For almost twenty years, many of us remember watching the adventures of TV’s most famous dog – Lassie.
This beloved Rough Collie and her human friends were on our screens for 17 seasons, from 1954 to 1973. The show even switched from black and white to color in the 1960s.
But one of the most unforgettable parts of the show was when 7-year-old Timmy Martin joined in the fourth season. Timmy and his family adopted Lassie, creating some of the most memorable moments in the series.
Jon Provost, who played Timmy on *Lassie*, just celebrated his 74th birthday. He looks back fondly on his time filming with his four-legged co-star and remembers how Hollywood discovered him at only 3 years old.
The actor, born in Los Angeles, recalls that when he was 3, his mom took him to an audition for a Jane Wyman movie. She was a huge fan and just wanted her autograph. But out of 200 kids, Jon got the part.
Acting wasn’t something that ran in the family. Jon’s father had a completely different job—he was an aeronautical engineer.
“My parents weren’t Hollywood people,” Jon said. “My father is from Alabama, and my mother is from Texas.”
At age 4, Jon Provost landed a role in a movie with Grace Kelly and Bing Crosby.
“I didn’t have an agent at the time. After that, I got one, and it led to more movies like *The Country Girl* with Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly. I did about 12 movies before I started *Lassie*,” he told Fox News.
Jon also shared memories of working with the three different male dogs who played the role of Lassie. He said he formed a special bond with the last dog who portrayed the famous female collie.
“I did the show for seven years, filming 249 half-hour episodes. I worked with three different Lassies,” Jon Provost told Fox News.
He shared that the last dog he worked with was by his side for five years straight. “We grew up together. For five years, we saw each other five days a week, and sometimes even on weekends.”
Jon also revealed how well-behaved the dog was on set. “The actors made more mistakes than the dog,” he laughed. “They were more of a problem than Lassie.”
After leaving *Lassie* at 14 years old, Jon Provost went on to star with big names like Natalie Wood and Kurt Russell. Despite growing up in Hollywood, he avoided the common pitfalls many child actors face.
“My parents let me pretty much do what I wanted to do. I didn’t have to take a job,” Jon said.
Looking back, he added, “When I left Hollywood, I thought it was good that I did.”
Today, Jon lives away from the spotlight in Northern California but still receives fan mail from his time on *Lassie*. In 1994, he was honored with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
The character Lassie became so famous that she even had her own radio series.
In 1979, Jon married Sandy Goosens, and they had two children, Ryan and Katie. However, after 14 years of marriage, they divorced in December 1993.
In 1999, Jon found love again when he married Laurie Jacobson, a well-known researcher and author.
I’ve always been a big fan of the adventures this sweet duo went on. And with a moral in every episode, it was the perfect show for kids.
Please share this with all the *Lassie* fans you know.
AT 78, I SOLD EVERYTHING I HAD AND BOUGHT ONE WAY TICKET TO SEE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE – IN THE PLANE, MY DREAM WAS CRUSHED
The worn leather of the suitcase felt rough against my trembling hands. Forty years. Forty years of regret, of guilt gnawing at my soul. Forty years since I had last seen Elizabeth, the love of my life. Forty years since my own stupidity had torn us apart.
I glanced at the address scribbled on a crumpled piece of paper, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. 123 Maple Street, Willow Creek, Ohio. It felt like a destination in a dream, a place I had only ever dared to imagine.
The plane ride was a blur. My mind raced, a whirlwind of memories and “what ifs.” What would she look like now? Would she still have that mischievous glint in her eyes, that infectious laugh that used to fill our small apartment? Would she recognize me, this old man, weathered by time and regret?
As the plane began its descent, a wave of dizziness washed over me. I gripped the armrests, my knuckles white. My chest felt tight, a burning sensation spreading through my lungs. Voices, muffled and distant, seemed to come from far away.
“Sir, are you alright?”
I tried to respond, but only a strangled gasp escaped my lips. The world tilted, then plunged into darkness.
When I awoke, I was in a sterile white room, the smell of antiseptic filling my nostrils. A blurry image of concerned faces swam into view – a nurse, a doctor, a young woman with kind eyes.
“Where… where am I?” I croaked, my voice weak and raspy.
“You’re at St. Jude’s Hospital, sir,” the young woman said gently. “You suffered a heart attack. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Heart attack. The words echoed in my mind, a stark reminder of my mortality. But a different thought, more urgent, pushed its way to the forefront. Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth,” I rasped, my voice hoarse. “Is she… is she here?”
The young woman hesitated, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and uncertainty. “I… I don’t know, sir. Who is Elizabeth?”
My heart sank. Had I imagined it? Had the years of loneliness and regret twisted my mind, creating a fantasy, a desperate hope?
Days turned into weeks. I spent my recovery in the hospital, haunted by the uncertainty. The doctors assured me that I was stable, but the fear of losing consciousness again, of never seeing Elizabeth, lingered.
One afternoon, as I sat by the window, watching the world go by, a familiar figure appeared in the doorway. A woman, her hair streaked with silver, her eyes crinkled at the corners. She was more beautiful than I remembered, her face etched with the lines of time, yet her smile was the same, the same smile that had captivated me all those years ago.
“Arthur,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Tears welled up in my eyes. It was her. Elizabeth.
She rushed towards me, her arms open wide. I held her close, burying my face in her hair, inhaling the scent of lavender, a scent that transported me back to a time of youthful dreams and endless possibilities.
“I never stopped loving you, Arthur,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I never stopped waiting.”
And in that moment, I knew that despite the years that had passed, despite the pain and the regret, love, true love, had a way of finding its way back home.
As we held each other, the world seemed to melt away. The years of separation, the loneliness, the fear – all of it seemed insignificant compared to the joy of holding her in my arms once more. We had lost so much time, but we still had now. And that, I realized, was all that truly mattered. The worn leather of my suitcase felt rough against my trembling hands. Forty years. Forty years of longing, of regret, of a life lived in a perpetual twilight. Forty years since I had last seen Elizabeth, the love of my life, the woman whose laughter still echoed in the empty chambers of my heart.
I remembered the day vividly. The rain was coming down in sheets, mirroring the storm brewing inside me. We were arguing, a petty disagreement blown out of proportion by youthful pride and stubbornness. I had stormed out, my words echoing in the rain-slicked street. “Fine,” I had spat, “I don’t need you!”
I hadn’t meant it. Not really. But the words hung heavy in the air, a cruel echo of my own anger. I walked for hours, the rain washing away my pride and replacing it with a growing dread. When I finally returned, the lights in our small apartment were off. I called her name, my voice cracking with fear, but there was no answer.
The police found her car abandoned by the river, a chilling testament to the storm that had raged within me. The search parties, the endless waiting, the gnawing uncertainty – it had aged me beyond my years. The vibrant hues of life had faded, replaced by a monotonous grey.
Then, a miracle. A letter, tucked amongst a pile of bills and advertisements, a faded envelope bearing a familiar handwriting. “I’ve been thinking of you,” it read.
The words, simple yet profound, ignited a fire within me. Hope, a fragile ember that had long since been extinguished, flickered back to life. I devoured every letter, each one a precious piece of her, a glimpse into the life she had built. I learned about her children, her grandchildren, her passions, her joys, and her sorrows. And with each letter, the ache in my heart lessened, replaced by a yearning so intense it almost consumed me.
Then, the invitation. “Come,” it read, “Come see me.”
She had included her address.
And so, here I was, 78 years old, sitting on a plane, my hands trembling, my heart pounding like a drum against my ribs. I hadn’t flown in decades. The world outside the window, a blur of clouds and sky, mirrored the chaos within me.
Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted in my chest. I gasped for air, my vision blurring. Voices, distant and muffled, filled my ears. “Sir, are you alright?” “We need to get him some air!”
Panic clawed at my throat. Not now. Not when I was finally this close.
Then, through the haze, I saw her face. Her eyes, the same shade of hazel as mine, wide with concern.
“John?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
And in that moment, time seemed to stand still. The pain, the fear, the decades of longing – they all faded away. All that remained was her. Elizabeth.
Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring her face. But I knew. I knew it was her.
And as I slipped into unconsciousness, I whispered her name, a silent prayer, a love song carried on the wind.
I woke up in a hospital room, the scent of antiseptic filling my nostrils. Elizabeth sat beside me, her hand gently clasped in mine.
“You gave me quite a scare,” she said, her voice soft as a summer breeze.
I managed a weak smile. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
And as I looked at her, at the lines etched on her face, the silver strands in her hair, I knew that this was just the beginning. We had forty years to catch up on, to rediscover the love we had lost. Forty years to make up for the time we had wasted.
And as I held her hand, I knew that this time, nothing would ever tear us apart again.
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