Hello, I Must be Going

by Charlotte Chandler

  “When we would play a song which Irving Berlin wrote, he would go into this Irving Berlin story. It didn’t matter if I’d heard it. I always loved the way he tells it. Then he met my sister and my nephew, and he had my mother over. It was fan-tastic! He was kind of a grandfather for me.

  “Groucho gives you love. He talks with you a lot, and offstage he’s a lot like he is on. He puts out all the time. He really cares about music.

  “When we started, he was the one who wanted me to do ten or fifteen minutes with him in the concert, and for me to personally go out and entertain. He’d say, ‘You do some stuff, you play this, you play that.’ So when we went out to Iowa I did ten minutes, not really alone, because he was onstage, but still I entertained while he was out there. It wasn’t the easiest job in the world, though I’d try to make it look like the easiest job in the world.

  “At a certain time, he would want to throw me a line, and we’d rehearse it, the exact timing of the line and stuff like that, and he’d coach me. It would look spontaneous. We worked hard, but we had such a good time.

  “It was always changing a lot, and I had to keep up with him. It was a lot of following things, but it was a very enjoyable time, you know, sitting with him in the Cadillac limousine, always going somewhere.

  “I think it made him extremely happy when the New York reception was so spectacular. They really did a thing in New York. They just went mad for him, just absolutely crazy about him. The kids in the audience dressed up like him. All of a sudden, you saw a kid who looked like Groucho Marx, or some other kid who looked like Harpo.

  “What a night! There was an overture that I did, and in the overture I played ‘Hooray for Captain Spaulding’ as if Beethoven were playing it. It was very quiet, then, all of a sudden, the place went nuts. I mean, the overture got a hand already! ‘My God!’ I thought. It was that kind of a crowd. They were ready to love. To be a part of that kind of event is probably one of the things I’ll always remember.

  “It’s funny about my life. Certain events in my life are standouts. The first time I met Judy Garland, and I actually played the piano and she sang—you’ll never take that away from me. Recording with Barbra Streisand—you’ll never take that away from me. These are great moments, and so was being on the stage with Groucho in Carnegie Hall. If I had died then, I would have died with a smile on my face. It would have been the most.”

  Betty Comden and Adolph Green described their reactions to the Carnegie Hall concert for me:

  BETTY COMDEN

  It was something he’d been planning on a long time, and he had a lot of anecdotal material to talk about. It was kind of a stream-of-consciousness thing that happened to him. And Marvin Hamlisch helped pull things together, because he was at the piano, and he played connective stuff and participated.

  ADOLPH GREEN

  Hamlisch was brilliant. He had a great feeling for Groucho’s style.

  Morgan Ames took away these onstage impressions of him:

  “It was an opportunity to get a glimpse of a world that’s almost gone; the world, maybe, of vaudeville and burlesque. Strong lines. Good broad lines. Playing the piano for him, I noticed that right away, with his thin reedy little voice, you can’t get him off the track. He knows what’s right on an instinctive basis—not a musician’s basis, but on a performer’s basis. He can communicate with a musician. When he told me, ‘Play it in waltz time,’ instead of saying to play it in three-quarter time, I knew immediately the kind of sound and tempo that he needed.

  “When I get off when I play for him, he just keeps going. He doesn’t try to fix it. He knows how to lead and go right down the line. Then I fix it, which is the balance which should take place. Any performer may know that, but Groucho knows it in a very special way.

  “His concentration is still just wonderful. Sometimes he drifts off—just sort of floats in and out of stuff. It’s like there’s this stream running along beside him, and every once in a while he gets in and floats along. Then he gets back, and he’s in this other place. He does that when we sing and play together. He’s that way in everything. I guess that’s how he got to be who he is. Probably nobody could get him off the track, because he doesn’t even know he’s on it. He’s just never felt good being anyplace else. He’s got that kind of drive and knows where to put it.”

  In May 1972, shortly after the Carnegie Hall concert, Groucho went to Cannes to be decorated by the French government. At eighty-one he was made a Commandeur dans l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres, an award that had also been presented to Charlie Chaplin and Alfred Hitchcock. In honor of the occasion there was a gala, and A Night at the Opera was shown to an overwhelmingly enthusiastic crowd. He was greeted with cheers and cries of “Grooocho! Grooocho!”

  He and Erin attended the Cannes Film Festival, and Groucho quickly exhausted his French, which consisted of “Ooo-la-la,” “Vive la Beaujolais,” and “Voulez vous couchez avec moi?” With pride he told everyone, “My father was a Frenchman.”

  Louis Malle, the French film director, accompanied Groucho and Erin. “I was sort of an official host for Groucho,” Malle told me, “but he was always ahead of me. He was so sharp, and he was always ready to sing. I’ve never known anyone who loved to sing like that. He is indescribable. How would I sum him up? Well, I would say he is impeccable.”

  Groucho was indeed “impeccable” in his respect for his Legion of Honor. Having lunch at Burkes in London with Michael Caine, he mentioned a party given for him in Beverly Hills several months earlier at the home of Sidney Sheldon. Michael was intrigued by Groucho’s formal attire. “You came with him. Tell me, why did he wear tails to an informal party?”

  I explained that he was wearing his Legion of Honor decoration as a way of paying tribute to the party, the host, and the guest of honor, and tails were de rigueur with the wearing of this decoration. (At Groucho’s house before the Michael Caine party, Groucho had said, “I’ll wear the medal.” Erin said, “Not with your turtleneck. You know the rules. And don’t wear your pants so high.”)

  In 1974, Oscar came to Groucho. When he received word that he was to be the recipient of that year’s special Oscar, his less than sentimental response was, “It’s about time.”

  Actually, he was much more moved than his response would have indicated, but he would have gone to any extreme to avoid revealing his true feelings. He considered emotional responses unamusing, out of character, and intensely personal. On the other hand, the only thing he minded more than not being taken seriously was being taken seriously. His considered reaction to this moment was more truly reflected in his total rejection of the usual flippancies and “ir-references.” The occasion of receiving the Oscar was one of those rare times when he didn’t want his audience to laugh.

  Groucho was the embodiment of the American Dream, the child of immigrant parents whose children actually found the streets paved with gold—the streets being Broadway and Hollywood Boulevard. A self-made millionaire, he built his success on doing what came naturally, which by happy coincidence also brought pleasure to millions all over the world.

  GROUCHO

  I’m gonna say on the show, “I’m taking this bow not only for me, but for Chico and Harpo.” They’re gonna run about eight minutes of our old movies.

  I

  How your mother would have loved this night!

  GROUCHO

  With all her struggles, she finally saw us become stars. She was a great woman.

  During the week preceding the event, Groucho waited anxiously for congratulatory telegrams from his friends. Then, when the telegrams arrived, he would make light of them, as he did in The Cocoanuts. “This one’s from my Aunt Fanny. She’s just had an eight-pound baby boy, and we’re invited to the wedding next week.” But each telegram was carefully preserved. Bill Cosby’s was the first. “He’s a real friend,” Groucho noted.

  On April 2, 1974, the evening of the awards, Erin and I ate an early dinner with Groucho. She was more nervous and excited than h
e was:

  ERIN

  Oh, I didn’t get a chance to wash my hair!

  GROUCHO

  I’d wash my hair if I could find it.

  We ate dinner earlier than usual because Groucho preferred to eat his own food. If he had waited until after the awards to eat the catered supper, he couldn’t have depended on it being salt-free. During dinner he tried out his acceptance speech for us. As he spoke, acceptance speeches that would never be delivered were being rehearsed all over Beverly Hills. Only the recipients of special Oscars know in advance that they are winners. Groucho had waited a long, long time to get his Oscar, but at least he was certain before the ceremonies that he was really getting one. In the car on the way to Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, he rehearsed with Erin.

  For the Academy Award ceremonies, Erin wore a silver lamé dress. The dress itself lived up to the occasion by falling down. Erin, with Groucho’s interspersed comments, told Nunnally Johnson the story during tea at the Johnsons’ house just after the awards. Groucho had brought Oscar with him, which was appropriate since it was Nunnally Johnson who had written the letter to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences nominating Groucho.

  ERIN

  They lent us a $50,000 Stutz Black Hawk in order that we would drive up and be seen in the car and advertise it. So we had the press agent in the front seat with the chauffeur, and we’re in the backseat, and I’m all dressed up, and I’m wearing $60,000 worth of borrowed diamonds, also for advertising. You know the way they do that. So, on Sixth Street, about four blocks from the Pavilion, the car breaks down. The chauffeur’s going crazy, and he can’t fix it. And we’re in the middle of the street, everyone’s going by.

  Bill Feeder, the press agent, jumped out and flagged the first car that came along. It belonged to two young men who hadn’t expected in the least bit that they would be driving us to that. I was wearing a gown, so I sat in the front seat. It was a convertible, and I guess the seat was dirty. I didn’t know it until we got there. So you have the shot of us getting out of this old, broken-down convertible. We didn’t even know we were on television, but you can imagine the Stutz Black Hawk people waiting to see their car, and here comes the old red convertible, and we jump out.

  GROUCHO

  But you still didn’t tell ’em about your knockers. One was peeping out.

  ERIN

  That’s your favorite part.

  GROUCHO

  She had a very low-cut dress…

  ERIN

  I was supposed to pick up some double-stick tape to put on the inside of my dress, and I forgot. So when we finally got inside I noticed that I’d gotten dirt on the back of my dress from the car. So the wardrobe lady was rushing around to get something to clean my dress, and the next thing you know, without the double-stick tape, one of my boobs popped out. Burt Reynolds came over and said, “Nice going.”

  At the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, when I got out of the car I was greeted by one tremendous cheer from the bleacher crowd awaiting the celebrities. Later that evening at the party, we talked about my cheer:

  ERIN

  When you arrive you feel like you’re a lion in a cage or something. They’re all going, “Oooooooo!” And all of the people are cheering for everybody, anything. I mean, anybody could come along and they’d get a big cheer.

  I

  I got a very big cheer.

  GROUCHO

  You got what?

  I

  I got one cheer.

  ERIN

  She got one of the biggest cheers.

  GROUCHO

  Just one?

  I

  Well…it was a good one.

  From then on Groucho often called me “One-Cheer.”

  At the Academy Awards ceremonies, the dress is formal, but the elegance far surpasses any formal requirements. The theatre sparkles with jewels, shimmers with metallic trim, and yards of flowing chiffon waft about breezily. The men look neatly chic in tuxedos, but it’s really the night of the resplendent supercoiffed ladies.

  One supremely endowed European starlet rushed toward Groucho and embraced him, kissing the air on both sides of his cheeks. Groucho always considered this kind of European kiss a great waste. He didn’t recognize either the face or the décolletage, but she said warmly, “Groucho, won’t you join me?” Eying her cleavage and the overtaxed bodice of her dress, he responded, “Why? Are you coming apart?”

  For awards night temporary grandstands are erected on either side of the entrance, facing the street. The way leading to the Pavilion itself is covered with a long red carpet, along which guests walk from their cars to the entrance. Uniformed young men, some of them aspiring performers hoping to be discovered, scurry back and forth helping people out of cars, then parking them if there is no chauffeur to drive them away to garages. Many arrive in their own chauffeured limousines, or ones that have been rented or lent out by the studios, or provided by Playboy. A few, like Marvin Hamlisch, drive themselves.

  Walking along the red carpet, the stars stop at Army Archerd’s interview platform, where they are interviewed on national television. The crowd reaction on arrival is the barometer of stardom. The photographers’ flashing strobe lights are almost blinding. There is a potpourri of foreign languages, for this is where members of the foreign press are stationed.

  Inside the Pavilion the scene is not unlike an opening gala at a major opera house, except that in Southern California few furs are to be seen, nor is the checkroom as busy as it might be in another part of the country. Many people actually wear light wraps, but they tend to leave them in the trunks of their cars. Champagne is served in the lobby, and opera glasses are available to those whom the pecking order has relegated to the outermost regions of the auditorium.

  Groucho gave me his ticket. “I won’t need it,” he explained. “If they don’t let me in, I’ll go home and watch it on television.” My seat was next to Cher, who was one of the Oscar presenters. Like all the presenters, she was cued well in advance of her appearance in order to allow her to go backstage and adjust her hair and makeup. Many of the participants in the Academy Award ceremonies rehearsed beforehand in the auditorium, as had Groucho.

  Owing to the importance of television coverage, the best seats are considered to be those which the cameras can pick up. It’s important to the networks that the stars, nominees, and sometimes their escorts can easily be located in the audience for reaction shots. Some very good seats are out of camera range, and these are occupied by important but less-known people—studio heads, producers, and behind-the-scenes people. Winners don’t return to their seats. They disappear backstage, where they spend the rest of the ceremonies being interviewed and photographed. The losers usually remain in their seats to grin-and-bear-it as “good sports”—a grueling ordeal, especially for those who have been assured by all their friends that they were “certain” to win.

  Marvin Hamlisch told me what it was like for him as a three-time winner:

  “I don’t remember anything from the time I got the first one. After that I was numb. It was fan-tastic! The next thing I remember, we were all [Marvin, Terry, and their parents] having the chocolate cake my mother brought from New York before we went to the Academy dinner.”

  Terry Hamlisch added:

  “When Marvin went to the Academy Awards, nobody asked for his autograph, and only Army Archerd even knew who he was. When he came out, they were tearing and screaming at him for autographs.”

  Groucho remained backstage most of the evening having his makeup done and talking with the press. Just before he went on, a scene from Minnie’s Boys entitled “The Act” was presented live with Danny Fortus playing Groucho. Jack Lemmon, who himself later in the evening was to win the Best Actor award, presented Oscar to Groucho. When Groucho appeared onstage, he received a long standing ovation. Before he went up onstage, he told me:

  “This is one occasion I can only be serious about. I don’t think any jokes are appropriate. I’ve always had a joke for
every moment, but not for this one.”

  True to his word, his acceptance speech was serious. He singled out the three important women in his life—his mother, Margaret Dumont, and Erin—for special praise, and he also said that he wished Harpo and Chico could have been there that night.

  Nevertheless, he did get a laugh in spite of his serious intentions and restrained demeanor when he told about Margaret Dumont’s consistent reaction to his jokes. “She never did understand the jokes. She would ask me, ‘What are they laughing at, Julie?’” But the Academy audience understood.

  Though apparently less excited than Marvin, Groucho, who was so accustomed to deference, reverence, and the adulation of crowd and peers, was far from blasé. His own Oscar stood on his dining-room table for all of our meals during the next several days. When finally retired, Oscar was placed in a stage-center position of prominence on the table in the hallway leading to Groucho’s bedroom. Erin expressed a desire to have a spotlight on it, but he demurred, saying the idea was “too flashy.” After the Awards, we started out for the Hilton Hotel, where the Governors’ Ball was to be held, “Governors” referring to the Board of Governors of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Groucho called it “The Governor’s Balls.”

  First, however, we had to wait for his car. As Groucho observed, the real leveler is waiting for your car after the Academy Awards. “Winning an Oscar doesn’t get you your car any faster.” You still have to wait through the crowd of limousines and Rolls-Royces.

  While waiting, we met William Wyler, who recalled, “Do you remember, Groucho, the year we were waiting for our cars, and the loudspeaker called out, ‘Simone Simon’? You said, ‘I know both of them.’”

  The Governors’ Ball is a dinner party held afterward. Not everyone invited to the Oscar ceremonies is invited to the ball, but all of the nominees are invited. Losers, though invited, sometimes don’t attend the party. “You lose a few along the way,” Groucho remarked, indicating some empty chairs nearby. “It’s not any fun to go to the Governors’ Ball for sympathy.” For this event, the ballroom of the Hilton Hotel is set up with tables, except for the area that is reserved for dancing to the music of a live orchestra. The places at the tables are preassigned.