Welcome to another episode of You Must Remember This.

Today we're going to explore the final years in the life and career of Judy Garland, who died 45 years ago this month of an accidental overdose at the age of 47.

After you've gone and let me cry, after you've gone, there's no denying you feel blue, you feel sad, you're Mr. Best's pal you ever had.

But we're going to begin with a tale from a Hollywood party, circa the mid 1960s, read by Noah Segan.

I can't explain her appeal, but I saw it work once in this crazy way. I was at a party in Malibu, my first big Hollywood, let's all get slowly smashed on Sunday-type party.

And there were all these famous faces, and I hid behind a bloody Mary in the corner.

There were a lot of actors there, the word on them was that they were queer.

But this was a boy girl party, everyone who's paired off and all these beautiful men and gorgeous brawds were talking and drinking together.

Anyway, everything's going along and it's sunny. I'm getting a little buzzed in my corner position when this star-type female goes by me. I naturally look at her.

And she's wearing this fantastically loose knit sweater, I don't know what the hell it was, but there wasn't a lot of it.

And also, there's no bra. And these famous breasts are bouncing by. I'd never seen any before. I mean, not famous ones anyway.

But they weren't much, and I was thinking deep thoughts about that. When I realized Garland was in the room.

It's a patio, not a room, and there's a chase in the center. The guy she's with, one of her husband, he sort of supports her across the patio, and she plops down on this chase.

And she says what she wants to drink, and he goes off to get it.

I'm in the corner now, remember, and she's sitting all alone in the center of this patio, and for a minute, there was nothing.

And then this crazy thing started to happen. Every homosexual in the place, every guy you'd heard whispered about all these stars.

They left the girls they were with, and started to mass-move towards Garland. She didn't ask for it, she was just sitting there, blinking the sun, while this thing happened.

All these beautiful men, some of them big stars, some of them not so big, they circled her, crowded around her, and pretty soon.

She's disappeared behind this expensive male fence. It may not sound like all that much, but I'm telling you, she magnetized them.

I'll never forget all those famous secret guys moving across this gorgeous patio without a sound, and her just sitting there, kind of blinking.

And then they were on her, and she was gone.

That story comes from the first chapter of the season, an anthropological study of the 1967-1968 Broadway season, written by William Goldman, the future screenwriter of Butch Cassidy in the Sundance Kid, the Princess Bride, and many more films.

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