This is what I wrote for my friends after Rainbeaux's funeral.  I hope you like it.

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This past weekend marked the saddest and oddest chapter in my Hollywood odyssey: a celebrity funeral.  A sweet, kind actress died on October 25th.  A woman who never won an award, never got a million dollar payday, and sadly, never got a second chance.  Saturday at Forest Lawn was when Cheryl "Rainbeaux" Smith was eulogized and buried.

Cheryl "Rainbeaux" Smith started acting in movies at the age of 15, after already making a name for herself on the Sunset Strip as a drummer for various bands.  Rumor has it her longtime stage name of "Rainbeaux" came out of being a fixture at the infamous Rainbow Bar & Grill.  She primarily appeared in exploitation films, usually playing a cheerleader, a prison inmate, or a killer's victim.  But she always proved to be luminous whenever she was onscreen.  She was truly a girl-next-door type, you got the sensation you could actually meet someone like her, in contrast to the actresses of today who are no less pretty, but far too polished to seem like they actually walk among us.
Unfortunately, like many people who were part of that wild party that was the '70's, she indulged too much and lost sight of her limits.  Work dried up, but not her addictions.  She was often homeless, and she was twice sent to prison for drug-related offenses.  Even when it looked like she had transcended her chemical needs, and found trustworthy people to be her friends, it was too late.  It was hepatitis that finally claimed her last week at the age of 47.

Rainbeaux Smith was one of the people I looked forward to meeting upon moving to Hollywood.  I always entertained delusions that my status as a television star would open up opportunities to meet my favorite fringe celebrities, and perhaps extend a hand to them towards getting new visibility.  I guess I wanted to do the kind of "rescue" work that hip directors like Quentin Tarantino and Paul Thomas Anderson have been able to do for their favorite unsung performers.  It don't work that way, unfortunately.  The best I can hope for is to believe that somebody made her aware that there was an ever-growing base of people who cared about her and wanted to see her return, or at least hear her go on the record about her better days.  I want to believe that while the end came too soon and in a cruel debilitating manner, she could believe that she was not forgotten.

As soon as I had learned that there would be a service and that it would be public, I made it a point to attend.  I also took it upon myself to notify one of her former co-stars, June Fairchild, about the event, and to offer a ride there.  June appeared alongside Rainbeaux in Cheech & Chong's UP IN SMOKE, both of them playing party guests badly feigning sobriety in the midst of a police raid.  It was their only film together, but she remembered her, and seeing as how her own life had taken similar dark turns with drugs and poverty, agreed to attend.

The service was very sparsely attended, less than 30 people finally arrived.  As far as I can tell, no other actors or directors who had worked with Rainbeaux were there.  In all likelihood, they did not know about her passing. There was no obituary in any significant entertainment news sources.  And the L.A. Times merely had a tiny death notice for her in their funeral grid, listing only the location and time of service, no details about the deceased or the life she led.  But those who were there knew her and that life well.  There was a fair amount of surprise among the mourners that I, having never known her personally, made the effort to attend.
After a long, kind-hearted, but somewhat superficial homily by the presiding reverend, there was an impromptu opportunity for people to say some words about Rainbeaux.  A couple of friends offered up their sorrow and memories of being in her life.  June spoke of her one-time collaboration and how the scene's depiction of her character being the other's guardian mirrored how she felt about her during that time.  And I took it upon myself to speak about her body of work, using the basic terms I offered here earlier.  After this, we came to the closed coffin to look at the pictures placed upon it, of Rainbeaux in younger and happier moments, where all her lauded qualities had physical evidence.
Before leaving for the cemetery, I looked at the small turnout and asked the greeter if there were enough pallbearers.  Indeed, there were only five.  Clipping a boutonierre to my constant black overcoat, I became the sixth pallbearer.  I went into the waiting area with three of the other men who would be carrying Rainbeaux's casket.  Two were men who had spoken earlier, and the other recognized me from BEAT THE GEEKS.  For a few minutes, they proceeded to quiz me on Rainbeaux's movie credits, and I answered correctly in turn.  It was a good jocular tension breaker, it was important to laugh and smile about the subject of our unity at that moment.

There isn't much to say about the service after that.  We moved her to the hearse, followed to the gravesite, carried her to the platform where the coffin would be lowered.  The reverend again said a prayer, and that was it.  I introduced myself to her son Justin, and admitted to him that outside of what I said at the viewing, I really did not know what else to convey besides the obvious emotions.  I suspect he was grateful. Overhearing other conversation, I could make out that Rainbeaux's mother was long dead, and her father too ill to come to the funeral.  There would be no reception for us to go to.  June needed to pick up prescriptions at the Costco, I had to go to work at 6.  We left.

As someone who can see that the clock on my fame is at 13:59, I know this business moves on to the next great unwashed phenom and leaves yesterday's hero as tomorrow's obscure reference in a "Friends" episode.  So while I still have a minute of your time, I'd like to direct it to someone whose clock stopped too soon.

I cannot figure out if it was full-on emotional grief, or some sort of self-serving star attachment, of wanting to belong, that motivated me to speak and to volunteer, or for that matter to even go to the service in the first place.  But I feel better for having done it all.  I never got to help her by giving her a job.  So instead, I helped her get to the afterlife.

Cheryl "Rainbeaux" Smith -- actress, musician, and artist
Born June 6, 1955
Died October 25, 2002