Spoke PAUL NEWMAN

Celebrity endorsements or protests of political figures or views exploded during the Viet Nam Conflict. Nothing like what is going on the 2020 presidential race, but something totally unseen in the US before then.

Before WWII there was the Isolationist Movement with Charles Lindbergh as the figurehead; but after Pearl Harbor, the movement disappeared. Even Lindbergh volunteered to fight for the Allies. Turned down by the Army Air Corps, he was hired as a civilian advisor. Countless celebrities expressed their views by action, entering the War via draft or volunteering. Their actions better than words.

The Korean Conflict, America’s Forgotten War, received little media attention, let alone public concern. The American Legion and the VFW took a lot of soul searching and time before they accepted the fact that the participants were actual foreign war veterans and could become members. The US and the other countries involved did so under the auspices of the UN because of the Domino Theory, fear that if the Communists weren’t stopped in Korea, they would hit Japan next. The biggest Celeb attention came from the TV show M.A.S.H. filmed years later.

And then came Viet Nam. A civil war of words and protests broke out. Household names, personified by John Wayne on the right and Jane Fonda on the left, voiced their opinions on the involvement like never before. One side used the Domino Effect and patriotism, ‘My Country Right Or Wrong’, as the base of their arguments. The other pointed out that it was a Civil War fought to end French Imperialism and has nothing to do with the US. In short, we were involved in an unjust war.

Did the dueling names have any influence with their public views? Perhaps. The US involvement continued in spite of government lies and illegal acts, and the Draft was changed to add a numbering system; and finally our government yelled ‘Uncle’ and withdrew. Today the Communist country of Viet Nam is a prime trading partner of the US.

Did their views harm the careers of the endorsers? Well, in spite of history proving him wrong, the career of the outspoken John Wayne actually got a much needed boost; that and the fact that he finally learned how to act instead of just being the Duke over and over. It also gave him another military-hero movie to proclaim his patriotic spirit and remind people of his bravery in WWII…films.

Jane Fonda’s career nose-dived; not because of her protesting per se, but it’s extreme. She went into the capital, Hanoi, of the enemy our military was fighting. She cavorted in her photo-ops just a few miles from where American POWs, American heroes, were encaged. Her actions were not only in poor taste, they bordered on treason. It took many years and a lot of exercise tapes before she regained a career as the excellent actress she was prior and still is.

The Viet Nam draft was geared toward the lower middle class and minorities. Those of wealth and fame were passed over by the local Draft Boards. The most notable exception was Mohammad Ali, the Heavyweight Boxing Champion of the World.

Ali was vocal in his refusal to fight in Viet Nam on religious and civil rights grounds. He said he did not believe a man should kill another man. He also asked why should he shoot brown people who never did him any harm when nothing is being done in his own country to protect the rights of dark skinned citizens from civil abuse. He was found guilty of refusing the decision of his draft board, and the government of the United States stripped him of his World boxing title. He didn’t lose it like he won it, in the ring. It was a World title but the US, and the US alone, took the title from him. To hell with the rest of the world.

The US Supreme Court, by an 8 to 0, vote over-ruled the guilty decision. Ali, a few years later, won back his World Title the way he first earned it, in the boxing ring.

There were no celebs fighting Viet Nam at the time but many of the veterans of the fighting became famous afterwards…men like Oliver Stone and Kris Kristofferson saw action and translated their experience into movies and music.

Some, like ex-VP John Kerry, went and fought in Nam, earned a chestful of medals, came home and then protested the war.

Student deferments were one way of avoiding the draft. Some like ex-Pres Bill Clinton used the deferments in the right way. He finished near the top of his class in Columbia, did two years at Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar, and finished near the head of the class in Yale law school.

Others needed a little help. Ex-VP Dick Cheney, a hawk who pushed for our attacking Iraq and Afghanistan among other things, lost his deferment when he flunked out of Yale. Faced with a One- A physical, he quickly entered the U of Wyoming and managed to keep up enough grades to avoid the draft.

Money and pull also helped. Wayne LaPierre, of NRA fame, was in trouble until his rich daddy found a doctor who stated that Wayne had a nervous condition. This phobia would prevent him from ...wait for it.. ever firing a gun.

When it looked like ex-VP Dan Quail was about to be drafted, his father managed to get him in the Indiana National Guard HQ, even though this perfect refuge was full at the time.

Ex-Pres H.W. Bush, a true WWII hero, had no sons drafted. His one son, ex-Pres George W. Bush, a true war hawk who was responsible for our invading 2 innocent countries that had nothing to do with the 9/11 attack on the US, managed to avoid real military service through pull. He got into the air wing of the Texas National Guard and was trained as a jet fighter pilot. His lack of good aptitude and his poor attendance would have 86ed most other trainees, but he managed to receive millions of dollars worth of training; and He would have saw action if Texas ever was under attack but…

Oh, also he skipped out of the last several months of his service requirement to work in a senate election race in Alabama. Still he was given an honorable discharge.

Many avoided the draft by pretending insanity. The rocker/NRA poster boy/reality TV hunter, Ted Nugget tells the most disgusting story of how he ‘fooled’ the docs about to give him his physical. It’s on the net but if you have a weak stomach I would suggest not reading it.

And some like ex-mayor, Guiliani, avoided it under never-explained-circumstances. But then so much he does is impossible to explain.

Europe was one refuge for draft dodgers. Sylvester Stallion, who like John Wayne, is an actor who fought a lot of battles…in films only. He didn’t bother to report to his draft board when he turned 18 and went to be a ski instructor in the Alps instead. While his fellow Americans were being shot at, Stallion was enjoying himself earning his nickname, The Italian Stallion. And bragged about it. But unlike another well known draft dodger who fought the battle of avoiding VD and bragged about it, Stallion never called those who did fight ‘Losers”.

Mitt Romney, who backed every war except the one he have had to see action in, took advantage of slow draft board and went to Europe on a Mormon door-knocking mission.

Although almost 100,000 American males went to Canada to escape the draft and or deserted the service itself, there no celebs among them.

ExPres Jimmy Carter, a US Naval Academy grad, who served seven years in active service, five of which were in submarines, and who left the service only because his father died and he had to go back to the family business, ran for the presidency vowing to pardon all Viet Nam era draft dodgers. And always true to his word, Carter pardoned them all on the day after he took the oath of office. Carter was a one term president. Many vets said they voted against him because of his pardoning the draft dodgers. Wonder how many of these same vets voted for Trump.

Only about half of exiles choose to return to the US where a military record or lack of one meant a great deal in obtaining work. Government work, and some private employers, gave preference to military veterans. If a man had no military history employers wanted to know why. If a man had been in the military, the need for proof of an honorable discharge was required. The thought of a draft dodger getting elected to public office was out of the question…or so we thought.

Does it help? It certainly can’t hurt as long as the celeb that is doing the endorsing is a little higher than a has-been D-Lister, or an organization such as the Taliban.

Is it fair? I’ll defer that question to Paul Newman, outstanding actor/idol, and such a strong advocate of liberal politics and politicians that he made the FBI Enemies List in the Viet Nam Era.

When I was in charge of the stage of Northrop Auditorium early 60s, several times a week prominent speaker was booked for a free noon- speaking engagement. No tickets. No ushers.

The speakers were from all fields, but in those days, the ones that spoke out against Viet Nam involvement and the one pro-Civil Rights were the most popular; but none so popular as a symposium consisting of two pro Viet Nam advocates and two anti Viet Nam Advocates, one of the later was Paul Newman, and a moderator.

Unlike the usual audience of less than a thousand, this one was standing-room -only on the main floor with young ‘ladies’ elbowing their way up the aisles to get closer to the stage, and the balcony was almost half full also. At least 4,000.

It was a well informed and interesting hour, even if most of the audience only listened when Paul Newman spoke. When it wasn’t his turn to speak, he sat listening intently, all the while chewing on his gum. Paul Newman Cool.

I and my student crew had constructed a TV ‘studio’ backstage for a Paul Newman press interview after I pulled the stage curtain shut. Everything went well until one of the TV reporters asked him if he didn’t think it was fair that a famous celebrity like Newman should get involved in something as important as the Viet Nam War. People might agree with him only because he’s a movie star.

I swear the temperature rose ten degrees. Those famous blue eyes blazed. He took out his gum and threw it in a waste basket. He stood up… and Paul Newman spoke.

I can’t quote him verbatim but I can relate the gist of his speech: I am an American man with the right of Freedom of Speech. I am a father with a son that I hope will never have to fight in a war as unjust as this one. I am not a black man, but I am part Jewish and know that we must fight for Civil Rights and condemn the racial and religious hatred that persists in this country.

I am an actor and most people will listen more to me than to a truck driver or farmer, or even a clergyman. Not only is it fair for me to make my views public, it is my obligation. Whether or not they listen and believe in my viewpoint is immaterial. At least I might have opened the door to a different side of the argument than what they are use to listening to. And if I am just singing to the choir I am letting them know that I agree with the songs they are singing.

Thus spoke Paul Newman.

(A little aside from the topic.)

Many of the young ladies in the audience were not interested in going to their next class. They wanted to hang around Northrop to get a glimpse or better yet an autograph of Paul Newman. When one of my student crew was locking up the main auditorium a young lady whispered him aside. She offered him five bucks if he would get the gum that Paul Newman was chewing on. He dug it out of the trash can and sold it to her. Then he and another crew member got a couple packs of gum and after chewing a stick, would offer it in a very discreet manner to a waiting fan. I heard later they started asking ten bucks but dropped it down to five if a phone number came with it. I often wonder what happened to those two bandits. Probably became Social Media zillionaires.)

I purposely tried to avoid any mention of ‘he-whose-name-must-not-be-mentioned’ before, even though he is the most famous draft-dodger at this time, because he is beyond being just a chicken-hawk draft dodger. The way he speaks about veterans, their families, the fact he has done nothing about his good friend, Putin, paying on bounty to the Taliban to kill American military, the fact that both Putin and the Taliban are endorsing him… how can anyone who served vote for such a treasonous person is beyond me. Commander-In-Chief!

And how anybody can vote for a hate-filled who backs the would-be-nazis that are coming out of the sewer at his instigation. Lock Him, (and his friends),Up.

Or vote for one who sees over 200,000 deaths of citizens he swore to protect with the phrase, ‘It is what it is’. As one who moves from bleach injections as a cure to killing off the weak and old ones in the herd. ‘They are what they are’!!!

Enough! Please!

Wrap it.

Stay Safe.

And pray that the sun will shine again.

Oh! P.S. If you are offered a deal on an old wad of chewing gum purported to have been Paul Newman’s, don’t bite, it might be a scam.

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COFFEE WITH ALI

This is a reblog of a post I did June/8/2014, right after Muhammad Ali died.

It recalls an isle of calm for me in the sea of fire. Civil Rights Protests. Anti-Vietnam Protests. Looting, destruction, and shouts of blame from both side of the political aisle.

When this incident took place, we had Hope. We knew that once things calmed down the Civil Rights would take hold in fact not just word. And we knew that we would never go to a War again unless it was really needed, and we would never allow the War to last very long.

But like the song says: ‘We were young and foolish.’

I need an isle of calm today so I brought it out and read it. So topical! Topical in that it follows my Dalton Trumbo posts regarding a man standing up for his beliefs, only to be persecuted by politicians whose only belief is pandering to the lowest common denominator. So topical! I wish today’s violent ‘protesters’ could hear the words of Muhammad Ali, a man known for his violent art, speak with the wisdom of Martin Luther King, a man known for his non-violent speech.

There was this old bulll standing in the middle of the railroad track and far away the train was comng fast. But that old bull just stood there and the people all admired the old brave bull. And the train blew a warning…anotherand another as it came full steam head on. And the people oohed and aahed because that old bull never flinched. Just stood his ground…And…

And all those people that oohed and aahed when the brave bull was standing tall in the center of the tracks, just looked around at what was left of him scattered in little pieces for a good miles, yup, all those people who called that bull brave a short time before changed their tune.

Boy, was that bull ever stupid,” they said, and walked away.’

Thus spoke Muhammad Ali talking about Violent Protesting.

Today I have Hope. I believe that when the stupidity of the politicians is removed from the equation, the genius of our medical scientists will find a cure and a vaccine for the Virus. As far as the Civil Rights issue is concerned…Hatred and genocide are embedded deep in the history of this country.

ali rip            The Champ and I spent the better part of an hour, just the two of us, talking and drinking coffee in the stagehands’ room, my office, at Northrop Auditorium at the University of Minnesota.

I called him Champ, even though he no longer had the belt, lost it, not in the boxing arena, but in the political area.He was on a lecture tour, Pro  Civil Rights, Anti  Viet Nam Involvement. Although the latter was the stated reason for taking away his right to be called World Champion, the former had earned him powerful enemies, just as it did for Martin Luther King. Overlooked by the main stream press, the Champ had a third point he stressed, namely Anti Violence. After his speech at Northrop, there was to be  an interview and a Q&A with reporters from TIME. Finally what he was actually saying was  more important than his celebrity status.

Today Americans accept his views; but in the late 60’s, these views were tinder for the fires that were spreading out across the land. But the Champ spoke his piece and stood his ground even though it was highly controversial and had cost him greatly. It wasn’t that he was wrong, it was just that he was ahead of his time. I had always felt strong about Civil Rights; but it really wasn’t until our status in Nam changed from advisory to full scale combative, that I took a better look and decided against us being there.

When the Champ and his welcoming committee walked backstage, he commented on the aroma of coffee coming from the open door of my room. One of the committee said he would run to Dinky Town and get him some coffee. I told the Champ that I would be glad to bring him a cup in his dressing room. He nixed both offers and instead said he wanted to go in the room, drink coffee and relax. When some of committee tried to follow us in, he held up hand. He told them to stay out, close the door, and see to it that nobody bothered him until he came out.

He commented that he realized they meant well, but he was getting tired of the constant ‘meaning well’ pressure of people. He said he was tired of the tour, tired of being away from home, his wife, and especially his little baby girl, Maryum, his first child. He slumped down in the chair, and when I handed him a cup of the fresh coffee, he raised the cup in thanks. I respected his need for silence.

In those days, boxing was followed much more than today. Early TV had free major matches weekly. And sitting across from me was a boxer I had followed since his Olympic days. I remembered listening to a radio as he did something nobody thought he would, take the title away from Sonny Liston. Oh, there was no way I would have called him the ‘Greatest’ at that time. His best was yet to come.

But, that day, I was more in awe of him as a great human being than a great athlete. It takes a brave person to stand up for one’s beliefs the way he did and at what cost.

When he finally did break his silence in the room, he spoke of being afraid his little girl, Maryum, wouldn’t even know her daddy, because he was away so much. She wasn’t even a year old yet, and he heard that the first year of a baby’s life was so important in their life. And she wouldn’t even know her daddy.

I assured him she would know her daddy, even though she wasn’t seeing much of him at this time. I told how I had worked two jobs for years, and now at Northrop, I was averaging over eighty hours a week, and my sons, only four at that time, always knew their daddy. He had nothing to worry about. He smiled and said he hoped so.

He opened his wallet and took out several pictures of his little Maryum and asked if I had any pictures of my sons. He looked at my pictures and wasn’t satisfied until he remembered their names and could match the name with the right boy.

We didn’t talk about his boxing career, about civil rights, and about his refusal to be drafted. We just talked. There was no chucking or jiving, no boasting and poetry on his part. His public image was set aside and he presented his personal side. Just two men, two fathers, talking, taking the time to know a little about each other.

He was interested in what went on at Northrop. I told him about the various attractions: lectures, music, dance, even a week each May of seven different Metropolitan operas on tour and how much work and how many stagehands it took to put them on. The Metropolitan Opera was familiar to him because of where the building was in relation to Madison Square Garden.

We did touch on boxing when I mentioned that recently Paul Newman had been at Northrop talking against our involvement in Viet Nam, the Champ told how much he liked Newman playing Rocky Graziano in SOMEBODY UP THERE LIKES ME.

I related how I got so excited watching Sugar Ray Robinson defending his crown against Graziano on TV, that I knocked over and broke a lamp. He laughed and asked who I was rooting for, and I told him Sugar Ray, my favorite boxer. He said Sugar Ray was his favorite too.

The time flew by. He finished off his second cup of coffee, thanked me, and followed as I led him to his dressing room. Naturally, his committee followed also, ready at his beck and call for anything he might want, or anything they think he might want. As much as I admired the man that day, I wouldn’t have traded places with him. I could see one of the reasons he was tired and just wanted to go home and play with his baby.

My coffee with Ali took place almost a half century ago. I remember seeing his arm raised in victory many times. I remember seeing his arm raised as he lit the Olympic torch. And I remember he raised his cup in thanks for my coffee. I was so fortunate to have sat and had a quiet talk with the man now referred to as ‘The Greatest’.

R.I.P. CHAMP

There were event entering into this story and after; but I will save them for another time. Right now I am too sad because he is no longer with us.

COFFEE WITH ALI

ali rip            The Champ and I spent the better part of an hour, just the two of us, talking and drinking coffee in the stagehands’ room, my office, at Northrop Auditorium at the University of Minnesota.

I called him Champ, even though he no longer had the belt, lost it, not in the boxing arena, but in the political area.He was on a lecture tour, Pro  Civil Rights, Anti  Viet Nam Involvement. Although the latter was the stated reason for taking away his right to be called World Champion, the former had earned him powerful enemies, just as it did for Martin Luther King. Overlooked by the main stream press, the Champ had a third point he stressed, namely Anti Violence. After his speech at Northrop, there was to be  an interview and a Q&A with reporters from TIME. Finally what he was actually saying was  more important than his celebrity status.

Today Americans accept his views; but in the late 60’s, these views were tinder for the fires that were spreading out across the land. But the Champ spoke his piece and stood his ground even though it was highly controversial and had cost him greatly. It wasn’t that he was wrong, it was just that he was ahead of his time. I had always felt strong about Civil Rights; but it really wasn’t until our status in Nam changed from advisory to full scale combative, that I took a better look and decided against us being there.

When the Champ and his welcoming committee walked backstage, he commented on the aroma of coffee coming from the open door of my room. One of the committee said he would run to Dinky Town and get him some coffee. I told the Champ that I would be glad to bring him a cup in his dressing room. He nixed both offers and instead said he wanted to go in the room, drink coffee and relax. When some of committee tried to follow us in, he held up hand. He told them to stay out, close the door, and see to it that nobody bothered him until he came out.

He commented that he realized they meant well, but he was getting tired of the constant ‘meaning well’ pressure of people. He said he was tired of the tour, tired of being away from home, his wife, and especially his little baby girl, Maryum, his first child. He slumped down in the chair, and when I handed him a cup of the fresh coffee, he raised the cup in thanks. I respected his need for silence.

In those days, boxing was followed much more than today. Early TV had free major matches weekly. And sitting across from me was a boxer I had followed since his Olympic days. I remembered listening to a radio as he did something nobody thought he would, take the title away from Sonny Liston. Oh, there was no way I would have called him the ‘Greatest’ at that time. His best was yet to come.

But, that day, I was more in awe of him as a great human being than a great athlete. It takes a brave person to stand up for one’s beliefs the way he did and at what cost.

When he finally did break his silence in the room, he spoke of being afraid his little girl, Maryum, wouldn’t even know her daddy, because he was away so much. She wasn’t even a year old yet, and he heard that the first year of a baby’s life was so important in their life. And she wouldn’t even know her daddy.

I assured him she would know her daddy, even though she wasn’t seeing much of him at this time. I told how I had worked two jobs for years, and now at Northrop, I was averaging over eighty hours a week, and my sons, only four at that time, always knew their daddy. He had nothing to worry about. He smiled and said he hoped so.

He opened his wallet and took out several pictures of his little Maryum and asked if I had any pictures of my sons. He looked at my pictures and wasn’t satisfied until he remembered their names and could match the name with the right boy.

We didn’t talk about his boxing career, about civil rights, and about his refusal to be drafted. We just talked. There was no chucking or jiving, no boasting and poetry on his part. His public image was set aside and he presented his personal side. Just two men, two fathers, talking, taking the time to know a little about each other.

He was interested in what went on at Northrop. I told him about the various attractions: lectures, music, dance, even a week each May of seven different Metropolitan operas on tour and how much work and how many stagehands it took to put them on. The Metropolitan Opera was familiar to him because of where the building was in relation to Madison Square Garden.

We did touch on boxing when I mentioned that recently Paul Newman had been at Northrop talking against our involvement in Viet Nam, the Champ told how much he liked Newman playing Rocky Graziano in SOMEBODY UP THERE LIKES ME.

I related how I got so excited watching Sugar Ray Robinson defending his crown against Graziano on TV, that I knocked over and broke a lamp. He laughed and asked who I was rooting for, and I told him Sugar Ray, my favorite boxer. He said Sugar Ray was his favorite too.

The time flew by. He finished off his second cup of coffee, thanked me, and followed as I led him to his dressing room. Naturally, his committee followed also, ready at his beck and call for anything he might want, or anything they think he might want. As much as I admired the man that day, I wouldn’t have traded places with him. I could see one of the reasons he was tired and just wanted to go home and play with his baby.

My coffee with Ali took place almost a half century ago. I remember seeing his arm raised in victory many times. I remember seeing his arm raised as he lit the Olympic torch. And I remember he raised his cup in thanks for my coffee. I was so fortunate to have sat and had a quiet talk with the man now referred to as ‘The Greatest’.

R.I.P. CHAMP

There were event entering into this story and after; but I will save them for another time. Right now I am too sad because he is no longer with us.

CAPOTE AT NORTHROP

 (Or: How I Embarrassed Myself In Front Of 5,000 People)

 Warhold's CapoteCapote by Warhol

‘Life is a moderately good play with a badly written third act.’                                                                        Truman Capote

            The wasteful death of Philip Seymour Hoffman caused me take my CAPOTE DVD and watch again Hoffman’s great performance. Like Capote, so much talent cut short through human frailty.

            And watching that DVD reminded me of my experience working a Capote reading in Northrop Auditorium at the U of Minnesota. Quite a show! It opened with a ‘comedy act’ worthy of Laurel and Hardy. An act for which I take full responsibility.

            Capote was hot. Not only was his IN COLD BLOOD riding high on the Best Seller List, he was proclaiming that he ‘invented’ the ‘nonfiction novel’. He was taking almost as many bows for his ‘invention’ as the professor in the English Department who managed to get Capote booked for a symposium at the University of Minnesota.

            Northrop Auditorium seated almost 5,000 and every seat was filled, along with as many people as could stand along the walls. The English Department not only oversold the house, they neglected to print seat assignments on them. Hence, it was a scramble for seats. The only time I had ever seen the Auditorium that full was a noon hour talk by Paul Newman, who was there speaking out against the Viet Nam War.

            I was backstage manager; and because it was a ‘school’ event, I only had my student crew working. Lew Reeves, the Concerts and Lectures assistant, who normally would have been backstage to dealing with the talent, was busy in his office trying to dissuade the Fire Marshall not to order an evacuation of all the standees in the auditorium. An act that might cause a riot, which was a popular sport on campuses those days.

            The professor had wanted a Q&A session after Capote’s reading, but Capote called the shots. Payment in advance. The show would start on time. He would read something of his own choosing. It would be a book reading, not a book signing. At the end he would then walk offstage and disappear.

            At ten to, Capote was waiting to go on. Mr. English Department, as Capote called him, was standing next to the Voice of God mic waiting to introduce the star. English Department went up to Capote and explained that he would make an introductory announcement just before Capote walked on stage.

            ‘Sir,’ Capote said in a voice a few octaves deeper than usual, ‘I AM TRUMAN CAPOTE! I do not need an in-tro-duction, Sir!’ English Department slinked deeper offstage.

            Jerry, the head instigator on the student crew, offered Capote a stick of gum. Capote ignored him.

            When Paul Newman had made his appearance he walked on stage chewing gum. About half way through, he took out the gum and placed it carefully on the shelf inside the podium. When the speech was finished and Newman was giving a press conference backstage, a girl out of the audience worked her way to lip of the stage and told one of my student crew, who were all standing onstage seeing to it no one came up, that she would give him five dollars if he would get her the gum that Newman had been chewing. Sold! Immediately, every crew member was chewing gum. They took turns going into the lobby, sidling up a girls and selling ‘Paul Newman’s gum’. When they ran out of gum, Jerry went to the book store next door and bought more. That weekend they had a keg party to end all keg parties.

            Jerry then offered Truman the entire pack of gum, suggesting it would help if Capote’s mouth got dry during the reading. The gentleman that had accompanied Capote, and whom Capote merely introduced him as Old Friend, placed his hand on Jerry’s shoulder and asked him to please leave Truman alone.

            At Jerry’s mention of dry mouth, I looked to the little table beside the podium. The water pitcher, glass, and tray, that I had told Jerry to bring out ten minutes before, was not there. It was sitting offstage by the rail. I knew if I told Jerry I didn’t like his trick to get Capote to chew some gum, Jerry would just deny it and say it just an honest mistake, he just forgot to bring out the water. It was easier to grab the tray and bring it out myself. Mistake #1!

            I had just walked into sight of the audience when someone shouted, ‘Truman! Truman! We want Truman!’ Others joined in the chant and began to stomp their feet. Whether it was the unexpected noise of the audience or my anger at Jerry, or maybe I was just clumsy, whatever, I tripped and lurched forward. I managed to stay on my feet and not lose the three pieces, but the pitcher had tipped and most of the water was on the stage floor. The chant turned to loud laughter. I stomped off into the wings.

            Capote stood expressionless, his arms  folded across his chest. Old Friend was shaking his head. English Department had moved closer to the exit. My crew, fearful for their jobs, were all coughing, fighting to keep from laughing. The only one laughing was Bill Normington, the heat and vent man in charge of the temperature in  the house that evening. Laughing and pointing his finger at me.

            Bill, when he worked a show, always wore a suit with a loud tie, and his work shoes. He was tall with big shoulders and a Navy boot camp buzz haircut. When he was wearing his work clothes, he looked competent. When he was dressed in a suit, he looked comical.

            I refilled the pitcher and started to bring it out. Normington was still laughing, still pointing his finger at me. I shoved the tray at him. ‘Here, smart ass,’ I said, ‘You take it out!’ Mistake #2!

            Bill got a hand as soon as the audience saw him carrying the tray. He quickly took a little bow, and then proceeded to the podium. Legs shaking, feet moving erratically,  tray moving toward disaster, a perfect imitation of a drunken waiter. And the crowd loved it, clapping, laughing, encouraging Normington who milked it for all it was worth. He finally reached the little table and set down the tray. Naturally the audience burst into laughter and applause, and naturally the ham took a bow, and kept taking bows as he went off stage.

            My crew were howling, slapping hands with Bill. English Department had his hand on the exit door handle. Old Friend was shaking his head. Capote had not moved a muscle during the act. I was taking deep breathes and trying to keep my composure. I heard Jerry tell Normington to do an encore.

            ‘Don’t even think about it!’ I said. Then I pointed a finger at Jerry. ‘Get a mop and bucket and wipe up that water!’ Mistake #3!

            Instead of just going out and mopping up, Jerry, with his right hand, wrapped the onstage edge of the open main around his body, stretched the mop out with his left hand, and slooowly pulled the mop through the puddle. The audience, who could only see the movement of the curtain and one arm moving a mop, clapped and hooted and howled. The crew and Normington were shouting and laughing. English Department went out the door. Old Friend turned his back to the stage. Capote, as before, did not move a muscle.

            ‘Enough!’ I shouted to Jerry.

           ‘It’s all yours, Mr. Capote,’ I said waving my hand toward the podium.

            Capote finally moved. He placed his hands on his hips, turned to me, and said, in a voice that sounded like he was imitating Johnny Carson imitating Truman Capote, ‘Well! You don’t really expect me to follow that act, do you?’

            He did though. Walked out to the podium to a standing ovation. Most of the audience, myself included, had anticipated a reading from IN COLD BLOOD. We were surprised but not disappointed.

            Instead he read his new short story, A THANKSGIVING VISITOR, which he prefaced by saying he knew the audience remembered Buddy and Sook whom he introduced to the world in A CHRISTMAS MEMORY. (‘The world, no less,’ whispered Old Friend, who had moved next to me in the wing. ‘Oh, the ego!’) ‘This is a continuance of their story,’ said Truman.

            When he read the narrative and other voices, it was such a pleasure; but when he read the words of Soot, the elderly cousin and surrogate grandmother of young Buddy, it was a work of art.  Years later, I made a point to watch Geraldine Page playing Soot in the two televised short stories. She won Emmys for both performances, and rightly so; but even Page’s great portrayal, in my opinion, could not match Truman reading the words of ‘my friend’.

            And with the final words, ‘the chrysanthemums that burned, that growled and roared against a greenly lowering dusk,’ he closed his script and walked off stage, the only noise was the sound of his shoes on the floor. And as Capote disappeared  off stage, the audience rose as one entity and gave out the biggest applause of the evening. But Truman only heard muffled noise as he and Old Friend followed me to the basement garage to my car as per the plan. With Truman bending down in the passenger seat and Old Friend in back, I drove out, fooling everybody who flocked to the stage door hoping to get a book signed. We were well on our way to the limo that waited about a mile away, when Lew Reeves announced over the Voice of God mic, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen. Truman has left the building!’ to the disappointment of the audience. No encore! No signings! But each person left with a very special memory of a very special night.

            During the short trip, Capote referred to me by my name instead of something like Mr. Stagehand or New Friend. I felt honored at first; but when he placed his hand on my thigh, I realized he was just hitting on me. I pushed his hand away, twice. The third time, Old Friend came to my rescue. ‘Truman! Behave!’ And he slapped the back of Capote’s head.

            Capote kept trying to persuade me to come up to his hotel room, even if it was after I finished my work in the theater. He promised me a signed copy of one of his books. I kept saying no. Finally, Old Friend, came to my rescue again. He handed Capote a book that I had in the backseat and ordered him to sign it.

            It was a paperback, TWICE-TOLD TALES by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Capote laughed, saying Hawthorne was one of his favorite authors. ‘I’ve often thought I should have scarlet H’s embroidered on my shirts,’ he said as he signed the book.

            ‘Thank you, Mr. Don for the ride,’ he said as he got out of the car, ‘And thank you for the water,’ he added as he closed the car door.

            That sonofagun! As he got into the limo, I realized that not once, during his entire time on stage, did he even so much as take a sip of that damn water.

            I had met Capote when he was at the apex of his career. He was now acknowledged as an important American author. But he was also beginning his sad slow decline into being just a celebrity. Serious writing, for the most part just unfinished attempts and rumors, replaced by alcohol, drugs, talk shows, and parties. He became a celebrity, but at what cost? His death report stated that he died of liver cancer augmented by multiple drug intoxication.

            And now, Philip Seymour Hoffman, who had portrayed Capote in life, imitated him also in death. Two artists who gave so much enjoyment to others’ lives but had too little respect for their own .

 

            ‘I’m an alcoholic. I’m a drug addict. I’m a homosexual. I’m a genius. Of course I could be all four of these dubious things and still be a saint. But I shonuf ain’t no saint yet. Nawshuh.                                                                                                          Truman Capote