In the Company of Legends

by Joan Kramer

  JK Inez had every reason to believe that she’d covered all her bases. There was to be a 6 pm champagne buffet at the Marriott Marquis Hotel just a few blocks away from the theater. The script had been completed and sent to all those involved, and the tickets had been distributed.

  But the closer it got to March 3rd, the more nervous Katharine Hepburn became. The woman who had insisted she wasn’t “a bowl of sugar” was about to be spooned out onto the stage of the Majestic Theatre on Broadway. She had appeared live many times throughout her career, but always as a character in a play. This would be much different. Here she would have to play herself, standing at a microphone and facing the audience.

  Her housekeeper, Norah, told us the tension in the house was building by the day. And it was during that period that Inez received a phone call from Hepburn.

  “I have a great idea,” she said. “Let Susie Tracy introduce the documentary.”

  “No. It has to be you,” said Inez.

  Kate said, “Just think about it,” and hung up.

  The next day, she called Inez again.

  “Did you give my suggestion any thought?”

  “No,” said Inez, firmly.

  “You’re a very determined woman, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, Miss Hepburn,” said Inez.

  We thanked our lucky stars that we weren’t producing this benefit. Inez wasn’t having it easy, and she didn’t know it was about to get worse.

  The following Monday, another call from Katharine Hepburn.

  “Where are you putting my friend, Irene Selznick?” she asked.

  “I’ve given her sixth row center seats, Miss Hepburn.”

  “No, no. She has to sit in the back row. She gets sick.”

  “What do you mean, ‘she gets sick?’ Do I need to have oxygen standing by for her? Does she throw up? What do you mean?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. But she gets sick. Move her to the back row.”

  “Miss Hepburn, she already has her tickets. I don’t know if I can get them back and move her.”

  Inez knew that making any switch meant re-juggling her jigsaw-puzzle of an audience seating plan, which had been carefully put together to accommodate the guests of the participants, the Board of the Academy, MGM and PBS brass, as well as those who paid full benefit prices for their tickets.

  Kate insisted: “Just call Irene and tell her you’re moving her.”

  Inez called Irene Selznick, who said, “No. I want to keep my sixth row seats. I don’t want to sit in the back row.”

  (A brief note here about Mrs. Selznick: As the daughter of Louis B. Mayer and ex-wife of producer, David O. Selznick, she was used to the perks that come to the privileged. She was also an outspoken personality with her own set of eccentricities. And she and Hepburn had been friends for many years.)

  Inez Weinstein found herself in a no-win situation with Irene Selznick. And before it was resolved, she received another call from Hepburn.

  “Where are you putting my housekeeper, Norah? And my niece, Kathy Houghton?” she asked, and without stopping for the answers, went on to list several others on her personal guest list.

  “They’re all in the center section in the sixth, seventh and eighth rows.”

  “No, no,” said Hepburn. “They all have to sit in the back. They get sick too.”

  Now Inez herself felt sick. Her seating plan was about to be thrown into complete disarray. Not only did all these people already have their tickets, but so did those who were about to be displaced from their seats in the back few rows of the theater. It added up to about twenty pairs of tickets—forty people—from all over the country.

  She said, “Miss Hepburn, all the tickets were sent out weeks ago and I haven’t received any complaints.”

  “Call them all. You have to move them.”

  At that point, Inez Weinstein called me. When I heard what was going on I said, “Don’t you find it peculiar that suddenly everyone in Hepburn’s private circle gets sick? Unless they’re all afflicted with some epidemic we haven’t heard about.”

  “I know. But what can I do?” she said. “This is a mess. Am I going to need an ambulance standing by outside the Majestic?”

  “Something’s very odd here,” I said. “Why don’t I call her and try to find out what this is all about?”

  Kate answered the phone in her typical way. “Yes? What?”

  “Well, Miss Hepburn, Inez Weinstein is about to have a heart attack.”

  “Why? What’s the matter with her?”

  “Apparently you’ve told her all your guests get sick and have to sit in the back rows. It’s not easy to redo her entire seating plan, let alone retrieve and then redistribute all the tickets from everyone involved. Also, she now thinks she’s going to need medical equipment and personnel on hand.”

  She was silent for a few seconds, and then said, “I lied. None of them gets sick. I just realized that I’ll be able to see them if they’re that close to the stage. They’ll be in my eye-line, and I don’t want to see anyone I know. Better to see strangers than friends and family.”

  I said, “Do you want me to call Inez?”

  “No, no. I’m the one who lied. I have to own up.”

  True to her word, she confessed to Inez. But she still insisted that everyone she knew had to be moved to the back of the theater, and she agreed to call all of them herself. This still left Inez with the task of getting back the tickets and rearranging who was to sit where. By the time she’d finished that chore she thought the worst was over. Now the evening itself would be smooth-sailing.

  DH It should have been. By Sunday, March 2nd, Susie Tracy, Robert Wagner, Sidney Poitier, Stanley Kramer, and Frank Sinatra had arrived in New York with the scripts sent to them by Comden and Green. They were all in good spirits and seemingly well-prepared.

  On Monday, the day of the event, I visited the theater during the afternoon to make sure that the projector was in place and working properly. Then I went home to change clothes.

  Joan and I and our guests met at the Marriott Marquis Hotel for the champagne buffet and then made our way to the Majestic.

  For us, this was an evening in which to revel. We’d never before seen one of our documentaries on a movie screen. And certainly never had one premiere on Broadway. We were invited members of the audience, so we could just relax and enjoy the show. Sitting a few rows behind us were Joan’s former employer, Dick Cavett and his wife, Carrie Nye, and nearby were Leonard Bernstein, Christopher Reeve, and Phyllis Newman, who was married to Adolph Green, Claire Trevor, and many other “bold face names.”

  Sidney Poitier, Robert Wagner, and Stanley Kramer backstage at the Majestic Theatre.

  New York, 1986. Authors’ collection.

  Betty Comden and Leonard Bernstein at the Majestic Theatre for A Tribute to Spencer Tracy.

  New York, 1986. Authors’ collection.

  We had no idea what was going on backstage.

  JK All the participants were due at the theater no later than 7:45 pm, the customary half-hour before curtain. Katharine Hepburn and Susie Tracy had arrived much earlier. Kate paced back and forth from one side of the stage to the other. Susie stood quietly by herself, trying to stay calm. Robert Wagner, Sidney Poitier, and Stanley Kramer, wearing tuxedos despite the “business attire” dress code for the audience, all arrived on time. No Frank Sinatra.

  7:55 pm: Still no sign of Sinatra.

  8:00 pm: No Sinatra and no way to find out where he was. Remember, this was before cell phones. Since it was getting ominously close to the curtain going up, Inez Weinstein, Betty Comden and Adolph Green were huddling together, trying to delete Sinatra’s portion of the script and re-write the rest accordingly.

  8:05 pm: The stage door opened and in walked three bodyguards with a drunken Frank Sinatra. He was dressed in his tux, but it was instantly clear to Inez that he was in no shape to go on stage.

  She went into immediate action. Grabbing him by th
e arm, she said, “You’re coming with me. If Katharine Hepburn sees you in this state, you and I are both going to be in serious trouble. Fortunately, she’s on the opposite side of the stage right now.”

  The three bodyguards began closing in, but Inez brushed them off. She said in a no-nonsense tone of voice, “I’m not going to hurt him. I’m just going to sober him up as fast as I can. Come on, Frank. Remember me? We met last month at that benefit in LA. Let’s go.” Then she asked an assistant to bring her a pot of coffee immediately. She took Sinatra into a nearby bathroom and locked the door behind them, loosened his bow tie, took out the studs from his shirt, and removed his cummerbund. Then she force-fed him glass after glass of water, then coffee, and then more water. Eventually it started taking effect.

  He looked at her as if to say, “Well, you don’t expect me to use the toilet in front of you, do you?” But she didn’t budge.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “I’m married. I’ve seen a man use the bathroom before. I’m not leaving. And keep drinking.”

  She soon heard applause. Obviously, the curtain had gone up. First the chairman and then the president of the Academy welcomed everyone, and then turned the proceedings over to the host, Robert Wagner. By now, Katharine Hepburn had made her way to the wings near the bathroom.

  “Where’s Inez?” she said to Susie Tracy. Inez had become a sort of security blanket for both of them at this point. Neither knew that she was three feet away in the bathroom with Frank Sinatra.

  DH Robert Wagner made some heartfelt remarks about Spencer Tracy and then introduced producer/director, Stanley Kramer.

  Stanley spoke eloquently and movingly. For Inez, who was making slow but steady progress with Sinatra, the longer the speeches the better. But through the door, she could hear Hepburn’s voice, “Where is Inez?”

  Stanley Kramer introduced Sidney Poitier. Self-effacing and funny, he too told stories that took time to unfold.

  When Inez heard Poitier nearing the end of his scripted remarks, she knew Robert Wagner would soon be introducing Frank Sinatra. So she splashed cold water on his face, helped him put the studs back in his shirt, fix his tie and cummerbund, and led him out to the wings.

  Hepburn saw him and said, “Hello Frank,” and he greeted her warmly. She then turned to Inez. “Where were you? I’ve been looking for you.”

  “I’ve been taking care of some important last-minute details. Everything is fine.”

  On stage, Robert Wagner was saying, “Now, it’s my pleasure to introduce Frank Sinatra.”

  Sinatra entered from stage left, walking with assurance, and was greeted with thunderous applause. He leaned on the lectern throughout his comments, which we realized were almost entirely ad-libbed. He was completely ignoring the script written by Comden and Green, but his stories were very funny and personal, and he delivered them in the easygoing manner for which he was famous. None of us in the audience had any idea that he’d been slurring his words just forty minutes earlier. And we didn’t question his leaning on the lectern. It just added to his casual demeanor.

  Frank Sinatra on stage at the Majestic Theatre.

  New York, 1986. Authors’ collection.

  Katharine Hepburn by now was standing center stage behind a black curtain. She was the only one who would not enter from the wings.

  Frank Sinatra’s scripted introduction of her was meant to be something like, “And now, ladies and gentleman, it gives me great pleasure to introduce the woman with the greatest cheekbones since Mount Rushmore: Miss Katharine Hepburn.” Instead, he ad-libbed, “And now, the delicious Katharine Hepburn.”

  When Kate didn’t hear her scripted cue, she turned to Inez Weinstein and said, “What happened to Mount Rushmore?”

  Inez saw the curtain start to rise and said, “Never mind. The curtain is up. Just go!”

  JK The theater erupted into a standing ovation of applause and shouts of “Bravo” as Katharine Hepburn walked forward and had her hand kissed gallantly by Frank Sinatra, who then walked off the stage. She approached the lectern, bowing slightly to acknowledge the cheers. She wore a long, black silk taffeta jacket by Rodier, from the 1940s, a black turtleneck, white silk scarf, and black pants, which were long enough to almost completely camouflage her black sneakers. (The previous year, she’d run her car into a telephone pole, causing her to almost lose her foot; the only shoes she could wear from then on were sneakers.) Her hair was mostly gray now, but still revealed a hint of the redhead she’d been in her youth. It was pulled up, in her usual way, with strands deliberately loosened and casual. No jewelry. She looked sensational and, out on that stage, in the center spotlight drinking in the audience’s palpable rush of emotion towards her, she seemed at home.

  Katharine Hepburn and Frank Sinatra during A Tribute to Spencer Tracy.

  New York, 1986. Authors’ collection.

  She spoke for about twenty minutes. Everyone would have been happy if she’d gone on much longer, but with her impeccable sense of timing, she felt the moment had come for her to introduce Susie Tracy.

  Susie was in the wings waiting for her scripted introduction. Hepburn was to say, “And now, I’m going to introduce you to Spencer Tracy’s only daughter. I’ll use a line that he used about me in Pat and Mike: ‘Not much meat on her, but what’s there is cherce.’” Instead, she put her hand above her eyes as one does when looking into the distance, turned to her left towards the wings, and said to the audience, “Oh, excuse me; I think I see Spencer’s daughter over there.” And started walking across the stage. Susie said to Inez, “But that’s not my cue!” By then, Kate had reached the wings, extended her arm for Susie’s and led her onto the stage. Seeing the tape of that evening these many years later, one can still see the look of confusion on Susie’s face as she walks with Hepburn to the lectern.

  Backstage, Betty Comden, and Adolph Green were more than a little surprised. First, Frank Sinatra hadn’t stuck to their script. And now Katharine Hepburn. Inez was just happy everyone had made it onto the stage.

  Robert Wagner presented Susie with an enormous crystal sculpture to honor her father posthumously. She had it in her hands for a moment before Hepburn said, “It’s too heavy. I’ll hold it,” and took it into her own hands. Now the look on Susie’s face was one of consternation. If Kate dropped that crystal, it would have shattered into a thousand shards.

  Susie spoke beautifully, from the heart. Her instincts about not wanting to be scripted were correct. Her remarks were well-thought-out, and felt very natural. Then she took the crystal from Hepburn and walked off stage with Robert Wagner.

  Kate returned to the lectern and introduced the documentary by saying, “Thanks to the miracle of film and tape, Spencer’s work will live on.” She thanked us, MGM, WNET, PBS, Inez Weinstein, and the Academy for working so hard to make this evening possible.

  The curtain rose again, and our program was projected on the big screen. When it ended, the audience cheered. It was “thrilling,” as Hepburn had predicted.

  All the participants came back onstage again with Katharine Hepburn in the center next to Susie Tracy. They were smiling as they took their bows.

  Backstage, the biggest smile was on the face of Inez Weinstein.

  DH Later that evening, Hepburn gave a small party at her townhouse on East 49th Street. There were drinks and hors d’oevres served by her housekeeper, Norah. Katharine Hepburn was radiant—and relieved. Robert Wagner and Jill St. John were there, as were Sidney Poitier, Stanley Kramer, Susie Tracy and her friend, Susan Moon. Frank Sinatra did not come. We and our guests, our associate producer, Cynthia Mitchell and her fiancé, executives from MGM, WNET, and the Academy of Dramatic Arts all were there to celebrate. And, of course, Inez Weinstein, who looked happy but tired. After we expressed our thanks and congratulated her on the success of the evening, she said quietly, “Let’s go into the next room. I have something to tell you.” And that’s when we heard what had gone on behind the scenes at the Majestic Theatre.

  Several
of Hepburn’s relatives and friends were also at the party and, when it was time to leave, we went up her to say, “Good night.” She was talking with television veteran, Fred Friendly, and introduced us to him: “These are the two that did the film. Great, wasn’t it?”

  We shook hands with him and then said to her, “Thank you for a wonderful evening, and congratulations, Miss Hepburn.”

  She smiled and laughingly said to Fred Friendly, “You see, they still call me ‘Miss Hepburn’ because they’re such good friends of mine.” We knew it was her way of telling us the time had come for us to call her “Kate.”

  I gave her a kiss on the cheek and said, “Good night, Kate.”

  JK Dick Cavett called me the next morning. “What a splendid evening,” he said. “And I’m so proud of you; I consider you my protégée.”

  I called Hepburn to tell her how sensational she was and how beautiful she looked. “It was a triumph.”

  “Yes,” she said. “The audience was sweet. And Bobby Wagner, Stanley Kramer, and Susie were very good. But the stories that Frank Sinatra and Sidney Poitier told made it clear that Spencer and I had lived together.”

  “Nobody cared,” I replied. “Everyone just was happy to be there and see you.”

  “Well, I do think we did Spencer proud,” she said. “And the Academy was goddamn lucky to have your show. When I first met those people, they didn’t have a clue how to put on an event.”

  “We were lucky too,” I said. “It was amazing to see the program on a big screen. And by the way, the Academy taped the entire evening, but when I called them earlier to ask for a cassette of it, I was told they wouldn’t give it to us—that it was just for their archives.”