Hebe Camargo asked to speak to my husband on the phone

If cancer hadn’t crossed her path in 2012, Hebe Camargo would be celebrating 95 years of a vibrant life this Friday, March 8th. Exactly on Women’s Day, which if it wasn’t created in honor of her, it very well could have been. She would have everything to do with it.

What do you mean by “exciting life”, if she was a victim of domestic violence and suffered for years with the aggressiveness, exacerbated jealousy and possessiveness of her husband, Lélio Ravagnani? That’s where Hebe comes in, who knew the transformative power of self-esteem, and never lowered her head. If there were moments of weakness and of not knowing how to react to such barbarities, she would fight without weakening. She had fun at work, at parties, in get-togethers with her lifelong friends, like Lolita Rodrigues and Nair Bello.

Long before the term sisterhood became fashionable, Hebe already demonstrated a genuine pleasure in seeing the success of other women and in raising their spirits (and self-esteem), whether they were famous guests on her TV show, private employees, fans or journalists.

The affectionate, humorous and gentle way in which Hebe dealt with press professionals is famous. More than that: women were always entitled to a compliment, a caress, a special reason to give that warm feeling in the heart that we love so much — and often need.

It happened to me exactly 20 years ago, when I went, Sheet, covering the behind-the-scenes of her program on SBT for Mônica Bergamo’s column. I joined the caravans that filled the audience (95% women) on the day that one of the guests was the then governor of São Paulo, Geraldo Alckmin.

Hebe died laughing when, in a VT, an anonymous person asked if the current vice-president of the Republic had never thought about “wearing a wig, getting an implant, whatever”.

The Portuguese actress Maria João, the cheesy singer Frank Aguiar and the singers Alcione, Sandra de Sá and Luciana Mello (who Hebe decided to call Luciana de Mello) also sat on her sofa. Attendance wasn’t even the most important thing for those who had gone to the program. The big attraction for those who went to the recording was herself. Hebe.

“I don’t know who the guests are. I’m just coming because of her”, said stallholder Perpétua Lopes, 48. Wearing a flowery blouse, red lipstick and blonde hair, Perpétua said that she was single, in a way, because of the presenter. “A man to marry me has to like Hebe, otherwise I’ll send him for a walk.” She was one of the members of the “class of seven”, a group of seven women who had been on the program for at least 25 years.

That’s why they had certain perks, such as a van that picked them up at their door and guaranteed seats in the front rows. Perpétua received stomach reduction surgery from Hebe. She lost 30 kg and only increased her devotion. “She’s great, isn’t she?”, she asked, a little moved. Hebe was like that. She became friends with her fans, she managed to promote a genuine feeling of female sisterhood.

Sometimes it pleased me in a subtle way. This was my case, at a moment during the recording when she had to choose someone from the audience to give a basket of hair moisturizers, a kind gift from one of the sponsors.

“Take it to that girl in blue”, I said to the assistant, pointing at me. We had been introduced quickly before the start of the program and, apparently, she noticed the split ends and my hair, dry from the beach and the sun. Hebe wanted to help. “Get better,” was the subliminal message, just for me. I understood.

After the recording ended, I walked alongside him, accompanied by his nephew Cláudio, towards the car in the SBT parking lot: a silver Mercedes with the license plate EBE and a number that I don’t remember. As she took off her high-heeled shoes to refresh her bunions and frazzled heels, my cell phone rang.

It was my husband. “I’m here with Hebe”, I said, shaking it off. She, barefoot, asked: “Is this your husband? Let me talk to him.”

Covering the mouthpiece, he wanted to know, half whispering, his name. I counted. And she: “Hello? João Paulo? Look, I’m here with your cute wife, see? With this green ‘zoião’… Take good care of her, you have a diamond at home.” They even had a quick chat about the program (“I’m glad you watch it too, how cute you are”), she said, before saying goodbye, sending “a kiss”.

I don’t even need to tell you how good I felt at that moment, how I was pampered by him as soon as I returned to Rio, and in the days and weeks afterwards. The guy was proud! Hebe could do that. He liked to do that kind of thing.

A few years later, in 2008, journalist Melina Dalboni, my friend and then fashion editor of the women’s supplement of a Rio newspaper – now a screenwriter and writer – spent two afternoons with Hebe at her home, in Cidade Jardim. The material became an award-winning special report. Professionally, a great goal. But what really marked Melina was seeing, so close up, and for so long, Hebe being Hebe.

Once again, she made the woman who was at her side, for work, leave feeling better than when she came in when she met her. “She praised the questions, she was interested in what I said,” she remembers. Vain as she was, Hebe knew how good it was for a woman to freely praise some physical attribute of another.

“Always smile, you have a bright smile”, suggested the presenter. Melina says that she took this teaching forever. After all, it was Hebe who had spoken. The Hebe of women, who deserves all the reverence on this day. And always.