Recital Hall in February, March and April, Sessions commented in his
slow, precise manner of speech that "the first one was composed in 1930,
the second one was composed in '46, and the third one was composed in
'65. One sonata will be performed on each program. ... I have heard the
young lady play one of them. She's going to come and play for me today.
I'm helping her to prepare them. Because they're difficult and they take
a lot of practice. Her name is Miss Rebecca la Becque. I just laid eyes on
her for the first time last week."
Nearly half of his works have been composed in the last 20 years; some
are quite melodic; others are so atonal and eery that to some people they
suggest the rhythm of the universe itself, or music from the stars. One
remarkable aspect of his compositions is that no two are even vaguely
alike; another is that they come in so many different instrumental
combinations. Besides his piano works, he has composed for violin,
organ, cello, chorus and solo voice. In addition, there are his string
quartets, his rhapsodies, his nine symphonies, and _Montezuma_, one of
the most distinguished operas ever written by an American.
Why write in so many forms? "You might say I'm paid to," he explained,
ordering a second espresso and lighting his pipe. "Generally when I write
a big work, it's for a specific purpose." His eighth symphony, for
example, was written for the New York Philharmonic to commemorate the
orchestra's 125th anniversary.
When I asked Sessions whether he was concerned that most of his works
are not available on albums, he said calmly, "I never have tried to get my
works recorded or performed. I decided years ago that people would have
to come to me; I wasn't coming to them. Things move a little more slowly
that way, but one knows that everything one gets is perfectly genuine. ...
When I wrote my first symphony, Otto Klemperer said he wouldn't dare
to conduct it. So I conducted it myself. It would be easy nowadays. Even
the Princeton student orchestra played it a few years ago and didn't do too
badly. Orchestra players get used to the idiom and people get used to
listening. ... The only thing is," he added with a chuckle, "I keep getting
ahead in that respect."
He was born in Brooklyn in 1896 and moved to Massachusetts at age 3,
but Sessions noted that "I do have some memories of the inside of the
house." He wrote his first opera at 13 and graduated from Harvard at 18.
>From 1925 until 1933 he lived in Italy and Germany, supported by
scholarships. Shortly after Hitler came to power, he returned to the U.S.,
and not long afterward joined the faculty at Princeton, where he remained
until 1946. Then he taught at the University of California at Berkeley for
eight years before returning to Princeton, where he remained until his
mandatory retirement in 1965. Since that time he has taught at Juilliard.
He and his wife Elizabeth have been married for 42 years; they have two
children and two grandchildren. Said the composer: "I learned that I had
a grandson just a few hours after I'd gotten the citation from the Pulitzer
Prize Committee, and the grandson was much more exciting -- with all
due respect."
A resident of Princeton, New Jersey except for the one night each week
that he spends on the West Side, Sessions is now eagerly awaiting the
performance of his ninth symphony. It was completed in October and will
be premiered in Syracuse shortly.
In his Princeton study he is kept constantly busy composing new works,
writing letters and correcting proofs. "I don't have any hobbies," he
remarked at the end of the interview. "I like good books, but I don't get
much time to read them. If I go a few days without composing, I start to
feel a little bit depressed."
********
EASTSIDER DICK SHAWN
Veteran comic talks about _Love at First Bite_
5-19-79
Dick Shawn's name keeps cropping up these days. The last time he made
a big splash in New York was two years ago, when his one-man show,
_Dick Shawn is the Second Greatest Entertainer in the Whole Wide
World_, played at the Promenade Theatre for 14 weeks. But last fall, he
gained millions of new fans with his sparkling appearances on the ill-fated
network variety show starring Mary Tyler Moore, which folded after the
third week. A commonly heard criticism of the show was: less Mary and
more Shawn.
In George Hamilton's recently released film, _Love At First Bite_, Shawn
plays the role of Lieutenant Ferguson, who teams up with a psychiatrist
in order to make war on Dracula. Also he recently played the lead in the
new Russell Baker/Cy Coleman musical, _Home Again_. But these are
only a few of the highlights of Shawn's career, as I discover in an
interview with the 51-year-old comedian at his plush Upper East Side
apartment.
The word "comedian," he quickly points out, is not quite accurate. "I
think of myself as a comedy character," he explains, relaxing on his couch
with a plate of croissants and bacon that his pretty assistant has just
brought him. "In _Home Again_, I played seven characters. ... They ran
out of money; it just closed out of town. It needs another four or five
weeks of work. They plan to bring it back around September."
With his middle-age paunch and full head of tousled grey hair that
resembles a bird's nest, Shawn has a definite comedic look about him, but
he seldom smiles and never laughs during our long conversation. Still, his
answers are both entertaining and revealing.
On Mary Tyler Moore's variety show: "That was a total mistake. They
didn't know what they were doing there. I thought she was going to get
the best writers and the best producers. But it was totally inadequate. I
knew from the very first day that it wasn't going to work. ... The whole
concept was wrong. Variety isn't Mary's forte. You have to get yourself
rolling around on the ground a little bit. She's such a nice, sweet girl that
she doesn't come off as a clown."
The basis of all humor, believes Shawn, "is hostility. But it has to be
sweet hostility. ... I think people become comedians because they poke
fun at pretentiousness. They usually come from meager backgrounds, and
then they can look up and see the pomposity and the hypocrisy of many
human beings. That's why there are no rich comics. A great many of
them are Jewish or black -- because as a kid they were told they were part
of a minority group. They learned to have a sense of humor about
themselves: they had to, in order to survive. Humor is their way of
getting even with mankind."
Shawn's own background lends credence to his theory. Born Richard
Schulefand in the steel town of Lackawanna, New York, he grew up in
a family that was hard-hit by the Depression. While serving with the
Army following World War II, he ended up in an entertainment troupe.
"I was delighted," he recalls, "and when I got out, I decided to pursue it."
In the early 1950s, he secured his first professional engagement as a
stand-up comic in Bayonne, New Jersey, and was paid $25 a night. Since
then, he has never been out of work, and has constantly used only his own
material for his solo act -- songs as well as sketches.
"I don't really do jokes," he explains. "I do situation characters. Although
the thrust of my humor is serious, I have always taken chances. In my
club act, for example, I always ended up pretending to die on stage, rather
than taking bows. Two guys would come with a stretcher and carry me
out."
Among his more memorable performances over the years: the successor
to Zero Mostel in Broadway's _A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to
the Forum_, the freakishly funny beach bum in the Stanley Kramer film
_It's A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World_, and a cavorting Adolph Hitler in
Mel Brooks' zany 1968 movie, _The Producers_.
Still, no project has gained him as much personal satisfaction as _The
Second Greatest Entertainer in the Whole Wide World_. After the New
York run, the show played to enthusiastic audiences in San Francisco and
Los Angeles, and earned Shawn awards for both Best Performer and Best
Playwright of the Year.
An Eastsider for the past seven years, he names Elaine's as his favorite
local restaurant because "the food is good, and there's a simplicity about
the place the attracts me."
Shawn describes himself as "disciplined, but not as disciplined as I should
be. Because my work is loose, I'm always adding or changing. Nothing
ever stays the same. But comedy is a very rewarding profession. It's nice
to know that something that pops into your head can cause a reaction from
total strangers who are paying you money to be entertained. I think that's
the ultimate."
Probably best-known for _The Prod
ucers_.
EASTSIDER GEORGE SHEARING
Famed jazz pianist returns to New York
2-3-79
The scene was a Boston nightclub in the early 1950s. George Shearing and
his quintet were scheduled to play the second set of the evening; the
opening act was a piano/bass/drums trio. But as soon as the first group's
pianist hit the keys, a groan went up from the audience. It was a bad box,
as they said in those days. The management's promise of a tuning had not
been kept.
The trio retired in defeat 15 minutes later, and the audience called for
Shearing. When the blind pianist was led on stage, he announced, to
everyone's astonishment, that he would open with a solo. But when he sat
down at the instruments, a small miracle took place. The notes rang out
with the clarity of crystal; Shearing's acute ear had told him which keys
to avoid, and the precise amount of pressure to apply to the others so that
the poor tuning would be camouflaged. Those who were present to
witness Shearing's uncanny musicianship may never forget the experience.
But attending any of his performances is hardly less forgettable.
He's now playing each Tuesday through Saturday evening at the Cafe
Carlyle, 76th Street and Madison Avenue, and will remain there until
March 3rd. His famous quintet is no more -- the group was disbanded in
1978 after 29 years -- but Shearing, accompanied only by bass player
Brian Torff, proves himself a master showman as he performs his unique
brand of jazz, tells funny stories between numbers, and sings in his lilting,
playful manner.
"I'm on the road about 10 months a year," he told the Carlyle crowd the
previous night, when I went there to catch his show. "And one thing I
cannot tolerate is the mediocrity of hotels and motels in this country.
Once, on my second morning in a hotel, I called up the room service and
said, 'Could you please bring me some breakfast? I'd like two eggs, one
of them poached and the other scrambled; two pieces of toast, one barely
warm and the other burned almost to a crisp; and a pot of half coffee and
half tea.' The person on the other end said, 'I'm sorry sir, I don't think
we can fill that order.' I said, 'Why not? That's what you brought me
yesterday.'"
The next afternoon I paid Shearing a visit at his new Eastside apartment,
where he recently moved from San Francisco. An extremely amiable,
witty, and knowledgeable man who speaks with a soft British accent, he
guided me around the large, tastefully furnished apartment with great
ease, showing me his braille-marked tape collection, his audio calculator
and his braille library. He described everything, from the drapes to the
furniture, as if he had perfect vision. Blind since birth, he is an expert
bridge player and a fine cook.
"I've just started to take cooking lessons," said Shearing, stretched out n
the sofa with a smile hovering constantly on his face. "My wife and I are
taking the same course. It's at the Jewish Guild for the Blind. Naturally
it's better for me to take lessons from someone who knows the
idiosyncracies of cooking without looking. ... I'm very interested in taste.
If I were to cook some peas, for example, I would be inclined to line the
saucepan with lettuce and add a little sugar and mint."
Born 59 years ago in London, the ninth child of a coalman, he began
plucking out radio tunes on the piano at the age of 6, and by his early 20s
was considered one of England's finest jazz pianists. He moved to the
U.S. in 1947, and two years later became an overnight sensation when his
newly formed quintet recorded "September in the Rain," which sold
900,000 copies. To date, Shearing has recorded more than 50 albums.
When he finally broke up his quintet, it was to allow himself more
musical freedom. His playing is a combination of jazz, classical and pop
that calls for much improvisation.
His most famous original composition, "Lullaby of Birdland," came to
him "when I was sitting in my dining room in New Jersey, eating a steak.
It took me only 10 minutes to write it. I went back to that butcher several
times afterwards, but I never got the same steak."
A popular television personality, Shearing has appeared on all the major
TV talk shows. In the past 15 years or so, he has also become a frequent
performer with symphony orchestras, usually playing a piano concerto in
the first half of the program and a jazz piece in the second half. Lionized
in England, he returned to London last December and played a sellout
concert at the 6500-seat Royal Albert Hall.
New York is where his American career began, and he decided to move
back after spending 16 years on the West Coast, primarily because New
York is far more centrally located for his extensive travelling. He chose
the Upper East Side because "it would be difficult to realize we're in the
heart of Manhattan, it's so quiet here." No sooner did he speak the words
than, as if on cue, a baby in a downstairs apartment began to cry loudly.
"Does somebody have a plastic bag?" he deadpanned.
One of Shearing's main interests -- besides music, bridge and cooking --
is business law. He once took a course on the subject "because I wanted
to know what the other guy's rights are. If I know what his rights are, I
know what mine are." Speaking of his many disappointments in hotels and
motels, he said, "Misrepresentation and false advertising can be beaten at
any time anyone wants to fight it. I have never lost a battle on this score
yet."
He might have added, had modesty not prevented it, that he has also lost
no battles in the game of life.
********
WESTSIDER REID SHELTON
The big-hearted billionaire of _Annie_
12-22-79
_Annie_, the touching musical about seven little orphan girls in New York
City at Christmastime during the Great Depression, has been the
Broadway show against which all others must be compared ever since it
opened in April, 1977.
That year it won seven Tony Awards. Later the movie rights were sold
for a record $9.5 million. There are now companies performing the
musical in Los Angeles, Boston, Atlanta, England, South Africa,
Australia, Japan and Scandinavia. The album has gone gold. Still a sellout
virtually every night at the Alvin Theatre, its tickets are the hardest to
obtain of any show in town.
Two of the three leading characters -- those of Annie and the cruel, gin
sodden orphanage director Miss Hannigan -- have been twice replaced by
new performers. But Oliver "Daddy" Warbucks, the bald-headed
billionaire with a heart as big as his bank account, has been played since
the beginning by Reid Shelton, a Westside actor long known for his
portrayal of powerful figures on stage -- cardinals and kings, statesmen
and presidents.
On December 23rd, just a few days short of its 1,200th performance, Reid
will finally leave the New York company to star in _Annie_ on the West
Coast. He has no plans, at this point, of giving up the role that earned him
a Tony nomination for Best Actor.
"I've had two three-week vacations and I've missed four performances in
almost three years," says Reid in his dressing room on a recent afternoon.
Easing his tall, bulky frame onto a sofa, he immediately reveals a
personality that is warm, good-humored and eager to please. His broad,
all-American features give distinction to his gleaming, newly shaved head.
Reid shaves twice a day with an electric razor.
"My understudy plays Roosevelt in the show, and of course for the four
performances that he's had to go on for me, he didn't shave his head,"
laughs the 55-year-old actor. "I've gotten the most angry letters from
people saying, 'Well my God, can't you at least have the understudy
shave his head? How dare you do that to us!'"
Asked about his qualifications for playing a billionaire, Reid says, "I don't
know whether it's my look, personality, or what, but people have always
thought that I've come from money. Actually, my family during the
Depression was very poor."
Born and raised in Salem, Oregon, he began studying voice while a high
school freshman, doing chores in exchange for lessons. After graduation,
he was drafted into the First Cavalry Division of the U.S. Army, fought
in the Pacific, then received his master's degree in voice under the G.I.
Bill. Arriving in New York City in 1951, he got a job singing at Radio
City Music Hall. From there he went on to many Broadway musicals, TV
shows, films and recordings. His generous income from _Annie_ enabled
him, last year, to purchase the Westside apartment building in the Theater
District where he's been living since 1956. "It's a rent-controlled building
with 20 apartment units. This last year I lost four thousand dollars on it
because of oil and everything, but I have never regretted buying it."
Some behind-the-scene stories are as interesting as the show itself. Yul
Brynner, for example, has refused to be photographed with Shelton:
"Maybe he's afraid if the strobes hit our glistening heads simultaneously
there will be no picture." Sandy, the dog, was discovered in an animal
shelter just one day before he was due to be put to sleep. "It's that bored,
I-don't-care quality that that dog has," says Reid, "that's so endearing to
the audience. He lives with his trainer and owner, Bill Berloni, a
marvelous young chap who found a whole new career for himself through
the dog." And when the subject of orphanages comes up, Reid tells of a
place called the Jennie Clarkson Home in Valhalla, New York, which he
visited not long ago.
"It's not exactly an orphanage, but a temporary home for girls whose
families can't provide for them. They have about 40 girls who stay in
cottages with cottage parents, and they go to school there. The agency
works with the family by trying to find the father a job or whatever, so
the girls can finally return home. ... I was so impressed with the work
they're doing. I'm trying to raise money for it."
He recalls visiting the White House to do a shortened version of _Annie_
for the Carters. "We got back at 3 in the morning, totally exhausted, but
the whole day was made worthwhile when Mrs. Carter sought me out and
said, 'You know, I must tell you how much I appreciate your taking your
day off to come down here and do this for us. It must be a real chore, and
I do appreciate it.' It was just a wonderful, wonderful personal thing that
she didn't have to do. It's something I will always treasure."
On another occasion, says Reid, Robert Wagner and Natalie Wood came
backstage after a show. "Bobby just kept crying, and Natalie finally said,
'For God's sake, Bob, stop it.' But he couldn't. Even now, I'm terribly
thrilled when people come back and say, 'You made me cry.' I'm proud
of that. If I can touch some response in people, and maybe open up
something that they didn't even know they felt, that's a tremendous plus
in being an actor."
********
WESTSIDER BOBBY SHORT
Mr. New York to perform in Newport Jazz Festival
6-23-79
To some, he is New York City personified -- Bobby Short, the eternally
youthful singer and pianist who has been packing in audiences at the Cafe
Carlyle five nights a week for the past 11 years. Regarded as the foremost
living interpreter of Cole Porter, Short has recorded eight albums,
published his autobiography, lectured on American music at Harvard and
performed at the White House. His many television commercials have
gained him national recognition in the last year or so, but he is proudest
of the one he did for the "I Love A Clean New York" campaign, showing
him sweeping the sidewalk with his customary savoir-faire.
Six months out of the year, he holds court at the Carlyle, a supper club
at Lexington Avenue and 76th Street, where eager fans plunk down $10
for each one-hour set. Backed up by a bass player and a percussionist, the
smooth, sophisticated Short sits behind the keyboard in a tuxedo,
performing popular songs from the early 20th century to the present day.
Every word and every note comes out a finely polished jewel, leaving the
audience with the impression that they have never heard the song before.
Four months out of the year, Short takes to the road, giving concerts from
Los Angeles to Paris, often as soloist with major orchestras. The hottest
and coldest months of the year -- January and August -- he sets aside for
vacation, sometimes taking a house in the south of France, since he is
well versed in the French language and is constantly seeking to expand his
knowledge of gourmet cooking.
While in New York, he occupies a luxurious nine-room Westside
apartment with 18-foot ceilings that formerly belonged to Leonard
Bernstein. Here, in a vast living room with a complete wall of mirror, a
fireplace and a virtual forest of green plants, I thank Short for the glass
of wine that he offers me from a crystal decanter, and I begin our
interview by asking about the show he's co-producing for the Newport
Jazz Festival. Titled A _Salute to Black Broadway, 1900-1945_, it will
take place in Avery Fisher Hall at 8 p.m. on June 24, and is one of the
highlights of the 26th annual jazz festival, which runs from June 22 to
July 1.
"It's the chance to try my wings at something new," says the jovial
musician, in a somewhat gravelly, high-pitched voice marked by flawless
diction. "Also, it's a chance to inform. I suppose I'm a frustrated
professor of sorts. This show is a way of stating that, in fact, there were
blacks involved in productions on Broadway as far back as 1900 --
perhaps even further back. Many were performers who wrote their own
material. Others were composers and lyricists whose writing was not
confined to black performers. Some of them wrote for the Ziegfeld
Follies."
As co-producer with Robert Kimball, Short has been "researching material
to find out what's good, what's bad, what's important, and also who's
around today that was in those shows." Among the performers to be
featured: famed jazz singer Mabel Mercer, a longtime friend of Short's;
Adelaide Hall and Edith Wilson, two of black Broadway's original stars;
Nell Carter, the Tony Award-winning star of Fats Waller's _Ain't
Misbehavin'_; Eubie Blake, still an active pianist in his 90s, whose
currently running _Eubie!_ is the fourth Broadway show he has written;
special guest artist Diahann Carroll; and the Dick Hyman Orchestra. Of
course Bobby Short will be on stage too; he'll do at least five songs out
of his repertoire of 1,000-plus.
Slender, debonair, and looking more like 40 than his actual 54 years,
Short has been playing and singing in public ever since he made his debut
at the age of 9 while growing up in Danville, Illinois. From the age of 12
to 14 he was a child star on the vaudeville and nightclub circuit. Then he
returned to Danville, completed high school at 17, and began his second
career. Producer/songwriter Anna Sosenko got him a job at the Blue
Angel in Manhattan; after that he worked in California and France before
settling permanently in New York in 1956.
A perennial name on the best-dressed list, Short says that "today I've got
a tailor in New York, a tailor in London, and I buy a lot of things in
between. But I've grown more sensible over the years. I no longer buy all
I can get my hands on."
His secret for staying young? "Be sensible. If you use the most intimate
parts of your body to make a living -- like your throat -- you can't abuse
it. You can't drink too much, and you simply cannot smoke." Extremely
knowledgeable about restaurants, he lists the Russian Tea Room and
Pearl's Chinese Restaurant as his favorites.
His "Charlie" commercial for a cologne by Revlon has made Short one of
the most recognized figures on the streets of New York, yet he doesn't
mind being approached by strangers. "It's part of what I do for a living,"
he muses with a smile. "It never stops. You have to learn to live with it
or get out of show business. Fortunately, I'm a very social person and I
like people. I understand the need to say hello to someone on the street --
so I can't knock somebody for speaking to me."
********
WESTSIDER BEVERLY SILLS
Opera superstar
9-30-78
Probably no opera singer since Caruso has made so great an impact on the
American public as Beverly Sills. Even today, the mention of her name
can automatically sell out a concert hall anywhere in the U.S. She has
become bigger than her art, for while a few younger singers can reach the
notes more easily, Sills generates a certain intense excitement into all her
roles that makes every show she appears in not just an opera, but an
event.
Her star vehicle this fall is an early 19th-century opera, _Il Turco In
Italia_ (The Turk in Italy), written by Gioacchino Rossini prior to his
masterpiece, _The Barber of Seville_.
_Il Turco_, presented by the New York City Opera for eight performances
in September through November, is a subtle comedy about a flirtatious,
Sophia Loren-type character (Sills) with a jealous husband. The audience
will miss none of the Italian humor because this production of _Il Turco_
is in English.
"I love to do English translations," said Miss Sills last week in a telephone
interview. "I believe the whole art of opera is based on communication.
I don't see how people can appreciate a comedy in a language that four
fifths of the audience doesn't understand. There's only snobbery about
foreign languages in this country -- not in Europe. In America, an opera
is like a museum piece. But I think the great classics like _Boheme_ and
_Traviata_ don't need to be translated because everyone knows what
they're about."
She performs regularly with the New York City Opera even though the
State Theatre-based company is able to pay only a tiny fraction of what
singers receive at other great opera houses around the world. "I made my
career with them," she explained. "I sing there because of loyalty, and
because I love to." She has already made plans to retire from singing in
1980 and to become codirector of the New York City Opera with Julius
Rudel, the present director.
Right now she is busy studying three other roles. On December 7 she will
headline the Metropolitan Opera's new production of Donizetti's _Don
Pasquale_, which will run until January 20. In March she will star in a
world premiere for the New York City Opera, _Miss Haversham's Fire_,
based on the Charles Dickens novel _Great Expectations_. In June she
will go to San Diego to perform in yet another world-premiere opera,
_Juana La Loca_ by Gian Carlo Menotti.
Last season, Beverly hosted a popular television program called
_Lifestyles_. This year, she said, "I'm doing something much bigger, as
a result of that show's success. Unfortunately, I can't tell you what it is,
because CBS will be making an announcement in mid-October."
Miss Sills said she has no plans for another book. Her first, the self
portrait _Bubbles_, has sold 130,000 copies in hardcover and many times
that figure in paperback since it came out a year ago. "Bubbles" was her
childhood nickname. She was born Belle Silverman in Brooklyn a few
months before the stock market crash of 1929. At 3 she did her first radio
broadcast; at 7 she was the star of a regular weekly radio show. In her
early teens she joined a touring musical company and spent the next 10
years on the road. Then she was accepted by the New York City Opera.
In her first few seasons with the fledgling company, she showed few signs
of the fame that was to come. Meanwhile, she and her husband,
newspaper publisher Peter Greenough, had become the happy parents of
two, a girl named Meredith (Muffy) and a boy, Peter Junior.
Then the heartbreak struck. When Muffy was 2, it was discovered that she
suffered from a serious hearing impairment. A few months later, the
couple learned that their son was severely mentally retarded.
For the next year and a half, Beverly abandoned her singing career and
spent all her time at home. When she returned to the New York City
Opera, people noticed a distinct change. Somehow she seemed to have
acquired a new dramatic power. In such roles as Cleopatra in Handel's
_Julius Caesar_ she dazzled both critics and public, and has done so ever
since. In 1969, when she made her debut at La Scala in Milan -- Europe's
foremost opera house -- the Italian press labeled her "La Fenomena."
Because of a long-standing disagreement with Rudolph Bing, the managing
director of the Metropolitan Opera, it was not until 1975, after Bing's
retirement, that she made her debut at the Met. The occasion caused the
largest advance ticket sale in the company's history.
For the pat eight years, Sills and her family have lived on Central Park
West. "I just feel that we get all the sunshine here," she said. Muffy has
just started her freshman year at college in upstate New York and plans
to become a veterinarian. Beverly's husband Peter divides his time among
various business projects and the National Foundation for the March of
Dimes.
Her advice for young singers trying to break into opera? "Keep
auditioning," Beverly replied emphatically, "no matter how many times
you're turned down. I tried out for the New York City Opera nine times
before they took me. And auditions themselves are valuable: they give you
the experience of a performance."
********
GEORGE SINGER
46 years a doorman on the West Side
12-20-77
It's a wet, stormy night on the West Side; rain is pelting down without
mercy, and the wind is whipping along the edge of the park like a tornado
in a canyon. A taxi pulls up in front of the Century Building at 25 Central
Park West, and at the same moment a man in uniform emerges from the
building holding an umbrella to escort the woman passenger to safety.
Anyone watching the scene would hardly guess that the doorman is 75
years old. But his age is not the only remarkable thing about George
Singer.
During his 46 years at the Century -- longer than any other employee or
tenant -- George has seen the entire history of the city reflected in the
people who have come and gone through the entrance. He has gotten to
know world-famous celebrities who have lived in the building, and has
met countless others who came to visit -- from prizefighters to presidents.
He has watched the enormous changes of fashion, custom and law. And
from the start of the Great Depression to the beginning of the Koch
administration, George has remained the same calm, good-natured
observer, seeing all but criticizing no one.
"I've been here since this was a hole in the ground," he says matter-of
factly, puffing on a cigar in the outer lobby of the building, keeping one
eye on the door. "It all started in 1930, when they tore down the old
Century Theatre to put up a luxury apartment building. I got a job as a
plumber's helper, lugging big pipes across the ground. After it was
finished in 1931, I went to the superintendent and told him I helped build
the Century and asked for a job. I simply had to get work, because it was
during the Depression and I had my wife and two kids. ... I started as an
elevator man and I worked up to the front door within a year."
In 1929 George had been earning $125 a week in a hat factory; in 1931
his wages were $75 a month for a 72-hour work week. "Our suits had to
be pressed, our hair combed, shoes shined. We had to wear a white bow
tie, white gloves. ... If you looked cross-eyed at a tenant and he reported
you to the office you were fired in those days."
During the 1930s, only about one-fourth of the apartments were rented.
Among the residents was a Mrs. Gershwin; her sons George, Ira and
Arthur made frequent visits. By the early 1940s the Century Building had
become one of the most exclusive addresses in New York. Heavyweight
boxing champion Jack Dempsey, Ethel Merman, Nannette Fabray, Mike
Todd and theatre magnate Lee Schubert moved in during those years,
along with many celebrities whose names are less familiar today -- singer
Belle Baker, sports announcers Ted Husing and Graham McNamee, and
world champion welterweight boxer Barney Ross.
George recalls "sparring around" with Dempsey in the lobby at night. "He
had a great sense of humor. When he came in late and found the elevator
boy asleep he'd give him a hot foot." Ethel Merman, he remembers, "had
three or four husbands. In between her husbands she used to go out with
different men. She used to smooch with them in the lobby.
"In those days we took in Louis Lepke, with his wife and family," says
George with a smile. "He always had three or four bodyguards with him.
When he was here, he behaved himself." At other times, of course, Lepke
was not so well behaved. He headed a group known as "Murder
Incorporated," popularized the term "hit man," and was sent to the
electric chair for his crimes.
More recent tenants include Robert Goulet, singer/Playboy playmate Joey
Heatherton, and Ted Sorenson, a former presidential advisor who in the
past year has been visited at the Century by both Jimmy Carter and Walter
Mondale. Did George get a chance to shake the president's hand? "Yes.
What's the big deal?"
George Singer and Estelle, his wife of 53 years, live in Trump Village
near Coney Island. They have seven grandchildren and one great
grandchild. George could easily afford to retire -- in fact, he is sometimes
jokingly referred to as "the richest man in the building" -- but he chooses
to keep working. "Why not work till 75 or 80 if you're able?" he says.
"I think it's good for a person. Mr. Chanin, who owns this building: he's
in his 80s and he goes to work most every day."
George continues to do the night shift as he always has -- "I'd rather work
nights. There's more money at nights. And you don't have the bosses
around. ... At night people are more in a free spirit."
How does George explain his continued success and good health? Does he
have a secret he would like to pass on? "I smoke two cigars a day," he
answers immediately, with a gleam in his eye. "That keeps the cold germs
away. I never catch cold. It's the best medicine in the world."
Is George looking forward to Christmas? Aren't all doormen!
********
WESTSIDER GREGG SMITH
Founder and conductor of the Gregg Smith Singers
1-28-78
What might you guess about a man who has composed 60 major choral
works, toured the world with his singing group, and recorded 50 albums
including three Grammy Award winners?
If you didn't know anything else about this man, you would probably
guess, first, that he is rich. Then you might imagine that his door is
constantly bombarded by recording agents trying to enlist his talents. And
third, you would probably think that his name is a household word.
But Westsider Gregg Smith has all of the qualifications listed and none of
the imagined results. This is because his music happens to be classical --
a field in which, he says, "a record that sells 10,000 copies is considered
a good hit." Conducting his choral group, the Gregg Smith Singers, who
usually have anywhere from 16 to 32 voices, he performs works spanning
the last four centuries of the Western classical tradition. Gregg writes
most of the arrangements himself. Last year his sheet music sales reached
60,000 copies.
The Gregg Smith Singers specialize in pieces that have been infrequently
performed or recorded. But a more lengthy description of their music can
only tell what it is, not how it sounds. Music speaks for itself better than
any words can describe.
"None of the American composers of today are making a living," says
Gregg, shaking his head. We're sitting in his spacious but unluxurious
apartment near Lincoln Center. "It's a terrible struggle. When people talk
about ghetto areas, let me tell you, no one is more in a ghetto than the
American classical composer. We have more great composers in this
country right now than any other country in the word, and the United
States supports its composers less than any other country. ... They want
so desperately to perform their music. A composer does a piece and gets
a performance in New York, and that may be the last performance it ever
gets."
He leads me to a room lined with shelves, boxes and cabinets filled with
sheet music, some of it in manuscript. This is where Gregg chooses each
new selection for his group. He shrugs at the enormity of the task.
"There are at least 400 new American compositions here, waiting to be
looked at. Probably at least 100 of them are of the highest quality. ...
When we record this type of material, we don't expect to make a profit,
even with the royalties over the years. Classical records are made because
the music needs to be heard. It's a second form of publication. We do it
as a means of getting this music out."
The same economic rule holds true when the Singers do a concert.
Because of the large size of the group and the vast amount of rehearsal
time needed to perfect new works or new arrangements, the box office
receipts don't come close to meeting the expenses. The grants they receive
from the National Endowment for the Arts and the New York State
Council for the Arts are not always sufficient. "Like every one of the arts,
it's a constant deficit operation. At this point, we're not nearly as strong
in fund-raising as in the other aspects."
In spite of the financial pressures, Gregg does manage to provide his
Singers with about 25 weeks of full-time work per year. His group has
gone on a national tour for 15 consecutive years so far. The Singers have
performed in every state except Alaska. They have made four tours of
Europe and one of the Far East. Their typical New York season included
four concerts at Alice Tully Hall and a contemporary music festival in one
of the local churches. This year the three-day festival will be held in St.
Peter's Church located in the Citicorp Center starting on April 20.
A native of Chicago, Gregg attended college in Los Angeles and founded
the Gregg Smith Singers there in 1955. His talent as a conductor and
arranger soon came to the attention of the late Igor Stravinsky, the
Russian-born composer who was then living in California. The pair
eventually recorded more than a dozen albums together. When Stravinsky
died in 1971, Gregg was invited to Venice, Italy, to prepare the chorus
and orchestra for the rites in honor of the late maestro.
In all his travels, Gregg and his wife Rosalind have found no place where
they would feel so much at home as the West Side. "It's a great,
wonderful community for the classical musician," he says. "It's one of the
most vibrant, alive, sometimes terrifying but always exciting, places to
live."
Perhaps Gregg's rarest quality is his unselfishness toward other American
composers. His biggest concern seems to be: how will be manage to get
all their works recorded?
"I have enough important recordings to do," he says in a voice hovering
between joy and frustration, "to keep me busy for five years. That would
mean literally hundreds of thousands of dollars." The money may come
or it may not. But the worth of Gregg Smith, gentleman artist, is beyond
price.
********
EASTSIDER LIZ SMITH
Queen of gossip
3-8-80
Like most of the kids she grew up with in Fort Worth, Texas during the
Great Depression, Liz Smith was star-struck by the movies. "They told
me there was a whole world out there where people were glamorous,
where men and women drank wine with dinner and wore white tie and
tails and drove cars with the tops down and danced on glass floors," she
recalls, smiling dreamily. Her soft, languid accent, dripping with Southern
charm, echoes through the coffee shop at the NBC building in midtown.
Despite her cordiality, she somehow gives the impression of being in a
great hurry. And for good reason: Smith is probably the hardest-working
-- and certainly the most successful -- gossip writer on the East Coast.
Unlike Rona Barrett, the queen of Hollywood gossip, Liz Smith does not
have a large staff, but relies on a single full-time assistant and part-time
"leg man" in California. Nevertheless, she manages to turn out, each
week, six columns for the _New York Daily News_ (syndicated nationally
to more than 60 newspapers), five radio spots for NBC, and two television
spots for WNBC's _Newscenter 4_.
"The minute I get up, I go to work. I get up at about nine, and go right
to work," says Liz. "I look at the paper right quick, and go right to the
typewriter, and work till I finish the column at one. I work in my
apartment because I would never have time to get up and dress and go to
another place. I would never get to meet my deadline. ... I work all the
time. I work a lot on the weekends because that's the only time I can even
vaguely make a stab at catching up. ... I just about kill myself to get
everything done. I don't know if it's worth it."
For all her complaints, Liz believes that gossip-writing is well suited for
her personality. "I can't help it. I'm just one of those people who likes to
repeat a tale," she explains. "I'd be reading every newspaper in America
that I could get my hands on and every book and magazine anyway, even
if I weren't doing this job."
When she was hired by the _Daily News_ in February, 1976 to start her
column, Liz was no stranger to the New York celebrity scene; she had
already been in the city for 26 years, working mainly as a free-lance
writer. "I made a lot of money free-lancing. Even 15 years ago, I never
made less than $25,000 a year." Besides writing for virtually every mass
market publication in America, she spent five years ghostwriting the
Cholly Knickerbocker society column in the old _Journal American_. Her
many contacts among the famous, and the resurgence of interest in gossip,
also helped persuade _Daily News_ editor Mike O'Neill that the paper
could use a gossip column in which the personality of the writer came
through.
Within weeks of her debut, Liz broke some of the sensational details of
Woodward and Bernstein's _The Final Days_, which was about to be
excerpted in _Newsweek_. She added the TV and radio broadcasts to her
schedule in 1978, and avoids duplicating items whenever possible.
Her best sources, says Liz, are other journalists. "Because they know
what stories are. I know a lot of very serious and important writers who
have a lot of news and gossip and rumors and stuff that they don't have
any place to put, so they're apt to give it to me. They have impulses to
disseminate news; I think real reporters do feel that way."
Liz says that, generally speaking, she prefers writers to all other people.
Asked to name some favorites, she bubblingly replies: "Norman Mailer.
I just think Norman is a genius. Oh God, I love so many writers. My
favorite novel recently was Peter Maas' book, _Made in America_. ...
There's Tommy Thompson, who just wrote _Serpentine_. Nora Ephrom,
Carl Bernstein are friends of mine. Norman Mailer is a friend of mine.
Oh, I could go on forever."
An author in her own right, Liz wrote _The Mother Book_ two years ago;
it sold approximately 65,000 copies in hardcover and 200,000 in
paperback. "It kind of wrote itself," she says modestly of the acclaimed
collection of anecdotes about mothers. Someday she would like to try
fiction; at present she is working on a book that she describes as "a
history and philosophy of gossip and what it is and what it's all about."
An Eastsider for half her life, Liz says her neighborhood "has the lowest
crime rate of any police district in New York." Most of the restaurants he
frequents are on the Upper East Side. They include Le Plaisir, Gian
Marino, Szechuan East and Elaine's.
For years she saw her therapist at least once a week; now she pays him
just occasional visits. "It helped me enormously in writing. I quit having
writer's block. I quit putting things off. I quit making myself miserable.
I accepted my success, which was hard, because a lot of writers: they
don't want to succeed. They don't think they deserve it. It's like people
who don't want to be happy.
"Well, I mean you can be happy, you know, if you let yourself, and if
you do your work. The most important thing in the world, I think, is to
do your work. If you do your work, you'll be happy: I'm almost positive
about it."
********
EASTSIDERS TOM & DICK SMOTHERS
Stars of _I Love My Wife_ on Broadway
2-17-79
As the Smothers Brothers, they were perhaps the funniest, most original
American music and comedy team to come out of the 1960s. Their 10
albums sold in the millions, and for three seasons they had the most
controversial show on television, _The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour_.
When CBS abruptly canceled their contract in 1969 for seemingly political
reasons, they became a cause celebre by suing the network and winning
a million dollars in damages. After 18 years of performing together as a
team, they retired their act in December, 1976, saying that their brand of
satire had been "stated," and that repetition would bore them. The
brothers parted on friendly terms, each determined to make his mark
separately as an entertainer.
This past Labor Day, they were reunited as a comedy team -- not on
television or in a nightclub, but on the stage of the Ethel Barrymore
Theatre on West 47th Street, where they instantly breathed new life into
the long-running musical _I Love My Wife_. Cast in the roles of two
would-be wife swappers from Trenton, New Jersey, they insisted on being
billed not as the Smothers Brothers, but as Dick and Tom Smothers.
However, anyone who laments the demise of the Smothers Brothers act
should catch the show before the six-month contract runs out on March 4.
Dick Smothers, as Wally, a smooth-talking pseudo-sophisticate, and Tom
Smothers, as his naive, bumbling friend Alvin, a moving man, wear their
roles as if they had been written for no one else.
"I like theatre and I'm going to do more of it," said Tom, 42, during a
recent dressing room interview after a matinee performance. His brother
Dick, 40, had other plans. "As soon as this show is over, I have to go
back to California and do some bottling for my winery. And I want to do
more auto racing. I race for American Motors. As far as making a career
in acting on Broadway: no. I think I could work at it and become a fairly
decent actor, but while I'm making wine, I want to play in cabaret theatre
and dinner theatre. It's fun, and it keeps you sharp. Broadway isn't a
place you should learn. What we're doing is apprenticing on Broadway.
"But that's how we got our television show," protested Tom. "We'd never
done a television show before."
In spite of the box office success of their Broadway debut, Dick cannot
help feeling disappointed that, as always, he is cast as the straight man.
His character Wally is a foil to the lovable, slow-witted Alvin. "There's
not a whole lot to do with Wally," said Dick, pouring me a glass of his
Smothers white Riesling wine. "The fact is, everyone is pretty locked in
except for Alvin. We're all dancing around him."
Tom's only complaint about the show is that it has put a strain on his
health, and especially on his throat. "This is the first time I've been close
to the edge of anxiety healthwise," he confided, sipping hot tea with
lemon. "As soon as I arrived n New York I got tonsillitis. Now I have
insomnia. Antibiotics really drain your body. I've lost 15 pounds so far.
It's a very demanding part physically."
Both brothers seemed very serious offstage, although Tom went through
his full range of marvelous mug expressions as he answered the questions
and posed for photos. Asked about how his current salary compares to
what he has earned previously, he replied: "Broadway you do for love of
the craft. The money is nothing to what you can make in film. You do it
because not many actors can do theatre." Dick commented: "Some of the
big stars in Las Vegas get 20 to 30 times what we're making. It's the
prestige and the experience."
Tom and Dick were born on Governor's Island in New York Harbor.
Their father, an Army major, died in the Philippines near the end of
World War II. Their mother then took them to the West Coast, and when
Tom was 12, she gave him a guitar. "I wanted to be a bandleader first,
then a comedian," he recalled. "At San Jose State, I was in a trio, and we
needed a tenor. So I got Dickie to come to school." While still in college,
they played their first professional engagement as the Smothers Brothers
at San Francisco's Purple Onion nightclub and got four encores. Before
long, Jack Paar invited them on _The Tonight Show_, and their career
was assured.
One thing that is particularly touching about Tom and Dick Smothers is
the great affection they have for each other. They live in separate Upper
East Side apartments about a mile apart, but Dick drives Tom to the
theatre each day, and they frequently socialize together.
Tom's mind is currently on a 19th-century farce, _Nothing but the Truth_,
which he plans to start rehearsing this fall and hopes to eventually bring
to Broadway. Dick, meanwhile, is thinking more about the jeep he
recently won in a celebrity auto race. "I'm going to drive it home to Santa
Cruz," he commented, with obvious satisfaction. "It has four-wheel drive,
bush guards, a roll bar, and heavy off-road tires. It's perfect for
Manhattan."
********
WESTSIDER VICTOR TEMKIN
Publisher of Berkley and Jove Books
1-26-80
Victor Temkin, who looks like a character out of Dickens and comes
across with the gruff friendliness of television's Ed Asner, is sitting in his
midtown office on Friday afternoon trying to deal with three things at
once. The telephone is jangling, visitors are dropping by unannounced,
and I'm throwing him questions about the publishing business.
What complicates matters is that Mr. Temkin is in the process of moving
his offices to another floor; has ad and his staff of 80 are packing
everything into cardboard boxes, and now it's impossible to find anything.
But the short, pink-faced man with gold-framed spectacles takes it all in
stride. He lights a Lucky Strike, props one hand against his chin, and
explains how he got to be the head of Berkley Books, which has long been
the paperback division of G.P. Putnam.
"I came to New York in 1960 as a lawyer. I became assistant U.S.
attorney in '61. I stayed there till '64," he relates in short bursts of
speech. "Then I went into private practice until September of 1967, when
I got into the book business. I became house counsel at Bantam Books,
and worked my way up, and later became a vice president. I came here
in July of 1977 as president and chief executive officer.
"Since that time, we purchased Jove Books from Harcourt Brace
Jovanovich. It's another paperback house. ... Berkley does largely reprints
of hardcovers, but Jove does exclusively paperback originals. Together,
the two companies put out about 300 or 325 books a year. Of these, 120
are from Jove."
Berkley Books, he admits, is one of the smaller paperback houses, perhaps
sixth or seventh. But the company manages to get its share of best-sellers.
At New Year's two were in the nation's top 10 -- _Mommie Dearest_ by
Christina Crawford and _Nurse_ by Peggy Anderson. _Mommie Dearest_,
says Temkin, "is the first time we've had a story of child abuse at that
level off society, which I think is a great thing for the people to read. It
isn't only poor kids that get beat up, it's the rich kids too -- just as
badly."
In terms of sales and profits, he says, "There's no such thing as an
average book. It depends on what you pay for the advance and what the
cost of manufacturing the book is. ... I can have books sell 50,000 copies
and make a profit, or I can have books sell a million copies and lose
money. ... It's not hard to spend a million dollars on a book. That's easy
to do. The hard thing is to find a book like _Nurse_, where you didn't
pay the million for it and you can sell a million and a half. We jumped in
and bought it early on, before it was a hardcover best-seller."
Berkley's hottest author at present is John Jakes, whose seven-volume
Kent family saga has sold 30 million copies. Jakes' new book, _The
Americans_, is scheduled to be out in February 1980. "The first printing
is over three million copies," says Temkin. "We expect it to be a number
one best-seller.. ... What a great success story. John has been around for
many many years and he's written a lot of books but he's never had the
commercial success until that came along. You can never tell in this
business. That's why we're in it: You don't know what tomorrow's going
to be."
Temkin, who anticipates losing money on seven out of 10 books he
publishes, does frequently travels around the country on business, and
makes it a point to observe what people are reading on buses and in
bookstores. "I think kids today are coming back to books. Because it's the
best form of entertainment there is for the money," he says. "I read a lot.
I try to read two, three books a week. I have a rule that I don't read
books by authors who are friends of mine that I am publishing, because
I know it will be nothing but trouble. ... I can't tell them I don't like a
book, and if I tell them I do like it, they may not believe me. But I like
writers. I enjoy being around them."
A native of Milwaukee, Temkin lives on the West Side with his wife
Susan and their 8-year-old twins, Andrew and Peter. Susan has a busy
career as a caterer who runs her own cooking school for kids.
In December, 1977, Berkley brought out a book about the Jonestown
tragedy, _The Guyana Massacre_ by Charles Krause, which was written,
published and distributed in a single week. "It's instant journalism,"
Temkin explains. "We're going to do a book late in 1980 about the 1980
election, to tell how and why it happened."
He laughs when asked whether his skills as a lawyer have been helpful in
his publishing career. "No, I think I've forgotten most of what I know
about being a lawyer. It's not the same."
********
WESTSIDER JOHN TESH
Anchorman for WCBS Channel 2 News
2-3-79
"I've had a lot of luck in my career," says John Tesh of WCBS Channel
2 News."I enjoy working hard and I know exactly what I want. Who
knows, 10 years from now I may not be that way. A lot of my friends are
afraid I've gone too far too fast."
During the first 18 years of his life, when he lived in Garden City, Long
Island, John was a top student, a star athlete, and a fine musician. After
graduating from high school he left for North Carolina to attend the state
university on a soccer scholarship. His goal -- to become a doctor. But
when John returned to the New York area in 1976 at the age of 24, it was
not as a professional athlete or a physician, but as a television news
reporter. Today, at 27, he is one of the most highly respected young
broadcasters in New York. Throughout the week he appears regularly on
Channel 2's 6 o'clock news as an on-the-scene reporter, and each
Saturday and Sunday he co-anchors both the 6 o'clock and the 11 o'clock
evening news. According to Tesh, his 6 o'clock weekend show is watched
by more people than any other local news program in New York.
As if this job were not enough, last September John opened his own
sporting goods store, Sports Stripes, located on Columbus Avenue at 75th
Street, a few blocks from his apartment. The compact, brightly decorated
store specializes in running equipment and is the only place in New York
City where running shoes can be resoled on the premises.
When I stop by Sports Stripes one afternoon to talk with John over lunch,
the first thing I notice is his sheer size. At 6 foot and 190 pounds, he
makes a commanding presence. There is command in his voice as well;
it is as deep and rich as a Russian bass-baritone's. He seems
extraordinarily calm, and when I comment on this, he says that "there's
not as much pressure in New York as there was then I worked in North
Carolina. Here you're able to concentrate solely on your reporting. There
you were concerned with logistical problems -- shooting the film,
developing it, editing it, selecting slides, producing the broadcast, and
then anchoring it. ... But I'm not as calm as I might appear. I think
people at Sports Stripes and CBS think of me as frenetic."
His entry into broadcasting was totally unplanned. Halfway through
college, he got a part-time job as a copy boy at a local radio station. One
day the station's two newsmen called in sick, and John was asked to fill
in. Instantly bitten by the broadcast journalism "bug," he decided to trade
in his premed courses for television/radio production and political science.
"When I finished college," says John in his low-keyed manner, "I had the
choice of going to medical school or continuing in broadcasting, so I felt
l could go either way. I decided to stay in broadcasting for a while." After
working at television stations in North Carolina, Florida and Tennessee,
he was offered a job at WCBS.
"I would say that most correspondents try to get to New York, because
the production is a lot better here. ... I wouldn't like the anchor job
without the field work," he adds thoughtfully. "I have been told that my
forte is breaking news. Last year I won an Emmy for that. The same year
I won an Emmy for outstanding reporting.
"Unedited, live television is what it's coming to. It's interesting, because
it's come full circle. At one time, everything was live. Then for some
reason it went so heavily into tape, and now it's back into live journalism.
As the public becomes better informed, so changes the news.
"When Fred Cowan was holed up in a warehouse in New Rochelle, and
he had killed at least one police officer and was holding several hostages,
I was in a house across the street from there. We were reporting as it was
happening. There were shots fired; I didn't realize until afterwards how
intense it was."
Asked about which skills are required for live journalism, John says: "I
think it's being able to explain quickly and concisely the situation at hand
without becoming too involved in the situation. Becoming the eyes and
ears of the viewer. Being able to ad-lib is actually what it is. [Walter]
Cronkite is one of the great all-time ad-libbers."
A bachelor who lives alone, John still finds time for sports and music: "I
get enough excitement out of the store and work so that when it's time to
go home I like to be quiet. I have an electric piano, which I play with
headsets. ... I've run two marathons here in New York. I'm too big to be
a good marathon runner, but I do train hard. My ambition is to find some
race to win."
John says he likes the West Side to much that "my friends have to drag
me to the East Side. I do all my shopping on the West Side because I
figure, why shouldn't I help out my friends who live here by shopping at
their stores?" When John decided to open his own store, he called up his
boyhood friend Paul Abbott to run it. The pair were classmates from
grammar school through high school.
John says he hopes to eventually open his own seafood restaurant -- "on
the West Side, of course. This is where I plan to live for the rest of my
life."
********
WESTSIDER RICHARD THOMAS
John-Boy teams up with Henry Fonda in _Roots II_
2-17-79
Seven years ago, on Christmas Day 1972, CBS aired a holiday program
titled _The Homecoming_ about a family living in Appalachia during the
Great Depression. All who were involved in the project went their
separate ways after the filming, including a young actor from the Upper
West Side named Richard Thomas. But it drew such a favorable response
that CBS decided to turn it into a series. The rest is history: _The
Waltons_ became a hit and made Thomas a television superstar.
For five years he charmed his way into American homes as the beloved
John Boy. Then in 1976 he decided to leave _The Waltons_ in order to
concentrate on his marriage, write poetry, do stage acting, perform ballet
and make movies. On February 18, in what is certain to be his most
closely watched performance to date, Richard will star in the first segment
of ABCs _Roots II_, playing the son of a wealthy railroad lawyer (Henry
Fonda) who marries a black schoolteacher. He will appear, to a lesser
extent, on the two following evenings as well, before leaving the scene as
a 54-year-old man.
In an interview at the New York School of Ballet at Broadway and 83rd
Street -- which is owned by his parents, Richard Thomas III and Barbara
Fallis -- he talks enthusiastically about his role in Roots II. "My character
is an actual historical figure," says Richard. "He had just come back from
college and didn't know what he wanted out of life. ... Obviously in 1892
or 3, his marriage was considered a disaster. His wife Carrie was Alex
Haley's first teacher. Her school is still in Tennessee today."
Sporting a newly grown moustache, casually dressed, and still boyish
looking at 27, Richard carries an air of tremendous confidence about him.
Yet his voice changes to one of awed respect when he speaks of Henry
Fonda: "The thing about working with someone like Fonda is that his
presence is so strongly felt that you get caught up in watching him. It's
really uncanny. I had to pinch myself to get back into the scene. And
Olivia de Havilland, who plays my mother -- she's extraordinary, too. We
got along great."
Earlier this year, Richard Performed in the Los Angeles production of
_Streamers_, and also made a TV movie for CBS, _Getting Married_,
which was broadcast last summer. In the late fall, during one of his
frequent trips to the West Side, he donned ballet tights to play the
character role of Hilarion in the U.S. Terpsichore Company's production
of _Giselle_, starring his 19-year-old sister Bronwyn Thomas, one of the
most highly acclaimed young ballerinas in the city.
Richard's parents are both former principal dancers for the New York
City Ballet. They were on tour in Cuba when he was born, and the first
language he learned was Spanish. He began acting at the age of 7.
Growing up on West 96th Street, he attended McBurney High School and
Columbia University.
Although he moved to Los Angeles in 1971, Richard still considers
himself a Westsider. "I just know it like the back of my hand," he says.
"I'm not sure I could live without LA anymore, but whenever I'm here,
I feel completely at home. There's a kind of underground chic on the
Upper West Side that I kind of respond to. I'm very comfortable around
Spanish-speaking people. I speak Spanish, and my wife is part Mexican.
I like the Latin flavor."
He and his wife Alma have been married since 1975; they have a 2-year
old son, also named Richard Thomas. "He talks a blue streak," comments
the proud father. "Sometimes he gets very blue. You have to watch what
you say around him."
In 1994 the young actor published his first book of poetry. Titled simply
_Poems by Richard Thomas_, it won the California Robert Frost Award
the following year. His second volume of poetry, _In The Moment_, is
scheduled for publication by Avon early in 1979.
Another of his prime interests is music. "I'm a big operagoer," he says.
"I'm really partial to Verdi and Wagner, if you have to get it down to
two." He also plays the dulcimer. "When I go to Kentucky this week, I'm
going to call on a man who's one of the great dulcimer makers in the
United States."
The three-stringed mountain instrument, an important component in the
folk music of Appalachia, caught Richard's fancy long ago, during a visit
to his grandfather's Kentucky farm, where he spent many summers as a
boy. Both of his grandparents on his father's side are still living. Like an
episode from _The Waltons_, the family often gathers at the farm on
Thanksgiving Day.
The original _Roots_ was seen by more people than any other program in
the history of television, but Richard does not dwell on his important role
in _Roots II_. He prefers to talk about the fulfillment he has found in
marriage.
"I can't imagine not being married at this point," he says, the thick gold
band gleaming on his finger. "If my marriage weren't happy, I couldn't
make the right kind of career decisions. One supports the other. They're
part of the same package." Does he expect to have more children? Richard
smiles broadly and replies: "That's really my wife's department."
********
EASTSIDER ANDY WARHOL
Pop artist and publisher of _Interview_ magazine
4-7-79
He is the great enigma of American art. Some of his most famous
paintings are exercises in monotony. His movies often put the viewer to
sleep. As a conversationalist, he can be low-keyed to the point of dullness:
speaking softly in a slow-paced, emotionless voice, he relies heavily on
short sentences, long pauses, and an abundance of "ums" and "uhs."
However, he has one asset that overshadows everything negative that
might be said or written about him: his name happens to be Andy Warhol.
The only time I met Warhol in person was at a book publication party
several months ago. He came by himself, spoke to hardly anyone, and
spent most of his brief visit flitting quietly about the room, avoiding
people's eyes and taking snapshots of the more celebrated guests. With his
pale complexion, narrow frame, and hair like bleached straw, he looked
not unlike a scarecrow. Everywhere he went, heads turned to catch a
glimpse. That has been the story of Warhol's life ever since he rose to
international prominence in the 1960s.
Although he did not feel like talking when I met him, Andy -- never
publicity-shy -- agreed to a telephone interview at a later date. Reached
at the offices of his _Interview_ magazine off Union Square, he answered
all my questions briefly, and in a voice so low that he could barely be
heard.
_Interview_, the monthly tabloid-shaped magazine that he publishes, is
Warhol's most visible creative project at the moment. "It's been going for
about seven or eight years," he said. "I started it for Brigid Berlin. Her
father ran the Hearst Corporation. She didn't want to work on it." The
person on the cover of each issue is identified only on the inside, and
many of the faces are difficult to recognize. Some are genuine celebrities,
such as Truman Capote, who has a regular column. Others are young
unknowns who have caught Warhol's fancy. The ultramodern layout
includes many full-page ads for some of the most expensive shops in
Manhattan. The interviews, interspersed with many photos, lean heavily
on show business personalities, models, artists, writers and fashion
people. In most cases, the "interviews" are actually group discussions --
often with Andy himself taking part -- that are printed verbatim. Even the
most mundane comments are not cut.
The reason? "I used to carry a tape recorder with me all the time, so this
was a way to use it," said Warhol. But in truth, the literal transcriptions
are another example of the naturalism that characterizes much of his work.
When he turned his attention from painting and drawing to filmmaking in
1963, he became notorious for such movies as _Sleep_, which showed a
man sleeping for six hours, and _Empire_, which he made by aiming his
camera at the Empire State Building and keeping the film running for
eight straight hours.
According to Warhol, many people have turned down his request for
interviews. "It's hard to get Robert Redford. ... We choose people who
like to talk a lot." The type of reader he seeks to attract is "the rich
audience. People who go to places like Christie's and Fiorucci's. ... It's
fun to go to those places and get invited to parties. I love fashion parties.
Shoe parties are even better."
His affection for shoes dates back to 1949, when, in his first year in New
York, he got a job in the art department of a shoe store. His designs and
magazine illustrations caught on so fast that within a year, he was able to
purchase the town house on the Upper East Side, where he still lives with
his mother. "But mostly I live with my two dachshunds. They've taken
over."
Certain facts abut Andy Warhol's early life remain a mystery because he
has always objected to questions that he considers irrelevant to an
understanding of him as an artist. It is known that he was born somewhere
in Pennsylvania, sometime between 1927 and 1931, to a family of
immigrants from Czechoslovakia named Warhola.
By his mid-20s, Warhol was one of the most sought-after commercial
artists in the field. His silk-screen prints of Campbell's soup cans made
him famous with the general public, and by the mid-1960s he was clearly
the most highly celebrated "plastic artist" -- a title he relishes -- in the
English-speaking world.
In recent years, his creative output has been reduced somewhat, as the
result of the severe wounds he sustained in June, 1968, when a deranged
woman shot him in his office. Nevertheless, he continues to mount gallery
exhibitions, write books and paint portraits. The Whitney Museum (75th
St. at Madison Ave.) will have a show of his portraits in December.
Asked about the East Side, Warhol said that one of his favorite activities
is to go window shopping. "When you live on the East Side, you don't
have to go far. Because usually everything happens here." When he goes
to the West Side, it's often to visit Studio 54. "I only go there to see my
friend Steve Rubell. Afterwards, we usually go to Cowboys and
Cowgirls."
About the only medium that Warhol has not worked in is television. "Oh,
I always wanted to, yeah," was his parting comment. "It just never
happens. The stations think we're not Middle America."
********
EASTSIDER ARNOLD WEISSBERGER
Theatrical attorney for superstars
9-29-79
What do Leonard Bernstein, Helen Hayes, Otto Preminger, Carol
Channing, Truman Capote and George Balanchine have in common?
All are giants in the performing arts. And all are -- or have been -- clients
of Arnold Weissberger, one of the world's foremost theatrical attorneys.
Now in his 50th year of practice, the Brooklyn-born, Westside-raised
Weissberger has been representing stars ever since a chance encounter
brought Orson Welles to his office in 1936.
"Most of my clients are involved in making contracts that have to do with
plays or films or television," says Weissberger on a recent afternoon. The
scene is his small, richly furnished law firm in the East 50s. Dressed in
a dark suit, with a white carnation in his buttonhole to match his white
mustache, Weissberger looks very much like the stereotype of a business
tycoon. "Part of my job," he continues, "is to be familiar with the rules
of guilds and unions. And I have to know about the treaties between
countries that affect the payment of taxes."
Smiling benevolently, his hands folded in front of him, the gentlemanly
lawyer quickly proves himself a gifted storyteller. In his upper-class
Boston accent, acquired during seven years at Harvard, he delights in
telling anecdotes about his favorite performers. Not shy about dropping
names, Weissberger drops only the biggest, such as Sir Laurence Olivier
-- a client who had invited him to lunch the previous day -- and Martha
Graham.
His work is so crowded that whenever he has to read anything that is
longer than three pages, he puts it in his weekend bag. Yet Weissberger
devotes an hour or two every day to one of several philanthropic
organizations. At the top of his list is the Martha Graham Center of
Contemporary Dance, of which he is co-chairman. "I consider her one of
the three great seminal figures in the arts in the 20th century, and I prize
her friendship enormously." The other two outstanding artistic figures of
the century, he says, are "Stravinsky, who it was also my privilege to
represent, and Picasso, who I did not represent."
He serves as chairman of the New Dramatists, a group that nurtures
young playwrights; he is a board member of Fountain House, a halfway
house for ex-mental patients; and he is chairman of the Theatre and Music
Collection of the Museum of the City of New York.
On Monday through Thursday, Weissberger lives in a luxurious Eastside
apartment that he shares with his longtime friend, theatrical agent Milton
Goldman. Each Friday after work, Weissberger departs for Seacliff, Long
Island, where he owns a house overlooking the ocean. Goldman and
Weissberger, whose careers have run a parallel course during the 35 years
of their acquaintance, travel widely each summer, generally spending a
month in London, where both have many clients.
"Our interests are very similar, except that I am an opera buff, and Milton
is not. He's a realist. I started going to opera when I was 10 years old, so
I don't mind if a 300-pound soprano dies of consumption in _Traviata_,
as long as she sings beautifully."
An avid art collector, Weissberger buys only what he has room to display
on the walls of his home and office. For the past 30 years his chief hobby
has been photography. He has published two volumes of his work --
_Close Up_ (1967) and _Famous Faces_ (1971). Although he has never
taken a photography course, and never uses flash, he captures the essence
of his subjects through his rapport with them. "I have discussed the
possibility of doing a photo book of children I've taken around the
world," he notes. "And now, of course, I have enough photos for a
second volume of famous faces."
His vigorous appearance to the contrary, Weissberger claims to get little
exercise. "I have one of those stationary bicycles at home, but I've never
gotten round to using it. And I've got to do so before I next see my
doctor, or I won't be able to face him. ... It's interesting how doctorial
advice changes. I remember several years ago, it was not considered a
good idea for people who were no longer young to climb stairs, and now
my doctor says that climbing stairs is the best thing I can do for my
constitution."
So closely connected are the various aspects of his life that Weissberger
is able to say: "There's no demarcation between my workday and my play
day. People ask me when I'm going to retire, and I say there's no need
for me to retire, because I enjoy my work so much. I become part of
people's lives. I become privy to their problems. It is, in many ways, an
extension, an enhancement of my own life to be able to participate in the
lives of my clients. I remember a few months ago, when Lilli Palmer was
sitting right there, and I said, 'Lilli, what a lucky person I am. I'm having
to do a tax return and I'm doing it for Lilli Palmer.' Because there sat this
beautiful, charming, intelligent, lovely lady, and I was representing her
professionally. For me, I can't think of any profession that could possibly
be more rewarding."
********
EASTSIDER TOM WICKER
Author and columnist for the _New York Times_
6-2-79
Something unusual was happening up ahead: that much he was sure of,
although no sound of gunshots reached Tom Wicker's ears as he rode in
a press bus in the presidential motorcade through the streets of Dallas on
November 22, 1963. Gazing out the window, he observed crowds of
people running about in confusion. Shortly afterward, outside Parkland
Hospital, the full extent of the tragedy was announced to the world, and
Tom Wicker, the only reporter from the _New York Times_ who was
present that day, rushed off to write the biggest story of his career.
Working feverishly through the afternoon, he came up with a 106
paragraph account of the day's events that dominated the _Times'_ front
page the following morning. In decades to come, students and historians
will turn to Wicker's story on microfilm with perhaps a sense of wonder
that it omits no facts of major importance, and contains virtually no
errors.
Tom Wicker was writing for history that day, and largely as a result of
his masterful performance, he was elevated the following year to the
position of the _Times_ bureau chief in Washington. In 1968, he was
appointed associate editor of the newspaper, and in 1971, he returned to
New York in order to concentrate on his column, "In the Nation." For the
past 13 years, the column has appeared three times weekly in the op-ed
page of the _Times._
A tall, ruddy-complexioned, powerful-looking Southerner of 52 with a
country-boy manner and a Carolina accent as thick as molasses, Wicker
has managed to combine his lifelong career in journalism with an
independent career as a book author. The most successful of his seven
novels, _Facing the Lions_, was on the _New York Times_ best-seller list
for 18 weeks in 1973, while his most recent nonfiction work, _On Press:
A Top Reporter's Life in, and Reflections on, American Journalism_, was
published last year by Viking and will soon be released as a paperback by
Berkley.
In an interview at his office in the _Times_ building, the affable, articulate
Wicker responds to an opening question about whether journalists are less
accurate today than in the past by saying, "No, I don't think they ever
were very accurate. It's hard to get pinpoint accuracy under pressure. I
think that's an inherent weakness of daily journalism. But you have to
consider that there are something like eight million words a day coming
in here. It's very tough to double-check all of that by deadline. I think of
journalism as being kind of like an early alert system."
In his column, Wicker has never been told what to write, never had an
article killed or edited, and never been urged to conform to the _Times_
editorial policy.
Some of his pieces look best in retrospect -- for example, the three
columns he wrote in September and October 1977 about the dangers of
storing nuclear waste. The sympathy with which he treated the prison
death of convict George Jackson in a 1971 column caught the attention of
inmates everywhere, and during the uprising at New York's Attica prison
later that year, he was called in as a mediator and official observer. His
book about the uprising, _A Time To Die_, (1975), won him two major
literary awards and was made a Book of the Month Club selection.
An engaging public speaker who travels widely, he spent two months in
Africa last year. At present, he is preparing a long article on Richard
Nixon that will appear in the _Sunday Times_ magazine this August to
coincide with the fifth anniversary of the ex-president's resignation.
Asked for his opinion on the seeming resurgence of Nixon as a public
figure, Wicker smiles and says, "I'm sure Al Capone could have drawn
a crowd the day he got out of prison. I don't think Nixon has been
revived. He never was dead in that sense. He left the White House under
a cloud, yet he retained, I am sure, millions of people who supported him.
... I myself have always discounted these reports that some future
Republican president might appoint him a sort of roving ambassador. As
far as his giving speeches at big colleges is concerned, I think that's all
right. He may have made mistakes, but I myself would find it very
interesting to read an article by Richard Nixon about foreign affairs. I
think he's a man of intelligence and knowledge in this area."
For the past five years, Wicker has been married to Pamela Hill, vice
president of ABC News and executive producer of the network's
documentary productions. They live in a four-story brownstone on the
Upper East Side. Though both enjoy cooking, their busy schedules call for
many visits to local restaurants.
Wicker's next book is a historical novel about the American Civil War
that he has been researching for several years. "It probably won't be
completed until 1981," he says, "but I expect it to be the best book I have
ever done. It's certainly the one I'm putting the most effort into. At the
same time, the column is my first priority. That's the clock I punch. ...
My experience is, the more you write, the better you get at it. It's a
business in which you keep sharpening your tools all the time."
********
EASTSIDER TOM WOLFE
Avant-garde author talks about _The Right Stuff_
10-6-79
During New York City's newspaper strike of 1963, a 31-year-old _Herald
Tribune_ reporter named Tom Wolfe visited California in order to write
an article for _Esquire_ magazine about the souped-up, customized cars
and the crowd they attracted. When _Esquire's_ deadline arrived, Wolfe
was unable to pull the article together, so he typed out his largely
impressionistic notes and sent them to the editor, who decided to run "The
Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby" exactly as written.
Thus was Tom Wolfe established as one of the most important new talents
in American journalism.
Today he is generally recognized as the foremost proponent of what might
be called the nonfiction short story. The majority of his eight books are
collections of factual articles written in the style of fiction. His latest
effort, _The Right Stuff_ (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, $12.95), is about the
seven Mercury astronauts and the world of military flying. Over cocktails
at the Isle of Capri, a restaurant not far from his Eastside apartment, the
slender, gentlemanly, and slightly bashful author spoke at length about his
new book and a dozen other subjects. Dressed in a one-button,
swallowtail, yellow pinstriped suit -- "it's kind of an early Duke of
Windsor" -- he poured forth his colorful phrases in a rich, soothing,
mildly Southern accent that rang with sincerity.
"I began this book in 1972, when _Rolling Stone_ asked me to go down
to the Cape and cover Apollo 17. Somewhat to my surprise, I became
quite interested in the whole business of: what's the makeup of someone
who's willing to sit on top of a rocket and let you light the candle? And
I ended up writing four stories for _Rolling Stone_ ... in about a month.
And I thought if I spent a couple of months in expanding them, I'd have
a book. Well, it's now 1979 and here we are." He laughed heartily. "It
was so difficult that I put it aside every opportunity I had. I wrote three
other books in the meantime, to avoid working on it.
"I ended up being more interested in the fraternity of flying than in space
exploration. I found the reactions of people and flying conditions much
more fascinating. So the book is really about the right stuff -- the code of
bravery that the pilots live by, and the mystical belief about what it takes
to be a hot fighter jock.
"Flying has a competitive structure that's as hotly contested as the world
of show business. And the egos are just as big -- in fact, in a way, they're
bigger. ... It's hard to top surgeons for sheer ego. I think surgeons are the
most egotistical people on the face of the earth, but pilots usually make
the playoffs: they're in there."
An excellent caricaturist who has published hundreds of drawings and
mounted several major exhibitions, he confessed to being vain about his
artwork because "I don't feel as sure of myself as I do in writing." A
book of his drawings will come out in 1980. He also has a captioned
drawing each month in _Harper's_, the magazine where his wife Sheila
works as art director. Tom was a lifelong bachelor until they were
married last year.
He arrived in New York in 1962, armed with a Ph.D. from Yale and
three years' experience on the _Washington Post_. "I really love it in New
York. It reminds me of the state fair in Virginia, where I grew up. ... The
picture of the East Side really is of the man living in the $525,000 co-op,
leaving the building at night with his wife, both clothed in turtleneck
sweaters with pieces of barbed wire and jeans, going past a doorman who
is dressed like an Austrian Army colonel from 1870."
No relation to the novelist Thomas Wolfe, Tom Wolfe has written only
one short piece of fiction in his life. He is now thinking about writing "a
_Vanity Fair_ type of novel about New York" as his next major
undertaking. In the meantime, he is working on a sequel to _The Painted
Word_, his book-length essay abut modern art that appeared in 1975.
"Another thing I'd like to try is a movie script," he added. "I've done one
-- a series of vignettes about life in Los Angeles. ... But many talented
writers just go bananas in trying to write for the movies. Because they're
not in charge of what they're doing. All that a good director can do is
keep from ruining the script. He cannot turn a bad script into a good
movie. He can turn a good script into a bad movie. And often, I think, it
happens, because the director is given a power that he simply should not
have."
Another possible project, said Wolfe, is a second volume of _The Right
Stuff_, to bring the story up to the $250 million Soviet-American
handshake in 1975. The 436-page first volume has been received with
acclaim. In the _New York Sunday Times_ book review, C.D.B. Bryan
wrote: "It is Tom Wolfe at his very best. ... It is technically accurate,
learned, cheeky, risky, touching, tough, compassionate, nostalgic,
worshipful, jingoistic -- it is superb."
* * *