Nuremburg the movie

 

We saw the film and it was excellent.  We can learn a lot from history.  The 2025 film Nuremberg is a historical courtroom drama centered on the Nuremberg Trials, exploring the psychological duel between Nazi leader Hermann Göring (played by Russell Crowe) and U.S. Army psychiatrist Douglas Kelley (Rami Malek).

Watching this film it shows how easy it is to lose a democracy.  It can be lost through coups, authoritarian take overs, or slow erosion of institutions.  The key danger is when leaders undermine checks and balances, weaken the opposition and restrict rights even when claiming to uphold democracy,  

History can repeat itself.  I hope this film is successful and watched by many people who have closed their eyes and ears on what is going on in their country.

Highway Thru Hell

In 2012 Highway Thru Hell premiered on television.  I was in Florida at Disney World in 2013 and was sitting on a bench while Lexie was on a ride and I spoke with a nice lady.  She was American and when I told her where I was from she said "are you anywhere near The Highway Thru Hell?  I love that show."  I told her I drive Highway 5 "The Coquihalla" in the summer.  It's a beautiful highway when the weather is good.  Winters can be difficult.  This happened on Friday:

I now refuse to drive in the city when it snows.  The one good thing is we are usually warned of any snowfall.  I drive a SUV that's a 4 X 4.  I am not afraid to drive in it, it's the other drivers who have no idea how to drive in ice and snow and don't have the proper tires.  

Highway Thru Hell was created by Mark A. Miller, Kevin Mills, and Neil Thomas. Thomas met one of the heavy rescue operators for Jamie Davis Motor Truck & Auto after Thomas' moving truck broke down on Highway 5 in the summer of 2010. In the early winter of 2011, cameraman Mills and executive producer Miller dropped in on Davis' company while passing through Hope. The idea of a show about heavy recovery was discussed. The winter of 2010–2011 had been a record-setting season for Davis' business, and he expressed a desire to change the public's perceptions about his industry.

The show has been on for 13 seasons.

Top Scams Affecting the Community

I received this from Block Watch and they asked to circulate it to anyone who may be interested:

Top Scams Affecting the Community

Thursday, December 11^th

6-7pm virtually via Zoom 

Please feel free to share this invitation with any friends and family living in BC.

See the attached poster for details and registration.  

Please RSVP to crimeprevention@burnaby.ca before December 10^th, 2025. 

We hope to see you there!

Block Watch Society of BC  |  blockwatch.com

Community-Based Crime Prevention

1-877-602-3358  |  604-418-3827

 

Organizing member: Burnaby Block Watch Program

Good and Bad Days

 

US now increasing the entrance fee to US National Parks for Canadians!

A White House tweet laying out the increased fees ended with the phrase, “AMERICANS FIRST.”

The announcement follows a July executive order in which President Donald Trump directed the parks to increase entry fees for foreign tourists.

I read it on "X" but didn't believe it.  It is true and this is from CTV News:

Foreign tourists visiting U.S. national parks including the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone will now pay a hefty surcharge, the Trump administration announced Tuesday.

The U.S. Department of the Interior, which operates the renowned U.S. national parks, said that starting in 2026 visitors from abroad will have to pay US$100 on top of the individual park fee to enter 11 of the most popular destinations in the system.

The cost of an annual pass to all the parks will meanwhile more than triple to US$250 for non-residents.

“President Trump’s leadership always puts American families first,” said U.S. Secretary of the Interior Doug Burgum in a statement.

“These policies ensure that U.S. taxpayers, who already support the National Park System, continue to enjoy affordable access, while international visitors contribute their fair share to maintaining and improving our parks for future generations.”

Long considered a jewel of American tourism, the 63 officially designated national parks receive hundreds of millions of visitors a year -- nearly 332 million in 2024, according to the National Park Service.

The standard cost of an “America the Beautiful” pass that offers unlimited annual access is currently a flat US$80 for any purchaser.

For day use, some parks charge fees by the vehicle, and others by the person -- the annual pass covers all passengers plus the passholder, or up to four adults.

Non-US residents who buy an annual pass will not be subject to the US$100 surcharge on entry to the most visited parks, including Florida’s Everglades, Maine’s Acadia and California’s Yosemite, but that fee will apply to all other foreign visitors.

The significant extra costs for most foreigners -- U.S. citizens and permanent residents won’t be impacted -- follow U.S. President Donald Trump’s July executive order intended to “preserve” the parks for “American families.”

“Non-residents will pay a higher rate to help support the care and maintenance of America’s parks,” read the Interior Department’s statement.

The department also emphasized “patriotic fee-free days” for residents that would include President’s Day, Veteran’s Day and Trump’s birthday, which happens to fall on the annual observance of Flag Day.

Nellie Bly

"Can you not at least put a sane woman among us?"  The words came from a terrified patient inside the Women's Lunatic Asylum on Blackwell's Island. She was begging the doctors, the nurses, anyone who would listen.  She was talking about the new patient. The one who seemed too calm. Too aware. Too sane.

That patient was Nellie Bly. And she was exactly where she wanted to be.  In 1887, New York City's asylums were shrouded in mystery. Rumors swirled about horrific conditions, abuse, and women disappearing behind locked doors, never to be seen again.  But they were just rumors. No proof. No witnesses willing to speak. No way to know the truth.

Nellie Bly, a 23-year-old journalist for the New York World, decided to find out for herself.

Her editor, Joseph Pulitzer, supported her plan: get yourself committed to the asylum, document everything, and expose the truth.  It was dangerous. It was unprecedented. If something went wrong, Nellie could be trapped there indefinitely—declared insane with no way out.  She did it anyway.

Nellie checked into a women's boarding house and began acting erratically. She stayed up all night, spoke incoherently, stared at nothing, and claimed not to know who she was.  The landlady called the police. A judge declared her insane. And on September 25, 1887, Nellie Bly was committed to the Women's Lunatic Asylum on Blackwell's Island.  The moment she arrived, Nellie dropped the act. She behaved completely normally. She spoke clearly. She answered questions rationally.  It didn't matter.

Once you were inside, you were insane. No amount of sanity would set you free.  What Nellie discovered inside was worse than anyone imagined.  The asylum held over 1,600 women. Many of them weren't mentally ill at all.  They were poor. They were immigrants who didn't speak English. They were women whose husbands wanted to be rid of them. They were girls who'd been raped and were considered "damaged." They were inconvenient, unwanted, and discarded.  And once inside, they were tortured.  The "treatment" was barbaric. Patients were forced to sit in freezing cold baths for hours—punishment disguised as therapy. The food was rotten, inedible. Rats roamed freely. The halls were filthy.

Nurses beat patients with sticks. They tied women to chairs and left them for days. They mocked them, starved them, and ignored their pleas for help.  Nellie watched women scream for help and be silenced with violence. She saw patients beg for warm clothing and be denied. She witnessed daily cruelty designed not to heal, but to break.  She wrote it all down, in her mind memorizing every detail.

For ten days, Nellie endured the same treatment as everyone else. She froze in the baths. She choked down spoiled food. She slept on a hard bench in a freezing room with no blankets.  She didn't complain. She didn't fight back. She documented.

On October 4, 1887, after ten days inside, an attorney hired by her newspaper secured her release.  She walked out of Blackwell's Island and immediately began writing.

On October 9, 1887, the New York World published "Ten Days in a Mad-House"—Nellie Bly's firsthand account of life inside the asylum.  The article was explosive.  Nellie described everything in vivid, horrifying detail. The cold baths. The rotten food. The rats. The beatings. The women who didn't belong there.

She wrote about a woman who spoke only German and was declared insane because doctors couldn't understand her. She wrote about girls as young as sixteen locked away for being "difficult." She wrote about women who begged to be released and were told they'd never leave.  The public was horrified. Outraged. Demanding answers.

A grand jury was convened to investigate. They toured Blackwell's Island. They interviewed patients and staff.  They confirmed everything Nellie had written.  The city of New York immediately allocated an additional $1 million to the Department of Public Charities and Corrections to reform asylum conditions. Staff were retrained. Oversight increased. Patients gained new rights and protections.  Some of the women Nellie had met were released. Others received proper care for the first time.

"Ten Days in a Mad-House" became a sensation. It was published as a book. It was read across the country. It sparked a national conversation about mental health, women's rights, and institutional abuse.  Nellie Bly became famous overnight.  But she didn't stop.

In 1889, at 25 years old, Nellie set out to break the fictional record set in Jules Verne's Around the World in Eighty Days. She traveled around the globe in 72 days, 6 hours, and 11 minutes—by steamship, train, and sheer determination.  She became an international celebrity.  But it was "Ten Days in a Mad-House" that cemented her legacy as the mother of investigative journalism.

Nellie Bly proved that journalism wasn't just about reporting what happened. It was about uncovering what was hidden. It was about giving voice to the voiceless. It was about risking everything to tell the truth.

Before Nellie, undercover journalism didn't exist. She invented it.

After Nellie, investigative reporters followed her lead—going undercover in factories, prisons, sweatshops, and more to expose injustice.

Nellie Bly died in 1922 at the age of 57. By then, she had revolutionized journalism, traveled the world, and advocated for women's rights and workers' protections.  But her asylum exposé remains her most enduring achievement.  Because of Nellie, over 1,600 women were seen. Their suffering was acknowledged. The system that imprisoned them was forced to change.  Because of Nellie, mental health reform began in America.  Because of Nellie, journalists learned that sometimes the most important stories require more than a notebook—they require courage.

Nellie Bly didn't just write about injustice. She lived it. She endured it. And then she made damn sure the world knew.

She was 23 years old.

She faked insanity to get locked in an asylum.

For 10 days, she endured freezing baths, rotten food, and beatings.

She did it to expose the truth about 1,600 women who'd been abandoned by society.

Her story changed mental health care in America.

Her courage invented investigative journalism.

Her name was Nellie Bly.

And she proved that one person, willing to risk everything, can change the world.

Dreams

It seems my dreams are a lot more vivid than when I was younger.  I don't know if I just don't remember, but if I was an author, I could write some great books.  Some dreams are so detailed.  I do see people in my dreams both alive and deceased.  

I follow Wayne Cox and I find his blogs very interesting.  As a radio and TV personality, I feel I know him.  I've never met him but we live in the same community.  I thought his blog this week was interesting:

Sweet Dreams 💤 I’ve wanted to write something about my dreams for some time now, but was always afraid you’d think I was loopy. Well, maybe I am, because here goes: a few words about my dreams, but not all of my dreams, just the ones involving people who are no longer with us. I’ve had a lot of dreams about people who are still walking the earth, but I’d like to share my dreams of friends and family who have passed away.  The first time it happened, it was surprising. But each time after that, it was a very welcoming and comforting experience.  I checked with my psychiatrist, Dr. Google, and he said, among other things, “Dreaming about someone who passed away can be intense and chilling. For many of us, the dreams are extremely vivid, and the person you’re dreaming about seems very much alive. These dreams can be joyful, but also scary or disturbing. Whatever your experience, you should know that dreaming about someone you lost is actually super common.”  Well, thank you, doctor, that makes me feel better. I thought I was the only one. Maybe you’ve had the same experience? Psychologist Sigmund Freud said our dreams reflected our unconscious conflicts, and psychologist Carl Jung chalked it up to our unconscious feelings and desires. But all of that is a little too heavy for a Sunday morning read, so why don’t I just share with you some of the people and situations that have popped up in my dreams and have had such a profound effect on me that I wrote down the number of times this has occurred. I’m sure any amateur psychologists who read this will have a field day. First up in my parade of those who have passed was my Dad. That’s pretty normal, I would think? It wasn’t right after his passing, but years later. When he appeared in the dream, he didn’t say anything, just looked at me through a window and smiled, then turned and walked away. (He always was a man of few words.) Needless to say, I was shocked and surprised because it was very vivid. When I woke up and remembered this meeting, I kicked myself for not trying to strike up a conversation! It was the first of many appearances by Dad, and in subsequent dreams, I did try to ask questions, but didn’t get any answers.  On my guest list, Dad shows up ten times and Mother, seven times. Paul McCartney’s mother came to him in a dream, and the result was the hit song, “Let It Be.” Paul’s mother died when he was 14. Paul says, “When someone you have lost comes back to you in a dream, it’s a miraculous moment, because you’re with them.” In the dream, Mother Mary told him everything would be okay.  My list also includes Canada’s Greatest Athlete, Gene Kiniski. Gene makes half a dozen appearances, which is not surprising, as Gene became something of a father figure after my dad’s passing.  Fred Latremouille, the big brother I never had, has said hello eleven times, once as a helicopter pilot. Fred did at one time have his pilot’s licence, but not for a helicopter. I was with Fred the day before he died, and in my last visit in dreamland, he was a young Freddie, with a big smile on his face, which was somehow very comforting.  My good friend Rick Honey, whom I worked with at CKNW has paid me a visit three times, which actually ties the number of times that Queen Elizabeth is featured. She was first with sports guy John McKeachie, but also with a room full of BCTV people! And she was very happy to see them all. Go figure that one out!    And there are more on the list. Golfer, Arnold Palmer, weatherman and producer, Phil Reimer, journalist and news anchor, Doriana Temolo, drummer for the rock group Prism, Rocket Norton, legendary rock-and-roll DJ, Red Robinson, and a dozen more!  But the record holder for the number of visits to my dream world is Deb Hope. Deb has dropped by no fewer than fourteen times. No need to dig too deep into dream interpretation here. We worked together for years, and she and her husband, Roger, were friends. She had such a wonderful personality and was such a joy to be around. It’s heartwarming every time she shows up in one of my nighttime productions! She’s always there with a smile and her infectious, wonderful laugh. In one episode, Deb, Roger, and I went to a baseball game at Nat Bailey Stadium, and the field was covered in snow. Naturally, she laughed, and we laughed!  My old friend Glen Hunter has been a frequent visitor, too. We had a few adventures together, which probably accounts for the fact that he shows up nine times, sometimes with a group of people and other times just by himself. Once, he was riding in the bucket of a fire engine, which makes sense because he was a retired Vancouver Firefighter. Another time, he was across the street walking his dog. He stopped, smiled and waved. I smiled and waved back. I took it as a sign that everything was okay.  Is there anything to this? Is it all just a dream? A very good dream? I find it comforting that family, friends and co-workers, who have left this mortal coil, come back to pay a visit.  Even if it’s just to smile, wave, and say hello.  Till next week… Wayne

Happy Sunday

 

Raymond

I enjoy reading "feel good" stories.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I did:

"My name's Raymond. I'm 73. I work the parking lot at St. Joseph's Hospital. Minimum wage, orange vest, a whistle I barely use. Most people don't even look at me. I'm just the old man waving cars into spaces.  But I see everything.

Like the black sedan that circled the lot every morning at 6 a.m. for three weeks. Young man driving, grandmother in the passenger seat. Chemotherapy, I figured. He'd drop her at the entrance, then spend 20 minutes hunting for parking, missing her appointments.

One morning, I stopped him. "What time tomorrow?"

"6:15," he said, confused.

"Space A-7 will be empty. I'll save it."

He blinked. "You... you can do that?"

"I can now," I said.

Next morning, I stood in A-7, holding my ground as cars circled angrily. When his sedan pulled up, I moved. He rolled down his window, speechless. "Why?"

"Because she needs you in there with her," I said. "Not out here stressing."

He cried. Right there in the parking lot.

Word spread quietly. A father with a sick baby asked if I could help. A woman visiting her dying husband. I started arriving at 5 a.m., notebook in hand, tracking who needed what. Saved spots became sacred. People stopped honking. They waited. Because they knew someone else was fighting something bigger than traffic.

But here's what changed everything, A businessman in a Mercedes screamed at me one morning. "I'm not sick! I need that spot for a meeting!"

"Then walk," I said calmly. "That space is for someone whose hands are shaking too hard to grip a steering wheel."

He sped off, furious. But a woman behind him got out of her car and hugged me. "My son has leukemia," she sobbed. "Thank you for seeing us."

The hospital tried to stop me. "Liability issues," they said. But then families started writing letters. Dozens. "Raymond made the worst days bearable." "He gave us one less thing to break over."

Last month, they made it official. "Reserved Parking for Families in Crisis." Ten spots, marked with blue signs. And they asked me to manage it.

But the best part? A man I'd helped two years ago, his mother survived, came back. He's a carpenter. Built a small wooden box, mounted it by the reserved spaces. Inside? Prayer cards, tissues, breath mints, and a note,

"Take what you need. You're not alone. -Raymond & Friends"

People leave things now. Granola bars. Phone chargers. Yesterday, someone left a hand-knitted blanket.

I'm 73. I direct traffic in a hospital parking lot. But I've learned this: Healing doesn't just happen in operating rooms. Sometimes it starts in a parking space. When someone says, "I see your crisis. Let me carry this one small piece."

So pay attention. At the grocery checkout, the coffee line, wherever you are. Someone's drowning in the little things while fighting the big ones.

Hold a door. Save a spot. Carry the weight no one else sees.

It's not glamorous. But it's everything." 

Credit: Mary Nelson

Dachau Concentration Camp

Ten years ago we went to Germany.   We went with our friends Margaret and Dave and Margaret knew a Dachau survivor.  She really wanted to see the historic site so we booked a tour.  The Dachau Concentration Camp is not a tour you should want to do, but a tour everyone should do.  It was the most disturbing site I've ever seen.  The history, buildings that are left and stories were horrifying.  

I saw this article and I thought it was worth sharing.  If you go to Munich, it's a short train ride and excursion you will never forget!

They Crawled to the Gate – Dachau, Germany, 1945

When American troops reached Dachau on April 29, 1945, the first thing they saw was not movement, but a trembling stillness—figures so thin they blended with the mud, so weak they could no longer command their own bodies. As the gates finally swung open, liberation did not erupt in shouts or cheers. Instead, men and women began to crawl forward, dragging themselves across the ground with what little strength starvation had not yet stolen. Some pushed with their elbows, others inched on their stomachs, and a few reached out with trembling fingers toward the sunlight as if touching freedom itself.

Many soldiers later said they had prepared themselves for death, but nothing prepared them for the sight of the living. One GI fell to his knees as the prisoners crossed the threshold—not walking, but pulling themselves through it, determined to leave hell behind even if their legs could not carry them. “They saluted us… with their eyes,” he recalled. “No gesture. No words. Just tears and bones and silence.” In that silent exchange, the soldiers understood the enormity of what those broken bodies had endured, and what it meant for them to crawl into a world that had finally come back for them.

For the survivors, that crawl was not humiliation—it was triumph. Their bodies had been ruined, but their will had not. Each inch they moved was a refusal to die within the walls that were built to erase them. Even today, historians say those first moments at Dachau were among the most haunting in the liberation of the camps: a procession of the nearly dead reclaiming life one desperate, determined movement at a time.

Ambassador Pete Hoekstra

I read this article in the Globe and Mail.  I thought it was well worth sharing:

If U.S. President Donald Trump’s goal in selecting a top diplomat to station in Canada was to find someone who embodied the pure arrogance of his administration, who would give new life to the old epithet, "ugly American,” he found his man in Ambassador Pete Hoekstra.

There hasn’t been an American diplomat posted here in 100 years who has been as unlikeable, as obnoxious, as egotistical as Mr. Hoekstra. He is a third-rate bully who imagines that any of us who exist outside of the U.S. are inferior – people who should be grateful for the privilege of doing trade with his country. If a non-American were to fall at his feet in gratitude for accepting their business card, Mr. Hoekstra would think this was quite justified and the way things should work.

This mentality, this world view, can be the only explanation for Mr. Hoekstra’s undiplomatic behaviour in Canada.

This week, the Ambassador delivered a loud, expletive-laced tirade at a political envoy from Ontario at a business event in Ottawa, according to multiple reports. The target of his aggression was David Paterson, the province’s trade representative in Washington, D.C. According to witnesses, Mr. Hoekstra was upset over an ad that Ontario ran in the U.S., which featured former president Ronald Reagan speaking in favour of free trade over protectionist tariffs.

Mr. Trump had initially responded to the ad in positive terms, saying he’d do the same if he were Ontario. But then he did a 180, saying the ad was “fake” and an attempt to influence the U.S. Supreme Court, which will be deciding the fate of his tariff program. He then threatened to impose an additional 10-per-cent tariff on Canada.

Mr. Hoekstra, being the puppet that he is, decided to go up one side of Mr. Paterson and down the other over the supposedly terrible thing Ontario had done. Earlier, the Ambassador had said any trade deal won’t be finalized for some time now, because “Canada burned the bridges.”

This is madness, all of it.

One can argue whether the ad was a good idea at a sensitive time in negotiations with the U.S. But the fact is, if it wasn’t this ad, it would have been something else with Mr. Trump. Even after a deal is signed, whenever that might be, there are no guarantees the President won’t rip it up in a fit of pique about some imagined offence. Canada drops its tariff on Chinese EVs? Poof. There goes our trade deal. Is this now our fate as a nation, to walk on eggshells around Mr. Trump until he’s gone? To live in fear of saying or doing the wrong thing?

One thing we should definitely be doing is calling out the boorish behaviour of an American diplomat in Canada.

Can you imagine if this was a Canadian envoy in Washington, upbraiding, in a public setting, someone from the Trump administration or a Republican official of any kind?  Mr. Trump would have that Canadian in a twin-prop and across the border the next day. They’d be persona non grata. But when an American official does it, it’s a badge of honour in Trumpland.

It was only in September that Mr. Hoekstra was saying that he couldn’t understand why politicians in this country were reacting in such a hostile manner to the Trump-imposed tariffs. He warned that Canadian politicians using phrases like “trade war” were treading on “dangerous” grounds. He couldn’t spare a thought for the thousands of Canadians being thrown out of jobs because of the tariffs.

‘We feel betrayed’: Laid off for years, Stellantis workers in Brampton confront a grim new reality

Mr. Hoekstra has wondered aloud about how we’d feel if a U.S. group took out ads in Canada attacking a policy of our federal government. To which I say: I wonder how Americans would feel if a Canadian prime minister referred to their president as “premier” and talked about making the U.S. our 11th province?

Mr. Hoekstra isn’t here as a diplomat. He is not here to nurture a relationship that’s been as good as any two countries in the world have enjoyed in the last century. He doesn’t care about that. He is here to lecture, berate, and tell us how great America is and how much lesser the rest of us are.

Ontario Premier Doug Ford has urged Mr. Hoekstra to pick up the phone and apologize to Mr. Paterson. Even if he were inclined to, I’m sure he’d worry about what his boss would think – in Trumpland, you don’t apologize for anything.

Pete Hoekstra is an embarrassment as America’s representative in Canada. And the sooner he is gone, the better.

Doris Day

1922 - 2019

She was America's sweetheart. Then she discovered her husband had secretly stolen every dollar she'd ever earned.

April 1968.

Doris Day's husband Martin Melcher died suddenly of an enlarged heart.

She was devastated. They'd been married 17 years. He'd been her manager, her partner, her protector.

Or so she thought.

When the lawyers came with paperwork to settle the estate, Doris expected to sign documents about her fortune. After all, she was one of Hollywood's biggest stars.

"Que Sera, Sera" had topped charts worldwide.

"Pillow Talk" made her the highest-paid actress in America.

She'd made 39 films. Sold millions of records. Built an empire.

She opened the envelope expecting security.

Instead, she found ruin.

Doris Day wasn't rich.

She was $450,000 in debt.

Every dollar she'd earned—every film, every song, every appearance—was gone.

Her husband had lost it all.

Melcher had secretly invested her entire fortune into bad business deals without her knowledge or consent. Oil wells that never produced. Hotels that failed. Schemes that collapsed.

He'd signed contracts in her name.

Made commitments she knew nothing about.

Gambled her future while she smiled for cameras and sang about whatever will be, will be.

But the worst revelation?

He'd committed her to a television show she didn't even know existed.

CBS was expecting her to star in "The Doris Day Show." Five-year contract. Already signed.

She'd never read the script. Never agreed to do television. Never wanted to do a sitcom.

But the contract was real. And if she didn't honor it, she'd be sued for breach.

Most people would have broken down.

Doris Day showed up for work.

Not because she wanted fame or loved the spotlight.

Because she needed to survive.

At 46 years old—after decades of success—she was starting over. Broke. Betrayed. With no choice but to put on that smile and pretend everything was fine.

America tuned in every week to watch a lighthearted sitcom about a widowed mother navigating life.

They had no idea they were watching a woman fighting for her financial survival in real time.

Behind every laugh track was someone who'd been betrayed by the person she trusted most.

Behind every cheerful scene was someone who'd lost everything.

But she never let it show.

"The Doris Day Show" ran for five seasons. It was a hit. And slowly, episode by episode, Doris rebuilt what had been stolen from her.

But she wasn't done fighting.

In 1974, Doris Day sued Martin Melcher's business partner and attorney, Jerome Rosenthal, for fraud and legal malpractice.

She accused him of participating in the financial schemes that destroyed her fortune. Of knowing about the unauthorized deals and saying nothing. Of betraying his duty to protect her interests.

The trial revealed shocking details about how completely she'd been deceived.

Contracts signed without her knowledge. Investments made without her consent. A systematic plundering of everything she'd earned.

The jury ruled in her favor.

The judgment: $22.8 million.

But winning the lawsuit wasn't the end of the fight. It was just the beginning.

Collecting that money took years. Over a decade of legal battles. Appeals. Delays. Complications.

She never got the full amount. But she fought every step of the way—not for revenge, but for justice.

By the time "The Doris Day Show" ended in 1973, Doris was financially stable again. She'd survived the betrayal. Rebuilt her life. Won her case.

And then she did something Hollywood couldn't understand.

She walked away.

No farewell tour. No final album. No victory lap.

She moved to Carmel, California—a quiet coastal town far from the spotlight—and never looked back.

While other stars chased fame until their final breath, Doris chose something different.

She rescued animals.

Dogs, cats, horses—any creature that needed help. She founded the Doris Day Animal Foundation, which continues her work today.

She bought a hotel in Carmel and turned it pet-friendly decades before that was common.

She spent her final years surrounded by the animals she loved, living quietly, finding peace in kindness instead of cameras.

Reporters would occasionally ask why she left Hollywood at the height of her fame.

Her answer was simple: "I like being the girl next door. I just wish I'd known what the neighborhood was really like."

Behind that characteristic wit was a truth many people learn the hard way:

Sometimes the people closest to you are the ones who hurt you most.

But Doris Day's story isn't really about betrayal.

It's about what you do after the betrayal.

She could have become bitter. Withdrawn. Broken.

Instead, she showed up. She worked. She fought. She rebuilt.

She didn't just survive—she chose a life that mattered more than money or fame.

When Doris Day died in 2019 at age 97, obituaries focused on her films and songs.

But her real legacy is quieter than that.

It's in the resilience she showed when everything fell apart.

It's in the years of fighting for justice even when it would've been easier to give up.

It's in choosing peace over fame when she finally had a choice.

It's in every animal she saved and every person inspired by her refusal to stay defeated.

"Que Sera, Sera" became her signature song: Whatever will be, will be.

But Doris Day proved something more important:

Whatever has been doesn't have to define what will be.

You can lose everything and still rebuild.

You can be betrayed and still trust again.

You can survive the worst and still choose kindness.

She didn't just play America's sweetheart.

She showed America what real strength looks like.

Not the kind that screams or breaks things.

The kind that shows up the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Until one day, you realize you've built a whole new life—one that's yours, on your terms, without the people who tried to destroy you.

Doris Day: 1922-2019.

The woman who lost everything, rebuilt it all, and then walked away to live on her own terms.

That's not just a Hollywood story.

That's a lesson in how to survive anything.