So long, Melinda Ledbetter
Or, one more unexpected loss
Melinda Ledbetter passed away peacefully a little under two weeks ago, her husband, Brian Wilson, at her side. In addition to being his partner, she was his manager as of 1999, helping to extricate him from the manipulative hold of Dr. Eugene Landy.
In fact, Google lists her first as ‘American talent manager’ before mentioning, in order, her relationship with Brian, her modeling (for Bob Mackie and Anne Klein), and her career as a car saleswoman (at a Cadillac dealership in L.A., where—no knock on her saleswomanship—those babies must have sold themselves). It was while selling cars that she met Brian in 1986; they were briefly separated by Landy’s 1989 order that she sever ties with him, but after Landy himself was barred from Brian in 1991, they got back together and married within four years.
She gave Brian the space, the opportunity, and the inspiration to finish Smile, a project that had lain dormant since the end of the Pet Sounds period. She also got him the medical attention he truly needed: in my view, she was decades ahead of her time in assessing the failures of the American healthcare system and navigating a path to proper care. That her partner was arguably one of the more famous mental patients in the world certainly factored in, but our society is set up so we learn from celebrities and from what works or doesn’t work for them. Melinda took that seriously.
To be sure, her legacy is not uncomplicated. There is speculation—and accusations including by Brian’s daughter Carnie—as to whether the touring schedule Brian has kept up is entirely Melinda’s doing, and whether it’s been good for him, and whether he’s even wanted to do it. I choose to believe she did her best with the information she had and that she kept Brian’s best interests at heart. I believe that he believes that, too, and has loved her with no coercion involved. And I believe he has developed a healthier attitude toward touring, performing, and even creating with age. But we have to bear in mind that intention is not impact.
Hers was another death that I didn’t get word of except through my mom, and I feel the loss, especially on Brian’s behalf. In my continuing examination of the stories he has told us through his life and art, I wonder if, seemingly counterintuitively, he’s always striven to be alone—to achieve solitude, to access his inmost self—and that the people he’s been closest to are those who afford him that solitude. Melinda was clearly one such person.
Now he really is alone, I thought when I learned of her passing. With no one to temper or direct that aloneness, I could easily see it turning into loneliness, could see Brian suffering from it. The tenor of his Instagram updates confirms my fears—and if Brian Wilson isn’t writing his own Instagram posts, I will eat my hat, because that platform was made for someone like him. An introvert with sporadic urges to share personal stuff with an audience. I get it.
Those who have seen Love & Mercy will remember Melinda’s perspective as a prominent narrative vehicle, chronicling her budding courtship with Brian in the ‘80s and the risks they both took for it. Although I know what the real Melinda looked like, I’ll always think of Elizabeth Banks by force of habit (plus I’ve seen Elizabeth Banks more often). Melinda remarked that she didn’t think the film even communicated the full extent of Landy’s destructive influence over Brian. Which, if you’ve seen it, is a harrowing notion.
We will miss you, Melinda. You modeled what it means to be an advocate for oneself and others. You also just plain modeled, which, while it’s an industry I’ve never desired to join, I think from the outside is pretty cool.
In memoriam Melinda Kae Ledbetter, 3 October 1946-30 January 2024. You know it’s gonna make it that much better when you can say good night and stay together.