First off, one would never expect Cary Grant to die in Davenport, Iowa. If he had to go, wouldn't you suppose he might take his final breath in, perhaps, Monaco or Bel Air, maybe in a penthouse on Fifth Avenue or a villa on the Riviera? But it was in the most down-to-earth, untheatrical and American of places that the debonair, elegant and decidedly international Mr. Grant left us on November 29, 1986, at the age of 82, shortly after rehearsals for an ad-lib Q&A session called "Evenings with Cary Grant," he was planning to do that night in the Hawkeye State. I'm sure he would have enjoyed the irony of it all too despite that sophisticated image he wore better than anyone before or since; he had a great sense of humor and he couldn't have come from more humble beginnings.

He was born Archie Leach into a lower-middle-class family in damp and chilly Bristol, England, on January 18, 1904. Always cold as a child, he later said, "As soon as I could, I arranged to spend nearly every possible moment where the sun shines warmest." Sunny California was, understandably, a perfect place for him, not only because of the heat but because it's where movies are made, and Archie, some time after he'd changed his moniker, couldn't have been more of a natural to become a film star. Few fellows were more handsome or as comfortable in front of a camera. Nor, as the years ticked on, was anyone more sought after. Writer-director Billy Wilder, for one, says he never made a movie for which Cary Grant wasn't the first choice, all the way back to 1939's Ninotchka, which Wilder co-wrote. (Think of what a combination that would have been: Garbo and Grant.) For Wilder's first film as a director, 1942's The Major and the Minor, he wanted Grant to star, and begged him to play the lead in other Wilder films, including The Lost Weekend, Sabrina and Love in the Afternoon. "My biggest professional disappointment," Wilder once said, "is that I never got to work with Cary Grant."

Billy W. was not alone. For many years, almost every script in Hollywood, except perhaps The Women and Lassie Come Home, was first offered to Grant. He was Warner Bros. numero uno choice for both The Music Man and My Fair Lady. (In both cases, his advice to the Brothers: "Go with the original.") Director George Cukor begged him to do the 1954 A Star Is Born with Judy Garland and at least got as far as getting Grant to read the script aloud with him. Many years later, Cukor told me, "He was absolutely magnificent, dramatic and vulnerable beyond anything I'd ever seen him do. But when he finished, I knew he would never do the film. He would never expose himself like that in public." So, think of the films with Cary Grant that we never got to see. But, we can be enormously grateful for those which do exist.

We'll be celebrating Mr. Grant's 100th birthday this month by showing 27 of them, and we couldn't be in better hands.

by Robert Osborne