Joan Henrietta Collins was born on May 23, 1933, in Paddington, London, England. She was the daughter of Elsa Collins, a dance teacher, and Joseph William Collins, a talent agent whose clients would later include Shirley Bassey, The Beatles, and Tom Jones.
Joan attended the Francis Holland School and later the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (RADA) in London, showcasing her early passion for the performing arts.
Rise to Stardom
Collins made her film debut in the early 1950s with a series of British films, including “Lady Godiva Rides Again” (1951) and “The Woman’s Angle” (1952).
Her striking beauty and talent quickly caught the attention of Hollywood, and she soon found herself cast in major motion pictures. In 1955, she appeared in “The Virgin Queen” alongside Bette Davis, which solidified her status as a rising star.
Hollywood Success
Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, Collins starred in a variety of films, including “The Girl in the Red Velvet Swing” (1955), “Rally ‘Round the Flag, Boys!” (1958), and “The Road to Hong Kong” (1962).
Her versatility as an actress allowed her to take on diverse roles, from comedies to dramas, establishing her as a prominent figure in the film industry.
Television Fame: Dynasty
Joan Collins achieved international fame with her role as Alexis Carrington on the American television series “Dynasty” (1981-1989). Her portrayal of the cunning and glamorous ex-wife of Blake Carrington earned her a Golden Globe Award and cemented her status as a television icon.
My Stepdaughter Insisted I Reassign All Her Deceased Father’s Possessions into Her Name – I Complied, Yet She Was Unpleased
The emptiness of George’s departure permeates their residence, his presence enduring in the shirt Mariana grips nightly. However, it wasn’t his passing that devastated her… it was her stepdaughter Susan’s insistence on inheriting his wealth. When she reluctantly agreed, an unexpected twist left Susan enraged and Mariana strangely content.
Progressing past the death of a dear one is always challenging. At times, I still sense my husband George’s voice echoing in my mind. I awaken holding his cherished shirt, his fragrance still clinging to the material. Yet, as I mourned him, my stepdaughter’s actions… they utterly broke me…
I am Mariana, aged 57, wed to the kindest man, George, for 25 years. He had a daughter, Susan, aged 34, from an earlier marriage.
Our bond with Susan was once good. She addressed me as “Mom” and filled the gap in my heart from not bearing my own children. I never viewed her as “another’s” child. I cherished her as my own daughter, truly.
When Susan wed her chosen partner, George and I were thrilled. But then, everything deteriorated when George received a terminal cancer diagnosis.
Susan’s visits reduced from weekly to monthly, then ceased entirely. She seldom visited her father, occasionally phoning to inquire about his health.
One day, she posed a question that tore me apart. “How long does he have left?”
Clutching the phone tightly, my voice shook. “Susan, your father isn’t an item with an expiration date.”
“I just need to know, Mom. I’m swamped, you know that… I can’t come by often,” she responded.
“Swamped?” I repeated, my tone filled with disbelief. “Too swamped to visit your dying father?”
She exhaled deeply. “Look, I’ll attempt to come soon, okay?”
But that “soon” never materialized.
Then, the dreaded day arrived. The hospital informed me that George had passed away peacefully.
I was devastated, barely able to stand as the reality sank in. My beloved George, gone.
Shockingly, Susan didn’t attend his funeral. When I called her, she promptly excused herself.
“I’m expecting, Mom,” she stated, her tone strangely indifferent. “The doctors advised against lengthy travel due to some medical concerns.”
I swallowed hard, holding back tears. “But Susan, it’s your father’s funeral. Don’t you wish to bid him farewell one last time?”
“I can’t jeopardize my baby’s health,” she curtly replied. “You understand, right?”
I didn’t, not truly, but I nodded silently, forgetting she couldn’t see me. “Of course, dear. Take care.”
As I sat near my husband’s coffin, I couldn’t dismiss the notion that our relationship had irrevocably changed.
Six months post-George’s death, I was startled by a loud knock at my door. Opening it, I saw Susan and her husband Doug, along with a severe-looking man in a suit.
Susan entered without greeting. “Mom, we need your signature on some documents.”
Baffled, I blinked. “Which documents?”
Doug handed me a stack of papers, including a blank sheet. “Just sign these. They’re for transferring all the properties into our names.”
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