In September, 1952, Chaplin and his wife came to New York. They came by train, stopping in Chicago briefly en route, Chaplin’s newly finished movie, “Limelight”—the last movie he made in this country—was scheduled to open shortly, and after that they were planning to sail on the Queen Elizabeth, with their children (there were four by then: Geraldine, Michael, Josephine, and Victoria), for Chaplin’s first visit to London in twenty years, on what he thought was going to be a vacation. He did not yet know that on the ship he would be informed by the United States government that, as a British subject suspected of “left-wing leanings,” he would not be welcome to return to the United States. When the Chaplins arrived in New York, they checked into the Sherry-Netherland, and Oona called me to ask if I wanted to go walking with Charlie around the city. “I can’t go,” Oona said. “He walked me for four hours in Chicago. I’ve got blisters on both heels.”
The next morning at eleven, I went to pick Chaplin up at their suite.
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