By Pauline Masson –
If you are one of those people that lets name dropping get on your nerves, don’t read this.
I’m just having a bout of Christmas memories that toggles between, silent movies, symphony concerts and famous and near famous that I’ve rubbed elbows with. And I wanted to write it down before I forget.
What triggered this absolute kaleidoscope of nostalgic moments was an announcement in the New York Times that for three consecutive nights, December 20-22, Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra Conductor David Newman will conduct John Williams’ score in the 1990 movie, Home Alone, along with a full screening of the blockbuster film, with a live orchestra.
That is the way they used to see movies in the days of silent films. In small theaters like the Royal in Pacific – which was one of America’s early movie houses – a single pianist at the front of the audience played music to accompany the non-talking movie. But in the big movie houses in New York and Paris – and even St. Louis – the silent movie was accompanied by a full orchestra playing rousing, or sentimental music to accompany what was happening in each scene. That’s what they will recreate in L.A. in couple of weeks.
The newspaper announcement reminded me that, as a resident of Los Angeles, I experienced this one Christmas. When I heard that movie director Francis Ford Coppola planned to show his restored version of the 1927 silent movie Napoleon on wide screen and his father Carmine would conduct a full 60-piece orchestra in a score that he had composed for the four-hour film, I was curious. They expected a larger crowd than the local movie houses could hold so they rented one of the biggest halls in L.A. for the event.
Everybody who was anybody in L. A. came. Autograph collectors had a field day as they stood outside watching which celebrities showed up. This was before the cell phone selfie. Groups of fans stood in front of the playbill, or a celebrity they happened to stall, for a photo to prove that they had been there.
Even in L. A., where there are arguably more famous people per capita than anywhere on earth, some people are more famous than others. For the 23 years I lived there I often spotted the famous and the almost famous across a restaurant or checkout lane.
After I joined a monthly book club that met for lunch at the Beverly Hilton Hotel in Beverly Hills, I got a closer look.
A lady named Edna Lilich Davidson organized and moderated the book club meetings. She had the ingenious ability to bring the authors of the books of the month to the meeting to talk to the members.
Jolie Gabor, mother of Zsa Zsa and Eva was a regular. When one or both of her star daughters joined her there was always a titter of excitement in the room. Eva once gave one of her famous wigs to an individual at each table. The recipient was identified by a ticket under the seat. I won the wig at my table.
Steve Allen came twice while I was a member, both times as an author. And to our delight he chose a seat at the journalists’ table. On the first visit he talked about the complexity of where creativity came from and I told him about the antics of my musician son Joe. On the second visit, three years later, he again ended up at our table. As he greeted each person at the table, he turned to me and said,”how is Joe doing?”
Actor Richard Thomas of ‘John Boy’ fame became my favorite famous person of all time. He came to talk about his book of poetry. Someone had brought along an eleven-year-old singer actress, who, was currently cast as the stand-in for the star of the musical, Annie. On the day before the meeting she had to fill in for the star in her first public performance. She was so shy she could hardly talk – tongue tied by the presence of all those over dressed old people. But Richard Thomas, seated one table away from her, realized her discomfort and came to the rescue, showing that grace and fame can coincide. He included the frightened girl – I think her name was Amy – in his talk on his poems. Each comment gave him an opportunity to say her name and nod in her direction in his best ‘John Boy,’ big brother stance. “Amy and I share this experience,” he said in his casual dinner table tone. As the famous star spoke, identifying her as an equal, the tiny girl’s shoulders relaxed. Her eyes shone. By the end of his talk she was remarkably at home in her newfound fame.
Charlton Heston came to talk about his biography. He began by reassuring the mostly female book club members that he was different than many famous actors – he had never, not ever, not once cheated on his wife of thirty years. He was able to capitalize on that when the line formed at a table that was set up to sell his book.
Other authors who came through the years were Ozzie Nelson, Buddy Ebsen, Pamela Mason – who insisted on a raised table off to the side where she sat alone, refusing to muddle with the hoi poloi. Edward G. Robinson came to talk about a book on his art collection, offering the parting shot that, “No picture is as good as a good Cuban cigar.”
Zubin Mehta, conductor of the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra was a regular at the monthly book fest. Zubin was a beautiful and beautifully decked out Indian man, who was widely sought after to join a table. But – it was on one occasion when Zubin brought along a special guest that my understanding of fame changed.
Any meeting when Zubin stepped into the well lighted doorway, which was clearly visible to everyone in the room, and paused to look over the assemblage to choose his table, there were always nods, smiles and whispers. “Umm. Zubin’s here.” But on that one occasion when Zubin stepped forward and his father Mehli Mehta came into view behind, a deafening silence sucked all the air out of room. A hush of show stopping proportion ensued. Everyone caught their collective breath. Then every book lover in the room rose to their feet. And I mean everyone. The regular attendees, a U S Admiral, authors, the famous and near famous stood in a collective homage to a luminary that few, if any, of us had ever seen perform. It still makes the skin my arms tingle.
Mehli was the founder of the Bombay Symphony Orchestra, music director and conductor of the American Youth Symphony, and father of New York Philharmonic Music Directors Zubin and Zarin Mehta.
Being a midwestern girl of modest background I didn’t know all that. But in this season of reliving big moments, I still feel the glow of that entrance.
There is one local event that tumbles into this hodgepodge of symphony memories.
Mary Beth and Bob Schmidt once treated my husband Bob and me, and about twenty others to a Christmas performance of the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra at Powell Hall. Richard Hayman, St. Louis Pops conductor was the headliner.
I don’t know if Bob and Mary Beth knew of my Bob’s harmonica playing. But Bob knew who Richard Hayman was and told our crowd that Hayman was famous as harmonica players go. He was known for his rendition of Ruby, and is the only musician anywhere to record a number one hit on the harmonica.
“Maybe he’ll play Ruby,”Bob said.
And sure enough, he did. About half way through the Christmas concert, Hayman reached into his jacket pocket and took out his harmonica and treated the high brow crowd to a harmonica rendition of Ruby.
Our crowd gave Bob a collective thumb’s up. But, hey, he was used to celebrities playing the harmonica. As a member of the St. Louis Harmonica Club he huffed and puffed with fellow harmonica club members, music publisher Mel Bay and Cardinals slugger Stan Musial.
How’s that for name dropping?
What a great story!! Thank you for sharing!