I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
She Played Timmy’s Mom on “Lassie.” See this legendary actress now at 98.
June Lockhart is beloved for her roles as iconic TV moms, but her career, which spans nine decades, includes much more. She starred on “Lassie” from 1958 to 1964 as Ruth Martin, Timmy’s mother (played by Jon Provost), who was Lassie’s companion.
From 1965 to 1968, she played Dr. Maureen Robinson, the family matriarch on “Lost in Space.” Lockhart’s career has continued with many other projects, and she’s also a mother and grandmother.
Extensive Television Career
Beyond “Lassie” and “Lost in Space,” Lockhart appeared in series like “Bewitched,” “Petticoat Junction,” “Magnum, P.I.,” “Step by Step,” and “Beverly Hills, 90210.”
She also appeared in nearly 40 episodes of “General Hospital.” Her more recent work includes a 2006 episode of “Grey’s Anatomy,” the TV movie “Holiday in Handcuffs” (2006), and the 2016 film “The Remake.”
Stage Success and NASA Involvement
Lockhart has also made her mark on stage, receiving the Tony Award for Outstanding Performance by a Newcomer in 1948 for “For Love or Money.”
Her interest in space exploration is personal as well as professional. A longtime NASA supporter, she was honored with the Exceptional Public Achievement Medal in 2013 for her work with the agency.
Lockhart has been involved with NASA since the 1970s, attending space shuttle launches, addressing employees, and promoting the agency.
Personal Life and Family Traditions
Lockhart has been married twice. She was married to John F. Maloney from 1951 to 1959, and they had two children, June Elizabeth and Anne Lockhart, who is also an actor. She married John Lindsay in 1959, and they divorced in 1970.
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