by Andy Warhol
In about forty-five minutes we were out in Jersey at the stadium club. We got the VIP treatment, up to have brunch and bloody marys. Robert Redford and Muhammad Ali were there. Also Gordon Lightfoot and Albert Grossman, who used to manage Dylan. He told me again that he has my silver Elvis, but I don’t understand that, because I gave it to Dylan, so how would Grossman get it?
Kissinger was there waving his hands around like the pope. There were lots of Secret Service around. Then at 1:30 they made them go out to the game.
I went over to Muhammad Ali and said hi, but he looked at me blankly, he didn’t seem to know who I was or remember that he met me down at his training camp in Pennsylvania. His people who tell him who’s who and what’s what weren’t around and he was just alone, eating, so I got embarrassed and backed away.
In the stands I sat next to Robert Redford’s two kids, about twelve and thirteen. Everybody said this was the first time Redford was out in public letting himself be photographed. There were empty seats all around me where the Carter kid was supposed to be but he never showed. Muhammad Ali was in front of me and they’d put the Carter kid next to him. Ali’s wife and kid were there, too. Elaine of Elaine’s was there, too, she told me she was on a high-protein diet. But later I saw her stuffing herself with rolls.
Pelé played on one side and then on the other side. When it started to rain, they passed out raincoats to the VIPs and it was nice in the rain, it made it more exciting. Seventy-five thousand people there. The parks commissioner invited Ali into his glass box so he wouldn’t get wet. When we were getting really soaked we jumped into somebody’s box and the little girl in it said her father owned the Giants.
Kissinger shook my hand, but he shook everybody’s. The men from Ali’s Pennsylvania camp recognized me and asked if I’d talked to Ali and I lied and said no.
Monday, October 3, 1977
Went to see Dr. Poster about my red eye and he said it was just a broken blood vessel, to put hot compresses on it. But I forgot to.
Catherine and I went over to Gleason’s Gym to interview the girl boxer, Jackie Tonawanda (cab $2.60). Lots of good-looking fighters went by. I asked about how you can own a fighter and Jackie said it would cost mostly to pay her, because she would manage them, and that would be $150 a week, and then some more to rent a locker at Gleason’s. Catherine fell in love with a 6’ 5” black fighter who was jumping rope. I tried to get her interested in a cute Irish kid but she said he was too ordinary-looking. Jackie wasn’t too good an interview because I’d mentioned something about a movie and that was all she would keep bringing up. She’s ready to go to Japan and fight a 6’3” Japanese-Irish girl.
Then we cabbed up to the William Morris Agency ($3). We went up to the thirty-third floor. A guy there, Steve Pincus, had been calling the office a lot wanting me to come over and talk to them about representing me. The meeting was fun, he had other guys in there and they were telling me they’d get me American Express TV commercials and Broadway shows and starring roles in movies, and Catherine got so impressed, and God it was so boring, you’d think I hadn’t heard all this for years, going up to William Morris and then after the Big Meeting, nothing happens. But I enjoyed going there. They were all married but they looked like closet queens. Catherine told me not to call her a “rich bitch” because it was undignified. So now I finally know what to call her.
At dinner at Peter Luger’s Steakhouse I told Diane de Beauvau who was with her boyfriend Pierre that when I was leaving the house it was on the radio or the TV that a five-year-old Patino girl had been kidnapped. Diane burst out crying hysterically and everybody turned on me and said I’d spoiled the party. Stevie went to the phone and called the wire services to get the story, and it was only a distant relative. But Diane was still hysterical, and they were saying, “To cry is a good thing, it brings out feeling,” and in the middle of all this the cute Irish waiter came over and told me that he had an Art Deco radio in his room—that he knew I collected them.
Timothy Leary told about how in the early seventies Diane had chased him around Switzerland and sent him notes and letters and he said that it was actually Diane carrying on like that that got him locked up. He told me I was one of his most favorite people of always. Bob Weiner was there, still researching his article on Steve, and I’m sure it’s going to be so bad because 1) it’s him writing it and 2) he didn’t pay any attention at dinner while all these great things were happening and with all these great people together—he said it was “boring.” And every time Stevie would pick up a boy Bob would turn the other way. And then Stevie started rushing everybody—that’s all he likes to do is rush to get someplace and then rush to leave. But Tim told him that for years—in prison—he’d been rushed and told what to do, and he wasn’t going to rush anymore.
Then we went to Elaine’s. Stevie was too zonked to drive, so Diane’s boyfriend, Pierre, drove. First we had to stop at Stevie’s house and he went in to get more Quaaludes or poppers or something, I think. Margaux Hemingway was with us. Her marriage to the Wetson hamburger guy is splitting up and Tim was after her, I guess. Then Stevie wanted to go to the Barefoot Boy and the Gilded Grape.
Tuesday, October 4, 1977
Lady Isabella Lambton, Ann’s sister, is now answering the phones at the office while our receptionist Laura goes to Berlitz to finally learn English.
After a benefit fashion show of Madame Grès, went up to Diane de Beauvau’s new showroom to see her first collection. I had to start lying immediately and tell her it was all great, but especially after seeing all those beautiful Madame Grès and all the Halstons, her stuff just looked so bad. She acts like a businesswoman—she doesn’t take much coke in the day—but I don’t know, I think it’s going to be a disaster.
At dinner later at Quo Vadis, Tim Leary was really sweet, he talked some more for the tape about how Diane writing him those love letters and taking acid when she was fourteen got him in jail in Switzerland. He said the jails in Geneva can be like a good hotel—if you pay them they bring you pastries on a tray. And I can’t believe it, he remembers each time he ever saw me in the sixties and then in St. Moritz—what I was wearing, everything—and I didn’t even know at the time that he would be noticing. Like when we went to his lecture and light-show things in the East Village. He said that if he had it to do all over again he wished he were with the Velvet Underground because they did so much and were really creative.
I just think he’s so intelligent. He probably really was with the CIA, because he was the one at Harvard, and now they’re showing that the government was using LSD so far back, and Tim was the master, and when you’re a master they do approach you.
Diane de Beauvau and Pierre were on a couch arguing. She wanted him to think she was in love with Tim Leary and that they’d had a romance, so to do that she made a point of telling Pierre that there was absolutely nothing going on, that she wasn’t in love with Tim. So then he had to do the thing of caring because that was how she would be happy.
Thursday, October 6, 1977
Woke up with a sore throat and I think it’s from kissing all those funny girls who come running over to me. I never used to do that, but they’re just there and you don’t want to be rude.
I just love all the boys at Studio 54. They’re like Rodney La Rod was in the sixties—all jangling nerves and they’re all hustlers and they (laughs) prey on movie producers, they want to be famous and they can’t wait.
Friday, October 7, 1977
I was invited to see the Four Seasons in their goodbye concert at Radio City. They thanked the original producer, Bob Crewe, which is how I knew them in the sixties. Frankie Valli came over after the concert to say hello, I’d given my program over to be autographed by him, and he said that Bob Crewe had been hit by a car in California and that he might lose his leg and that I should give him a call because he was really down. I always thought that Frankie cared so much about Bob, but then he didn’t seem too upset. He was concerned, but not as concerned as I wou
ld have thought.
Don Kirshner was there and we three had our pictures taken together. Then we went over to Studio 54. Stevie introduced me to Roy Cohn who was with four beautiful boys, but butch-looking. A boy is “butch” if he weighs over 170 and he’s an all-American football-type, a spilling-out masculine man. A butch person looks like—well, we don’t have one at our office. Maybe the building super. Yeah, a thinner version of Mike the super, that’s “butch.”
Monday, October 10, 1977
Cabbed to Diane de Beauvau’s ($2.25). She told what she’d just learned about Barry Landau, that creepy guy we can’t figure out, who somehow gets himself around everywhere with every celebrity. She thought he was a friend doing nice things for her, when suddenly she got a bill from him for $2,000 for getting her on The Mike Douglas Show! Barry had asked her if she wanted to go on and she said sure. He probably sends Stevie Rubell bills, too.
Went to Elaine’s ($3.25). Bob Weiner was there, upset because New York magazine had rejected his article on Stevie. He was sort of passed out but with his eyes open.
Tuesday, October 11, 1977
Cabbed up to Parke Bernet, got a few catalogues because they seem to be the best reference books (cab $2, books $24). Ran into Kenny Jay Lane who’s put his whole house and furnishings up for auction—now that he’s getting divorced from Nicky Weymouth he can present it as something he’s doing “for the settlement.” When you see all his junk together, it really looks bad.
Went to Chembank ($4). Steve Aronson was at 860 looking around, he had a beautiful girl with him. He says he can’t start editing Popism until next week. Vincent was off in Montauk, checking on the place—Jay Johnson and Tom Cashin are still out there roofing and repairing. By closing time Vincent still wasn’t back, so I locked the place up myself. And when it’s my responsibility, I get so nervous I do things like pull out the plugs to the Xerox machines so they won’t start a spontaneous combustion; I decided I would risk leaving the refrigerator on. When I got home there was a message from Barry Landau, somehow he’d gotten my number. So now the three worst people to have your unlisted number have mine—Bob Weiner, Steve Rubell, and Barry Landau.
Lester Persky called and invited me to a screening of Equus. I loved Peter Firth, he was wonderful and Richard Burton was wonderful. The movie has the longest nudity. Usually when they photograph a cock they make it fall in the shadows and the shadows always fall where the cock is. But in this movie the cock always falls right where you can see it. Peter Firth’s dick gets in the way when he moves. It’s the biggest cock on screen and not circumcised. As big as Joe Dallesandro’s.
Peter Firth came over to me, he’d imported a girl from England for all the publicity and she was there and we had a good time. There was lots of food, but I’d already eaten. Then Peter Firth wanted to take the girl dancing so we walked over to Studio 54 for the Elton John thing. Stevie invited us all up to the booth where Michael Jackson was and Michael was sweet—in his high voice he asked me about art. David Hockney was there. The photographers were there and wanted Elton John and me to pose for pictures together so I asked Elton if I could kiss him, but he didn’t answer me so I didn’t. Maybe he didn’t hear me. He was wearing a hat because of his hair transplant.
In order to get out of Studio 54 alone, I had to avoid all the boys I’ve been accepting rides and dates from lately. I had to look nervous and run around so no one would follow me—you know, the “frantic” technique.
Friday, October 14, 1977— New York—Springfield, Massachusetts—New York
Up to Massachusetts to photograph Dorothy Hamill for the Athletes portfolio. It was nice to photograph someone really pretty. Dino Martin’s sister was with her.
Barbara Allen’s name was linked with John Radziwill’s in “Suzy’s” column. Philip Niarchos and Barbara have broken up and he’s got a new girlfriend. Barbara’s letting all these rich guys slip through her fingers, but I guess she’s working hard, wanting to be an actress.
Saturday, October 15, 1977
Ran into John Weitz, the fashion designer, on Madison with his wife Susan Kohner, the actress who gave up acting to be married to him. He was going over to Fraser-Morris, so I went with them.
They wanted to invite me to a party, they said, and asked for my number. They wanted the home number I guess and I gave them the number down at the office and I don’t think she liked that.
Went to Studio 54 and it was jammed. Victor and Halston were there together. It was a party (laughs) to show that Victor wasn’t blackmailing Halston. Victor said that Bobby Zarem had called and said there was a rumor that one of Halston’s employees was blackmailing him, so they should appear together to squelch the rumor and have lots of pictures taken. Then later Chris Makos took us to a bar on 52nd called Cowboys, a hustler bar where Ara and Zoli go to pick up beautiful kids for models. Left about 4:30, got newspapers and magazines ($5).
Sunday, October 16, 1977
David Whitney called about going together to the Jasper Johns opening that night at the Whitney—Philip Johnson was going with Blanchette Rockefeller.
Pretty day. Cabbed downtown ($3.50) then walked to work. Richard Weisman and his little kids arrived and Margaret Trudeau was with them. She’s really split up with her husband now so she lets herself be photographed with anybody, and I guess she’s been dating Richard for a while. She was primping the kids’ hair. I didn’t have enough light bulbs though, and they fought over the teddy bear.
Cabbed to the Whitney ($2). Bob Rauschenberg blew me a kiss in the elevator and then later came over and said it was silly to blow a kiss so he kissed me. Jasper was drinking Jack Daniel’s. It was a small party, just for lenders, old people. I ran downstairs to get a catalogue and then I looked around to have Jasper sign it, but I couldn’t find him so I had Rauschenberg sign it, and then I did find Jasper and he rubbed out Rauschenberg’s signature and signed “To a Lender.”
John Cage was there with Lois Long, de Antonio’s first wife. Jack and Marion Javits were there, and Jack gave a speech. Robert Rosenblum was there, and he just got married. I guess it’s another Nicky Weymouth-Kenny Jay Lane-type thing. He’s from the gay old Henry Geldzahler crowd. Mrs. Irving who’s the president of the museum whose mother is a Whitney was there. She lives down the street from me and I’ve asked her a few times if I could rent the garage space in her carriage house for the car. I want it so badly, but nothing ever happens. At the Whitney she said that she definitely would call me—and I think it’s because I ran into her husband going into the garage that morning.
When we sat down to dinner there were packages of Philip Morris cigarettes at each place— they were the sponsor—and when nobody was taking them I took them “for the box.” [see Introduction] There was one red one but I couldn’t get it.
Monday, October 17, 1977
Cab to see Chris Makos’s show at the Andrew Crispo Gallery on 57th Street, it was closing tomorrow (cab $2.15). The gallery was closed but they opened it just for me. I thought it was really great. He did two photos framed in the same frame—things like I used to do—and it looked beautiful. I told Bob we should give Chris two pages a month in Interview to do whatever he wants. Andrew Crispo came in and said that there were very few photos sold from the show but that it looked good.
Cabbed to Chembank ($3). The office was busy. Kevin Goodspeed came up for lunch.
Yesterday I saw a roach go into the water cooler, in between the jar and the stand, then I saw it magnified (reimbursed Ronnie for cabs $2.10, $3.05, $2.25).
Some African sculptor named Eugene, a friend of Joe Eula’s, was at the office doing a sculpture of me. He says he needs to look at me but I think he just wants a free place to work in. He sees me as a hermaphrodite. He’s a terrible sculptor and it doesn’t matter if I pose for him all day or not, it’s just going to come out like an African totem pole anyway.
Then Boris Tinter called and I wanted to escape the office and catch up on the jewelry business so I went up to 47th Street (cab $2.
80). Boris had just been to Parke Bernet and had some good new pieces. I love to sit with Boris in his cubicle and see all the strange people who come in. And I love Boris’s fake hand.
Tuesday, October 18, 1977
Woke up after a good long night’s sleep. I needed it to clear up some pimples. When you don’t sleep you really have them.
Doug Christmas didn’t send a check yet and I told Fred to tell him I wasn’t going to Paris unless we got it.
Wednesday, October 19, 1977— New York—Buffalo, New York
The plane ride was an hour (cab to LaGuardia $7, toll $.75, tip $2.25, magazines $3.10). I asked Richard if he remembered to tell O.J. Simpson to bring a football to the motel where we’d arranged to meet. He hadn’t. We asked the manager to find one for us, told him that it’d be autographed by O.J. Simpson and Andy Warhol. O.J. arrived. He remembered Regine’s and asked about Marisa Berenson—they presented an Oscar together last year—and was so sweet. He had a five-day beard and I thought the pictures would be awful but Fred said no, that they’d be sexy, and he was right, they were. O.J. is so good-looking.
Saturday, October 29, 1977—New York
Barry Landau called and said he had tickets for Liza Minnelli opening in The Act.
So we picked up Diana Vreeland and Jamie Auchincloss, the half-brother of Jackie O., and Ruth Warrick, who I know from years ago. She was on As the World Turns, and now she’s Phoebe in All My Children. She was Orson Welles’s first wife in Citizen Kane. She’s very good. The first thing she said when she saw me was, “Your Soup Can changed this country.” We got to the theater and I’ve never seen a crowd that big, not for anyone, so many people.
