Merv Griffin- A Life in the Closet

by Darwin Porter

  Roddy McDowall called to ask him to share the rent at an apartment he'd sublet in the Dakota, New York's most fabled apartment house. In years to come, John Lennon would be assassinated on the sidewalk in front. Merv gladly accepted.

  After success as a child star, Roddy had entered a difficult phase of his career. Even though he was in his early 20s, he photographed like a lanky teenager. To save his career, he'd moved to New York to pursue work on the stage.

  When Roddy and Merv moved in together, it was commonly assumed within New York acting circles that they were lovers. This was partially true. Gay actor Monty Woolley, who had starred with Roddy in the 1942 film, The Pied Piper, and who had continued his contacts with him, said, “Merv and Roddy slept together when they could find no other partners.”

  One night when Merv had dinner with Roddy and Monty, Merv reminded the aging actor of his first encounter with him when as a kid he was rudely dismissed. In his candid, often astonishingly blunt fashion, Monty responded, “I'll make it up to you by sucking your cock tonight.” Merv turned down the offer.

  Later, with Roddy, Merv lamented how disappointed he was at the sex that had transpired the previous night with Montgomery Clift. “He's no Rock Hudson,” Merv said. “To me, it looked like a little piece of foreskin. There wasn't much I could do with it.”

  “You forget you're talking to your mother,” Roddy said. “I've been there, done that. But only once. In spite of all that male beauty, guys tend to go to bed with Monty only once.”

  “In some strange way, I'm fascinated by him,” Merv said, “and I hope to hang out with him in the future. But I think I'll steer him away from the bed.”

  “Believe it or not, our beloved Elizabeth is madly in love with Monty for reasons known only to her,” Roddy said. “Surely, it's not for the sex. After getting pounded by Nicky Hilton, I don't think she could even feel Monty down there. Anyway, she's coming back to New York and wants to call on you. She wants you to take her out to a few places. You'll get your picture taken with her. It'll cool down all those queer rumors about the two of us.”

  “I'd love to be her escort,” Merv said. “But I certainly won't talk about Nicky Hilton to her. She must never unravel some of our little secrets.”

  “I'm sure that every day of her life she grows wiser about what men are capable of once the lights go out,” Roddy said.

  Merv surveyed their temporary apartment and liked what he saw. “Let's throw a party to welcome her to New York.”

  “Great! I'll arrange it.”

  “Hey, I've got an idea,” Merv said. “I met this sweet kid at RCA Victor,” Merv said. “Eddie Fisher. He's also under contract there. Real cute. Jewish. I bet Elizabeth will go for him. I also hear he's got a big dick. Maybe not as big as yours or Nicky Hilton's, but very, very respectable.”

  “Invite him too,” Roddy said. “We'll be matchmakers.”

  “If Elizabeth doesn't go for Eddie, I'll make a play for him.” He sighed. “But I hear he doesn't swing that way. Oh, well. Maybe in my case he'll make an exception.”

  “Don't get your hopes up,” Roddy cautioned. “Stick to the fairies. You've got to get over your obsession with straight guys. It's such a difficult struggle to get laid if you date hetero.”

  * * *

  When Merv escorted Elizabeth Taylor into Asti's Restaurant in Greenwich Village, she was arguably at the peak of her beauty. All heads turned and stared at her, conversation coming to an end, as the maître d' showed Merv and Elizabeth to a table. Asti's was an odd choice of a restaurant to take a movie star. The Italian waiters not only served you pasta “like momma made,” but sang opera to you.

  Elizabeth ordered ravioli and some other side dishes just to sample them, not finishing one complete plate. As she ate, she chatted about her failed marriage to Nicky Hilton. “He spent more time in bed with other women than he did with me,” she lamented. Merv didn't tell her that a few of those nights had been spent with him.

  He arranged tickets to the Broadway Theater where Mae West was appearing in a popularly priced revival of Diamond Lil, which she had written herself and had first performed in April of 1928. In his memoirs, Merv remembered the play as Catherine the Great, which Mae had brought to Broadway in 1944. Ironically, the producer of that play was the flamboyant showman, Mike Todd, who in years to come would marry Elizabeth.

  As Merv entered with Elizabeth, even though the lights had dimmed and the curtain was about to go up, a murmur went up from the audience. Word spread quickly that Elizabeth Taylor had entered the theater and was being ushered to her seat. Only the opening of the curtain silenced the crowd.

  All thoughts of Elizabeth vanished as a usually blasé New York audience greeted Mae's appearances with applause and huzzahs lasting five minutes. In this mixture of comedy and melodrama, Mae seemed to take delight in reviving her “classic,” still getting laughs from such nowfamiliar lines as “I'm one of the finest women who ever walked the streets.”

  Reviewers still called the play “pure trash … or rather impure trash,” but through it all the buxom, blonde Mae prevailed in her Gay Nineties garb. She was still maintaining her reputation as “the world's wickedest woman.” Ironically, in years to come, Elizabeth herself would be dubbed as such in the hate press.

  Out of courtesy, Merv and Elizabeth went backstage to pay their respects to the star of the show. She was engaged in a noisy fight with producer George Brandt, and was furious that some critic had written of the “dromedary dip with which she walks,” and she was demanding a retraction. The producer was patiently trying to explain to her that she couldn't force a reviewer to retract something like that.

  Seeing Elizabeth, Mae, who had changed into a white satin robe, became all smiles. She was introduced to Merv, but apparently had never heard of him.

  Elizabeth complimented Mae on her wisecracks. “They made the play for me. You are so Americana. You're in the great tradition of Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, W.C. Fields.”

  “Please!” Mae protested. “Don't mention that old drunkard Fields to me. He once stuck his filthy paw up my dress to see if those stories about me were true. He learned I'm a real woman down there. Not a transvestite!”

  The aging sex diva invited them back to her dressing room, which Merv claimed had more flowers than the funeral of a head of state. He remembered her “looking like a pagan love goddess, getting ready for the mating season.”

  After arranging herself, Mae advised Elizabeth “to stick to the movies — don't go on the wicked stage. The damn producers when they go on the road will try to book you into an outhouse and try to ruin your play, washing it right down the turlet.” Merv was surprised that she still spoke in pure Brooklynese.

  Mae liked to give advice, and she had plenty of it for Elizabeth but nothing to say to Merv. “I know everything worth knowing about show business,” Mae said. “First, you've got to insist to a director that at least one redheaded actor be hired. Redheads are good omens. I've got one appearing in this play with me. I run my fingers through his red hair every night before going on. Second, you've got to surround yourself with a real swish, maybe two. A woman always looks more feminine when she's got a swish hovering over her, doing her hair, her nails, tightening her dress.”

  “I'll keep that in mind, Miss West,” Elizabeth said.

  “Now the important part,” Mae confided in a confessional tone. Before facing the camera or going on stage in front of an audience, select the husky of the crew. Demand that he give you an orgasm if he wants to keep his job. When I was doing Catherine the Great for that God damn bricklayer, Mike Todd, in 1944, I had this sri, who not only supervised my yoga lessons, but could give me an orgasm in thirty seconds. Some men can't do that after sweating over a woman's body all night. After orgasm, a woman looks more beautiful, more regal than ever. Don't you agree, Griffin?” She looked him up and down skeptically, as if seeing him for the first time. “On second thought, you're not a man to answer such a question.”

  A
bout fifteen minutes later, Merv escorted Elizabeth out of Mae's dressing room. The blonde goddess stood at her door. Ignoring Merv, she gazed into Elizabeth's violet eyes. Mae was no longer impersonating herself but looked like a real woman for the first time tonight — not a caricature. She also looked fifteen years older.

  She took Elizabeth's hand. “There was a time, dearie, when I was as beautiful a woman as you are tonight.”

  * * *

  After leaving Mae's dressing room, Merv put Elizabeth in a taxi to haul her to the Broadway hangout, Lindy's, whose patrons looked like a cast of characters released from Guys and Dolls. All the comedians hung out here — even Bob Hope who dropped in whenever he flew in from California. On any given night you could see Jack E. Leonard trading insults with Jack Carter or Joey Bishop. Milton Berle was a regular.

  As Merv entered Lindy's with his “arm candy,” even this rather sophisticated Broadway crowd stopped eating and started rubbernecking. Martha Raye they were used to, not Elizabeth Taylor, the screen goddess. One awestruck young waiter, an aspiring actor, almost spilled a double order of matzo ball soup onto Mary Martin's table.

  Since she'd already eaten a big dinner, Elizabeth had come here for one reason, and that was to sample Lindy's celebrated cheesecake. Frank Sinatra had recommended it as a “must” on her visit to New York, although he claimed his mother could make a better one.

  As Elizabeth dug into her cheesecake, Merv looked up to see “Uncle Miltie” heading for their table. Milton Berle usually ignored Merv, but tonight greeted him like his best friend. “Baby, I've missed you. We've got to get together. After all, you're my favorite band singer.”

  Merv knew that this effusive greeting was just staged so that Merv would introduce him to Elizabeth. After being introduced to the “King of Comedy,” Elizabeth merely smiled before digging back into a large dab of her cheesecake.

  Knowing all eyes were on him, Milton sat down in their booth and attempted in vain to engage Elizabeth in conversation. She just wanted to eat the cheesecake and get out the door. Looking disappointed, he finally got up and left, returning to his own table.

  “Why did you snub Uncle Miltie?” Merv asked.

  “Never heard of him,” she said.

  “Don't you watch television?” he asked.

  “Never,” she said. “It bores me.”

  “But he's one of the most famous entertainers in the business, the King of Comedy.”

  “Since when did he dethrone Bob Hope?”

  Before leaving, Merv excused himself “to go to the little boy's room.”

  Standing at the urinal, he was surprised to see Milton enter and stand beside him. He reached in and pulled out what looked like a footlong cock, the biggest Merv had ever seen in his life — and it was still soft.

  “What's with that stuckup little bitch you're dating tonight?” Milton asked. He shook his penis. “She needs for me to stick this whopper up her cunt. I'll have her screaming all night for more.”

  Merv quickly zipped up and headed back to Elizabeth, who was surrounded by fans complimenting her on her fur coat.

  As he was shepherding her into a taxi, she said, “Women usually compliment my beauty, not my fur. I'll have to get rid of it. No woman should have her apparel detract from her looks.”

  As she snuggled into the fur for the ride back to her hotel, she said, “That was the best fucking cheesecake I've ever had in my life.”

  * * *

  When Roddy and Merv learned that Jane Powell was going to be in New York, they decided to throw a joint party for both Elizabeth and Jane at their sublet at the Dakota. In his memoirs, Merv claimed that the party took place at his suite at the Hotel Meurice, but Eddie Fisher accurately remembered in his autobiography that the venue was the Dakota.

  Perhaps the evercloseted Merv did not want his public to know that he was rooming with one of Hollywood's bestknown homosexuals, Roddy McDowall. Merv especially wanted to conceal from the public that they were sometimes lovers.

  Ever since he'd met Eddie Fisher at RCA Victor studios, Merv had wanted to get to know him better. Using Elizabeth as bait, he decided to call Eddie and invite him to the party.

  Merv was jealous of Eddie as a singer, and knew their recording studio was predicting big success for him. Yet he also had a secret crush on Eddie, even though Roddy assured him that “You'll strike out with him. I know Eddie. He's a connoisseur of beautiful women.”

  “So is Nicky Hilton, and look what happened,” Merv said.

  “Regardless of what people say, lightning doesn't strike twice,” Roddy warned.

  When Merv called Eddie, the singer at first didn't believe that Elizabeth would actually be at the party, but he agreed to come over anyway. He arrived at 1:45pm although the invitation was for two o'clock.

  “Oh, yeah, right,” Eddie said skeptically. “I'm sure Elizabeth Taylor is going to show up at any minute.”

  “Actually,” Merv said, “she's already here.” He led Eddie into the bedroom which he shared with Roddy. Seated on a padded stool in front of a vanity mirror, she was applying the finishing touches to her makeup. Unlike Milton Berle, she knew who Eddie was. She gracefully turned around and smiled at him. At first he didn't know what to say.

  He later recalled the moment. “I was awestruck by her extraordinary beauty. I mean, by that point I had been around a lot of beautiful women, but I'd never met anyone like her. I fell in love with her that afternoon. I can still close my eyes and see her sitting there.”

  Merv had disappeared to answer the buzzer for the apartment door, as Roddy was busy in the kitchen. It was Montgomery Clift at the door, another honored guest. For the first time in his life, the actor had arrived somewhere on time.

  Rushing back to his bedroom, Merv announced to Elizabeth, “Monty's here.” Taking one final look for reassurance in the mirror, Elizabeth rose and headed for the living room and Monty.

  “She brushed right past me and went to the side of her costar in A Place in the Sun,” Eddie said. “At that point I might not have existed. I spent most of my time that day talking to Roddy and Jane, but I cast frequent glances at Monty and Elizabeth, who seemed engaged in some epic battle.”

  Merv later revealed what was going on between Elizabeth and Monty. “It was her final attempt to get Monty to marry her before he headed back to Hollywood. Even though Monty told me he'd never marry anyone, Elizabeth was persistent.”

  Eddie Fisher

  At the end of the party, Eddie went over to tell Elizabeth good-bye, but she was still engaged in her dispute with Monty. She brushed Eddie aside. He later told Merv that he saw her back in Hollywood when he was visiting the MGM lot. “She was obviously furious and talking out loud to herself. She walked right past me and didn't even look at me. At that time I could never have believed that one day she'd marry me. You figure.”

  Weeks later, it was the betterinformed Roddy who told Merv that it had been announced in Hollywood that Elizabeth was going to marry the British actor, Michael Wilding. Merv looked shocked. “That dimestore version of David Niven? It won't last.”

  “Poor Elizabeth,” Roddy said. “Another rotten choice in a husband. Wilding's completely bi. I know that Noel Coward's had him. He and Stewart Granger have carried on an affair for years.”

  Still harboring his crush on Eddie, Merv called the singer's hotel to tell him the news. In some secret cell of his brain, Merv thought Eddie might be heartbroken. After all, he'd told him that he'd fallen in love with Elizabeth on first sight. Maybe, or so Merv “reasoned” with Roddy, he could get Eddie on the rebound, perhaps when he was sobbing his heart out for losing Elizabeth.

  “Even Noel Coward with all his charm couldn't get Eddie,” Roddy claimed.

  “What do you mean?” Merv asked.

  “Noel encountered Eddie in a steam room,” he said. “I think it was on an ocean liner. Eddie was completely nude, and he's got a big one. But Noel didn't want to suck his cock but pat his ass. Eddie turned him down.”

&
nbsp; Despite these warnings, Merv called Eddie's hotel suite anyway. He didn't pick up the phone. A world famous woman's voice came over the wire instead. “Hello, this is Mr. Fisher's residence. I'm his maid. Mr. Fisher can't be disturbed at the moment. If you care to leave a message?”

  Without saying another word, Merv put down the phone. How could he compete with The Blue Angel herself? That was Marlene Dietrich speaking.

  He later confessed to Roddy how he finally got over his crush on Eddie, realizing how hopeless it was. Judy Garland flew into New York and called Merv. “Where in the fuck is Eddie Fisher?” she demanded to know. “I've been calling all over town for him.”

  “I'll try to get in touch with him,” Merv promised.

  “As soon as you do, tell that little Jew bastard to get over to the Royalton right away. I want him to fuck my brains out.” She slammed down the phone.

  * * *

  Still hanging out in New York with Roddy, Merv had not uncovered any singing engagements, even though he contacted his agent daily. It was ironic that his first gig came from Freddy Martin. The orchestra leader and his boys were appearing for a twoweek engagement at The Last Frontier in Las Vegas. Merv's replacement, another boy singer, had a family emergency that forced him to return to New York.

  “Will you do it?” Freddy asked over the phone after making his pitch.

  “I'm on the next plane,” Merv said.

  Even though he hadn't been away all that long, it was good being back with Freddy's boys again and playing Las Vegas, one of his favorite towns. The promise of a paycheck made it all the sweeter. Performing two shows a night, Merv sang to a packed room.

  He was in his dressing room during the second week of the show when there was a knock on his door. What happened next is a matter of dispute. Merv confused the incident by presenting two different versions of what happened, one in a 1980 memoir, another in a 2003 autobiography. We'll go with a more reliable version promulgated by Marty Melcher.