Like everyone else, I first fell under Debbie's spell when I saw Singin' in the Rain, watching her sing and dance and sparkle alongside Gene Kelly and Donald O'Connor, looking as if she didn't have a care in the world, doing what she seemed born to do. Not until years later did I learn making that movie was something of a nightmare for her. Gene Kelly didn't want her for the role because she wasn't a trained dancer, nor was he kind to her during shooting. (Kelly once told me himself, many years later: "I wasn't nice to Debbie. It's a wonder she still speaks to me.") But she forged on in 1952, and she's still forging ahead all these years later.

My own personal connection with Debbie began in 1966 when I met her during the filming of The Singing Nun at MGM. I was struck, as was everybody who spent time on that set, how she treated Greer Garson, who was playing a cameo role in the film. Debbie was, no contest, the star of that movie; it had been years since Ms. Garson had been the "first lady" of MGM. Nevertheless, Debbie went to great lengths to make sure that Garson was, at all times, treated by everyone as the star on that set. It was an extremely kind gesture, done quietly and without fanfare and, as I've discovered through the years, so typical of Debbie. She's done many unheralded and generous things for people, some quite momentous. I was also the recipient of her kindness when she once gave me some advice, which had a big, and positive, effect on my own life. I'll always be grateful to Debbie, not only for that advice but also for Singin' in the Rain, Molly Brown, and those other magical movies she's made. But maybe her greatest gift has been the example she sets for us all about survival. She not only defines that word, she practically owns it.

by Robert Osborne