet sphere, yet she

always spoke of giving back, contributing to society. Perhaps it was a

reflection of her time. The spirit of noblesse oblige, of participating

in making the world a better place.

“Do something for the young people. Give them a break,” she would often

say. “Think of what you can do to help someone less fortunate -- and then

do it.”

It was a joy to know Claire Trevor Bren, even for just a few years. While

we were not close friends, there was a certain simpatico. She understood

the place from which I find my words as a writer. She understood it

instinctively and passionately.

And for me, she was a bit like my own late mother. Tough yet refined,

living for the moment, enjoying every day, optimistic, worldly, and

loving. Goodbye great lady. You will be missed, never replaced.

* B.W. COOK’S column appears Thursdays and Saturdays.