by Joan Kramer
“Yeah?”
“Hello, is Mr. Rizzo there?”
“Who’s looking for him?”
“I’m producing a program about Spencer Tracy for public television, and I’ve been told that Mr. Rizzo might be able to help us get a message to Frank Sinatra. We’d like to invite Mr. Sinatra to appear in the program, since he and Tracy were friends.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Just a minute. Hold on.”
A few moments later, a hoarse voice that could have been in the same movie: “Yeah, Jilly here. Who’s this?”
Once again, I explained who I was and why I was calling.
“OK. Send me a letter by messenger and I’ll get it to Frank.”
“Where should I send it?”
“Here, at the jewelry store.”
That afternoon a messenger took a letter addressed to “Mr. Jilly Rizzo,” in care of the jewelry store on the Lexington Avenue side of the Waldorf Astoria. I followed up the next day with another phone call.
“Yeah, I got it. I’ll get it to Frank.”
“When?”
“In the next day or so.”
I waited a couple of days before calling again.
“Frank got the letter. If he’s interested, you’ll hear from someone.”
I never received a reply, and worse, I lost contact with Jilly. He suddenly “wasn’t in” when I called. What had sounded promising turned out to be a dead-end. I still wonder if Sinatra actually saw that letter. My guess is that Jilly gave it to someone else in his circle and that was the end of the line.
When we told Katharine Hepburn about our plight, she said, “That’s odd. Frank and Spencer were really good friends. I’ll find him.”
JK and DH Several weeks later, in December, 1985, we flew to Los Angeles to shoot interviews for the program. Almost every big name we asked to talk about Tracy had agreed, and we found ourselves filming as many as four a day. Our schedule was tight and we knew that our shooting budget would be depleted by the end of the trip.
JK Katharine Hepburn called me at the hotel.
“I’ve spoken to Frank and you’re going to interview him at his house in Rancho Mirage on Thursday. Here’s the number of the phone in his kitchen. You’ll speak to a woman named Dorothy. Call and set it up. And by the way, Thursday is his birthday. I also called Mickey Rooney and he’s waiting to hear from you too. Here’s his number.”
“Miss Hepburn,” I said, “would you like to come and work for us? How did you do that?”
She replied with a laugh, “I knew I’d find Frank. And Mickey would rue the day if he didn’t do this for Spence.”
DH When Joan told me that Kate had booked Sinatra and Rooney, I remember saying, “We’d better stop her. If she calls any more people, we can’t tell her we don’t have the time or money to interview them. She’s on a roll and this could get out of hand.”
We didn’t have a crew booked for that Thursday; nor did we have the budget for an additional day of shooting. I called our boss, George Page, in New York and asked if we could have some additional money to interview Frank Sinatra. It was a no-brainer. The answer was an immediate “Yes.”
JK A woman in Sinatra’s kitchen answered the phone.
“Is this Dorothy?” I asked.
“Yes, speaking.”
When I told her who I was and that Sinatra had told Katharine Hepburn that I should call her, she said, “Mr. Sinatra will do the interview at 2 o’clock Thursday afternoon, the 12th, so why don’t you and your crew get here about 1 to set up.” She then gave me the exact address which made me smile. The man who was so hard to find lived on Frank Sinatra Drive.
Rancho Mirage, CA, 1985. Authors’ collection.
JK and DH We reached the gate to the estate and were greeted by a man in a security uniform, complete with a gun and holster. He had a pleasant smile, but was clearly a no-nonsense type. He told us where to park, and led us to his office, which was actually the size of a small house. It had wall-to-wall television monitors, showing every angle of the compound, inside and out. He gave us directions to the pool area and said, “Just point your camera at Mr. Sinatra. Don’t shoot the house or any scenery. We don’t allow that for security reasons.”
DH I thought, “Uh, oh. Joan and I both have still cameras in our bags, and this is definitely not a place to take beauty shots.”
JK David whispered to me, “No pictures. Don’t even take out your camera unless you want it confiscated.”
The pool itself was beautiful. All the tiles depicted playing cards: ace of spades, queen of hearts, etc. While David was setting up with the crew, I saw a housekeeper walking nearby, and asked if I could use a bathroom.
She said, “Certainly, follow me.”
David told me later that at one point, he looked around and didn’t see me. The thought crossed his mind that I might have wandered into the house just to see what it was like.
I had indeed gone into the house, and at the entrance I’d noticed a door mat that read, “Blue Eyes and Barbara1.” The housekeeper led me to a bathroom nearby, and after I closed the door, I realized that the walls were decorated with framed cartoons, several of which depicted Sinatra and the Mafia. I couldn’t resist. I pulled out my camera and took pictures of the pictures. Then in somewhat of a panic I thought, “I wonder if there’s a security camera in this bathroom.” But it was too late to worry. I’d already taken the pictures, and so far, no alarms had gone off.
On the counter near the sink, there were brightly colored paper towels. “These are pretty,” I thought. “If they’re meant to be used and then thrown in the waste basket, I’m sure it won’t hurt to take one for David and one for me as souvenirs. After all, when will we ever be at Frank Sinatra’s again?” So I put two paper towels in my bag and went back outside. David saw me coming out of the house and shot me a look as if to say, “Where were you?” He seemed relieved when I told him that I’d just been to the ladies’ room.
JK and DH At exactly 2 pm, Frank Sinatra came to the pool and shook hands with all of us. He was wearing a navy blazer that had a gold medallion insignia on one breast pocket, gray pants and a shirt and tie. He looked tanned and relaxed and was friendly, but somehow there was a slight tension in the air—almost a sense of danger about him. Maybe that was just us, having dealt with his notoriously tough lawyer, then his friend, Jilly, and now the security guard with the gun. And, of course, here he was in person, the embodiment of so many stories through the years.
He told us how happy he was to have heard from “Katie” and that he was pleased to be part of the show. His stories were as revealing about himself as they were about Tracy. When he was a young actor at MGM, he’d sneak onto the soundstage where Tracy was filming, and climb up a ladder behind the set so he could peek over to watch him at work. And years later, when they co-starred in their one film together, The Devil at Four O’Clock, he spent every free moment standing just out of camera range, still watching Tracy.
“One day I asked him how he makes it all look so easy. I said, ‘Spence, what’s the trick?’ Tracy said, ‘Just learn the lines and hit the mark. And don’t act…react.’”
In one scene, the script had Sinatra being beaten up. Tracy was watching from a short distance away. When the take was over, he took Frank aside and said, “What did I tell you about reacting? Those guys are punching you and you’re just standing there and taking it. What would you do in real life?”
Sinatra said, “I’d fight back.”
“Exactly,” said Tracy. “Defend yourself. React as you would if these guys jumped you on the street.”
JK After the interview, I asked Sinatra to autograph the book, The Films of Spencer Tracy, on the page that related to The Devil at Four O’Clock. We gave him a bottle of champagne and wished him a happy birthday (it was his seventieth), which seemed to take him by surprise. Then he shook hands with all of us again and went into the house. We packed up and drove back to Los Angeles.
Earlier that day, I’d felt the beginnings of a
sore throat. By the time we got into the car at about 4:30, it was much worse and accompanied by a headache. I slept most of the way back to LA, and when we reached the hotel David said, “Why don’t you order some soup and tea and take a rest? I’ll come by later to write questions with you for tomorrow’s interviews.”
That evening we put in a few hours of work before both of us were ready to collapse. But just as David was about to leave, I remembered the paper towels in my bag.
“Oh, wait a second. I have to give you something I stole from Frank Sinatra’s house.” I was trying to be funny, but David heard the words “stole from Frank Sinatra’s house,” and suddenly turned pale. Usually calm under any circumstances, he said in a voice that increased in a crescendo of both volume and pitch with each word: “Joan, what did you take from that house? Are you crazy? We’ll get our knees broken!”
“Calm down,” I told him. “They’re just paper towels from the bathroom. So relax.” Then I also admitted shooting pictures of the cartoons on the wall. I said, “Since nobody took my camera away, I guess that guy’s not monitoring people in the bathroom.”
A few weeks later, back in New York, I asked David’s partner, Don, if he’d seen “what I stole from Frank Sinatra’s house.” He said, “What was it?” And I told him the story of the paper towel and David’s reaction.
“Oh no,” he said. “I saw a colored paper towel on the counter the other day and used it as a napkin when I ate a piece of chocolate cake. Then I threw it away.”
I confronted David. “How could you just leave that lying around?”
He replied innocently, “What did you expect me to do with it?”
Over the years, I took some pretty famous paper towels. In addition to the one from Sinatra’s bathroom, I have a Gene Kelly, and a Barbra Streisand, among others, including one from the Reagan White House. Mine are in scrapbooks that I put together after each program was finished. Obviously, the ones I gave David met a completely different fate: they ended up in a garbage dump.
DH I never quite cottoned on to Joan’s fascination with paper towels—even though she likes to tell people that she “risked her life” to get some of them.
JK and DH As for Mickey Rooney, he was something of a disappointment. The original plan was to tape him in his home. But he called two days before and said, “I have to cancel. I’ve got a job so I’ll be working. And you’re not paying me anything for this, are you?” We were rather shocked by his matter-of-fact attitude, especially since Hepburn had called him personally. Because she did, we knew we had to try our best to accommodate him. We suggested that we might be able to interview him several days later at Universal where we’d be taping Angela Lansbury on the set of her series, Murder She Wrote. We asked the production manager if he could help, and he arranged for us to use an adjoining soundstage to shoot Mickey Rooney.
While we were setting up, he began letting off steam, talking about how badly Hollywood and the old studio system had treated him. He came across as bitter and angry. But when our camera rolled, he changed radically, becoming almost too sweet. Unfortunately his statements tended to be mostly platitudes and generalities, with very little substance about Tracy and how they worked together. He repeatedly told us how much he loved Spencer Tracy and how much he loved Katharine Hepburn. It didn’t work, and we were able to use only very little of what he said. But what struck us most was the instant change of personality—a very different image for the public.
JK While Hepburn knew about all the people we had interviewed, the only ones she asked about were the ones she’d contacted herself.
“How was Frank? Did he have anything fascinating to say? And how was Mickey? Was he good?”
Having worked on The Dick Cavett Show, I knew where she was coming from. She was exhibiting a typical talent coordinator’s instinct—to be most interested in those guests she had booked.
JK and DH And then there was Elizabeth Taylor. But that’s worth a chapter of its own.
Paper towel from Frank Sinatra’s bathroom.
Rancho Mirage, CA, 1985. Authors’ collection.
Elizabeth Taylor gave us her autograph.
Bel Air, CA, 1985. Authors’ collection.
CHAPTER SEVEN
At Last, Elizabeth Taylor
She’d co-starred in two films with Spencer Tracy: Father of the Bride and Father’s Little Dividend, and was high on our wish-list of interviews for our profile of him.
Her press agent replied to our letter. “She’s interested. When do you need her?” We explained that we’d be in Los Angeles for two weeks in December, and had a chocker-block schedule, but would like to give her preference.
“What days would be best for her?”
“I’ll get back to you,” was the response.
Not a bad start.
JK Soon after, I received a message to call Roger Wall, Elizabeth Taylor’s personal assistant, who worked from an office in her home.
He said, “She definitely wants to do this, but she’s put her back out. So right now, she has to stay in bed. Call me when you get to Los Angeles, and we’ll take it from there.”
That was all rather inconclusive and not at all helpful in trying to prepare a shooting schedule. We had to confirm dates and times for Angela Lansbury, Richard Widmark, Robert Wagner, Lee Marvin, and Mickey Rooney, among others, or run the risk of losing them. Our days were filling up quickly and our crew budget was already stretched to the limit.
Once we arrived in LA, I called Roger. He said, “She’s still suffering with her back. Call me tomorrow.”
I said, “Roger, please understand that we’re on a tight schedule and budget, so if Ms. Taylor is feeling better tomorrow, we can’t just come over and do the interview; we’ll need some notice. Do you think maybe we should plan to do it the day after tomorrow?”
“We can aim for that, but I can’t promise,” he said. “I’ll give you an update tomorrow. And here’s my home number in case you miss me at work.”
It was encouraging, but disconcerting at the same time. There was a sort-of commitment, but it was flimsy at best.
The next day, during a break in shooting, I called Roger again. A housekeeper named Liz answered. “He’s not in. Can you call back in an hour?”
JK and DH It was a similar routine every day of the first week and into the second. By then, Katharine Hepburn had arrived in Los Angeles for the filming of her host sequences. We told her of our daily pursuit of Elizabeth Taylor, and that we were running out of time. Our plan had been to leave LA on Friday of that week, but to give ourselves an extra day, we changed our flight to Saturday.
And then we had an idea. We suggested to Hepburn that she send flowers to Elizabeth with a note. Kate agreed, but said, “You arrange for the flowers and here’s what the note should say: “Dear Elizabeth, Sorry you’re having trouble with your back. Spencer’s daughter, Susie, and I are so pleased that you have agreed to do an interview for the program we’re doing about him. Fondly, Kate.”
JK The phone rang the next day. It was Roger.
“Elizabeth received some beautiful flowers and a note from Katharine Hepburn and would like to call her. Can you give me the number?”
“I’ll have to get back to you because she’s staying in someone’s home and I don’t have the number yet,” I told him.
Hepburn said, “No, no. I’d rather call her. And if she asks me to appear at one of her benefit fundraisers, I’ll strangle the two of you.” Kate told us later, “Elizabeth is sweet. But she sounds like a little girl. It was obviously such a thrill for her to hear from me. Call her tomorrow. I think she’s ready to set a date.”
The next morning Roger confirmed it. “I think she might be ready to do it later today. Will that work for you?”
“Yes, we have a crew on hold and can be there around 4. But we do need to give them a definite call time. When will you know for sure?”
“In a couple of hours.” By then it was already noon.
Two hours later:
“Elizabeth would rather do it tomorrow about 5 in the afternoon. Can you be here at 4 for set-up?”
I said, “Roger, tomorrow is Friday. We’ve spoken every day for the past two weeks and I appreciate all your efforts. But we’re leaving LA on Saturday. Is this for real?”
I was only half-surprised to hear: “I think so, but let’s confirm tomorrow morning.”
We booked the crew and crossed our fingers.
Friday morning’s call was predictable: “Elizabeth would like one more day. She promises she’ll do it tomorrow.”
I said, “Roger, we have a crew available today. And as I told you, we have to fly back to New York tomorrow. So this is our last chance. Can you please push her to do it this afternoon? Otherwise, we’re out of luck.” It was an ultimatum, but this routine had to end and it was time to say, “Now or never.” We banked on her not wanting to disappoint Katharine Hepburn. And we were right.
Roger called back within minutes. “Okay, come at 4 for a 5 o’clock shoot.” And he gave us directions to the house.
DH The housekeeper, Liz, let us in and took us to the living room. I’d expected a fluffy, touch-me-not kind of house. It wasn’t. It looked very comfortable and lived-in. The furniture was white, with overstuffed chairs and pillows, and there were some impressive pieces of art. Family photos were everywhere, and Liz showed us the kitchen, which had on the refrigerator a photo of Elizabeth at her heaviest weight.
“She keeps it there as a reminder,” she explained.
JK There were pictures of Richard Burton, but none of her other husbands. Liz told me that Elizabeth’s grandchildren are frequent visitors and the public would be amused to see them rough-housing with their grandmother, smudging chocolate on her face.
The clock ticked away. We knew her makeup artist and hairdresser were upstairs with her. They were both superstars in their fields, and each charged $1,500 a day. We’d already said politely that we didn’t have that kind of money in our budget and would appreciate some relief. In the end, we never got any invoices. She obviously paid them herself.
