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When I think of Lucille Ball, I think of Lucy Ricardo getting herself into another ridiculous predicament.
The candy factory.
The grape-stomping.
The elaborate schemes that usually backfired before Ricky had a chance to discover what she'd been doing.
Lucy made millions of people laugh.
I've explored some of those memorable misadventures in "What Lucy and Ricky Ricardo Taught Us About Marriage—and What They Got Wrong." But Lucille Ball's dramatic work offered a very different side of the performer we thought we knew.
And I don't think there's anything wrong with appreciating an entertainer simply because she brings a little happiness into our lives.
But on November 5, 1985, Lucille Ball appeared in something very different.
A CBS television movie called Stone Pillow.
Instead of playing the lovable schemer who could turn an ordinary afternoon into a disaster, Ball portrayed an older woman living on the streets of New York City.
No glamorous apartment.
No laugh track.
No amusing misunderstanding that could be resolved before the credits.
Just a woman trying to survive.
And forty-one years after the film premiered, I think the questions it raised about poverty, compassion, and human dignity are still worth discussing.
Although I have a few criticisms of the way it told its story.
Lucille Ball as a Woman Nobody Wanted to Notice
In Stone Pillow, Ball plays Florabelle, often called Flora, an older homeless woman who survives on the streets of Manhattan.
She carries her belongings, finds places to sleep, and relies on routines developed through years of hardship.
Daphne Zuniga plays Carrie, a young social worker who becomes involved in Flora's life.
Carrie wants to help.
Flora isn't particularly enthusiastic about being helped.
And the film explores the difficulties that arise when someone who believes she knows what another person needs encounters someone with very different priorities.
The movie was directed by George Schaefer and written by Rose Leiman Goldemberg.
It was a significant departure from the comedy roles that had made Ball famous.
In fact, a contemporary Los Angeles Times interview described a remarkable experience during filming.
Ball, wearing the clothing and makeup of her character, sat among garbage bags in Manhattan while passersby barely noticed her.
Think about that.
One of the most recognizable faces in American television could sit in plain sight and become almost invisible.
Not because the public had forgotten Lucille Ball.
But because she no longer looked like someone they expected to pay attention to.
I think there's something terribly revealing about that.
Why Do We Stop Seeing People?
I've never liked the way some people seem to become invisible once their circumstances change.
A person can be treated respectfully when wearing a business suit and dismissed when wearing worn-out clothes.
The same individual may be considered interesting when he has money and unimportant when he's struggling.
And people sometimes make assumptions about someone's intelligence, values, or character based on nothing more than appearance.
I don't believe that's fair.
A person living on the street isn't automatically lazy.
Someone in a difficult financial situation isn't necessarily irresponsible.
And somebody who needs assistance doesn't stop being an individual with preferences, opinions, and a personal history.
Of course, I also don't believe every person experiencing hardship is automatically virtuous.
Poverty doesn't guarantee good character any more than wealth does.
People should be judged by their conduct, not romanticized or condemned because of their circumstances.
What matters is recognizing that another person's difficult situation doesn't erase his humanity.
That's the part of Stone Pillow I find most worthwhile.
It asks viewers to notice someone they might otherwise pass without a second thought.
And sometimes noticing is the beginning of treating someone more decently.
Carrie Wanted to Help, but Helping Isn't Always Simple
One thing I appreciate about the relationship between Carrie and Flora is that it doesn't begin with Flora gratefully accepting every suggestion.
Carrie has ideas about what assistance should look like.
Flora has her own experiences, habits, and reasons for resisting change.
That creates tension.
And I think it's a useful reminder that helping another adult isn't the same thing as taking control of that person's life.
Sometimes people offer help in a way that assumes they already know everything.
They decide what the other person should do.
They become impatient when their advice isn't followed.
And eventually they seem offended that the person receiving assistance has opinions of her own.
I've never admired that kind of generosity.
If you're offering someone help, you're not purchasing the right to run that person's life.
You can make a suggestion.
You can explain what assistance is available.
And you can acknowledge that someone may have practical concerns or experiences you don't understand.
That doesn't mean every decision the person makes is wise.
It means the person deserves to be treated as an adult.
I'd rather hear someone ask:
"Would this actually be helpful to you?"
Than announce:
"Here's what you need to do, and I can't understand why you're being so difficult."
Those are two very different attitudes.
One offers assistance.
The other demands obedience.
Good Intentions Don't Automatically Make Someone Helpful
Here's where I think Stone Pillow offers a lesson beyond its particular subject.
Carrie wants to make a difference.
That's admirable.
But wanting to help somebody and understanding what would genuinely help are not always the same thing.
We see this in ordinary family life, too.
A parent decides an adult child needs advice and won't stop offering it.
A friend insists she knows how someone else should manage a relationship.
A relative volunteers another person's time, money, or possessions without permission.
And when the supposed beneficiary objects, the helper becomes indignant.
After all, the intentions were good.
Well, intentions matter.
But so does behavior.
I believe people should help others when they reasonably can.
I also believe they should listen.
Suppose an older neighbor needs assistance carrying groceries.
Ask whether she'd like help.
Don't grab her bags and decide where everything belongs.
Suppose a friend is having financial difficulties.
You might offer practical assistance or useful information.
But don't assume that accepting your help means the friend must explain every private decision.
And if someone declines an offer, that doesn't automatically mean he's ungrateful.
Sometimes people have reasons we don't know about.
Compassion should make us more considerate, not more controlling.
That's a lesson I wish more well-intentioned people understood.
The Movie Had a Problem: It Wanted Us to Cry More Than Think
Now, I don't want to pretend Stone Pillow was universally regarded as a great film.
It wasn't.
Contemporary critics had serious reservations about it.
Howard Rosenberg's November 5, 1985, review in the Los Angeles Times criticized its predictability, sentimentality, and tendency to rely on emotional manipulation.
Other contemporary commentary also questioned whether the film offered a convincing understanding of homelessness.
And I think that's a fair subject to raise.
A movie about suffering doesn't automatically become an important movie simply because its subject is serious.
It still needs believable characters.
It needs thoughtful writing.
And it needs to treat its subject as something more than an opportunity to make the audience cry.
I don't believe homelessness can be adequately explained by presenting one sympathetic person and hoping everybody feels terrible.
People experience homelessness for different reasons.
Their circumstances vary.
Their needs vary.
And a story about one person cannot explain every situation.
The danger is replacing one stereotype with another.
Instead of depicting every homeless person as irresponsible, a film might present every homeless person as a noble soul waiting for one compassionate stranger to rescue her.
Neither approach does justice to real people.
I'd rather see television acknowledge complexity.
And I'd rather see viewers leave with questions worth considering than merely the feeling that they've witnessed something sad.
But I Respect Lucille Ball for Taking the Risk
Even if the movie wasn't perfect, I appreciate Ball's decision to attempt something different.
She didn't have to do it.
By 1985, her place in television history was secure.
She had nothing to prove about her ability to make audiences laugh.
Yet she took on a role that removed practically everything viewers associated with Lucy Ricardo.
She wasn't trying to be glamorous.
She wasn't relying on a familiar catchphrase.
She was portraying a woman whose appearance and circumstances made her easy for others to overlook.
Ball explained at the time that she was interested in working with director George Schaefer.
Whatever the film's shortcomings, I think there's something admirable about a performer being willing to step outside the role audiences expect.
And we shouldn't confuse a critic's judgment of the screenplay with a judgment of Ball's willingness to challenge herself.
The film also received recognition after its broadcast, including a Gold Angel award in 1986 from Religion in Media.
So the reaction was hardly unanimous.
Some people responded to its humane intentions.
Others found its storytelling unconvincing.
Both reactions can be worth considering.
Dignity Doesn't Depend on Having an Address
There's one idea I especially want to take from Stone Pillow.
Human dignity isn't something you receive when you have a comfortable home, a respectable job, and enough money to impress the neighbors.
And it isn't something you automatically lose when those circumstances disappear.
A person who needs help is still entitled to ordinary courtesy.
That means not using someone's hardship as entertainment.
Not making assumptions about the person's entire life.
And not treating generosity as permission to humiliate the recipient.
It also means recognizing our own limitations.
We can't solve every problem.
We aren't obligated to give money we need for our own necessities.
And we shouldn't promise assistance we can't realistically provide.
But none of that prevents us from being decent.
Sometimes decency is as simple as speaking respectfully.
Sometimes it's offering help without insisting on applause.
Sometimes it's acknowledging that another adult is capable of making decisions even when we disagree with them.
And sometimes it's refusing to judge somebody's worth by the circumstances in which we happen to encounter that person.
That's the lesson I'd want children to learn, too.
Not that every person they meet is automatically trustworthy.
But that ordinary human respect shouldn't have to be earned through wealth, appearance, or social standing.
Sympathy Isn't the Same Thing as Understanding
I think this is where television can make a useful contribution.
A story can encourage people to notice something they've previously ignored.
It can make viewers curious about an unfamiliar experience.
And it can help them recognize that someone they'd dismissed is a person with a life beyond what they see.
But I don't think a television movie should be mistaken for a complete education on a complicated social problem.
It's a beginning.
Not a final answer.
That applies to plenty of the shows we discuss on CouchDegree.com.
As I explored in "What Good Times Taught Us About Money, Hard Work, and Dignity," the Evans family's struggles reminded viewers that financial hardship doesn't determine someone's character. But Good Times couldn't explain every financial problem in America.
All in the Family could examine prejudice without ending prejudice.
And Stone Pillow could invite audiences to look differently at homelessness without offering a comprehensive understanding of its causes or solutions.
I don't expect every television program to solve society's problems.
But I do appreciate stories that give people a reason to question their assumptions.
Especially when the questions follow us after the program ends.
Forty-One Years Later, What Should We Remember?
I wouldn't tell somebody that Stone Pillow is a masterpiece simply because Lucille Ball took a dramatic role.
The film had weaknesses, and contemporary critics were entitled to point them out.
But I also wouldn't dismiss its central concern.
A famous entertainer portrayed someone who, in ordinary life, might struggle to attract the attention or consideration of strangers.
And the very experience of filming the role demonstrated how differently people can be treated depending on how they appear.
That's a powerful observation.
Even if the movie didn't always know what to do with it.
I think the lesson is surprisingly simple.
Don't mistake someone's circumstances for the whole person.
Don't confuse offering help with taking charge.
And don't assume that feeling sorry for somebody means you understand what that person is experiencing.
Real compassion involves respect, attention, and a willingness to recognize that other people have lives as complicated as our own.
Lucille Ball spent decades making audiences notice her.
In Stone Pillow, she played someone the world barely noticed at all.
And perhaps that's the most interesting thing about the film.
It wasn't asking us to admire Lucy Ricardo for another clever stunt.
It was asking whether we'd recognize the humanity of a woman who had nothing to entertain us with.
No money.
No status.
No famous name.
Just her dignity.
And I think that's something worth remembering.
Sources and Further Reading
Los Angeles Times — To New Yorkers, Lucy's Just Another Bag Lady (October 26, 1985)
Los Angeles Times — TV Review: Hard to Sit Long for Stone Pillow (November 5, 1985)
The Washington Post — Stone Pillow TV Preview (November 1985)
Los Angeles Times — Stone Pillow Receives Gold Angel Award (1986)
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