Betty and her husband went in their car, and Groucho, Goddard, Adolph, Erin, and I went in the chauffeur-driven limousine provided by Universal. As we approached within a few blocks of our destination, we were caught in a monumental traffic jam and literally inched along. We were prevented from reaching the theatre not only because of the cars that were blocking our way, but also because of the people filling the street. It took us more than twenty minutes to go one block. Finally, we reached the theatre, and it became evident to us that the traffic jam had been caused by Groucho’s imminent arrival. All around us the street was filled with young people in a festive mood.
Our car was surrounded and people jumped on the roof, covering the top of the car with bodies. The most startling impression was the sound of coins being tapped on the roof of the car. It made an incredibly loud and extremely painful din, and intensified our confined, trapped feelings. We couldn’t look out and see anything because the windows were totally obscured by flattened faces peering in at us. We heard a policeman’s voice speaking through a bullhorn, saying “Don’t tip the car, don’t tip the car.” At just that moment Adolph remembered an unreassuring story:
“I was in a bus once with Frank Sinatra, and we were surrounded by a crowd of fans. The bus was leaning way over to one side, and we thought we were finished, that they were going to turn us over for sure.”
We were no more reassured when a policeman finally got through to open the car door, and flinging it wide open, he shouted, “Quick, run!”
We looked out at the aisle through which we were supposed to run. It was so narrow that Groucho, who was very slim, might have slipped through sidewise had he been quick enough. He wasn’t. As we reached the middle of the aisle, it vanished. Adolph Green, who had gone first to clear the way for Groucho, was suddenly cut off from the rest of us. Goddard wielded a British-style umbrella in swashbuckling style, but he was also swept off into the crowd.
Groucho, Erin, and I were left encircled. Taking a stiff stance, Groucho bore a stoic expression. Erin screamed at the crowd, the police, and the heavens, but to little avail. She was drowned out by a gleeful chorus of exuberant fans who were on the verge of crushing us.
As the crowds on both sides of the aisle met in an effort to be closer to Groucho, we were caught between them. Fortunately, the strongest young male fans had made it to the front, and once they got the idea that their ideal might be injured by love, they reversed course. The front row linked arms to hold back the other surging fans. A narrow aisle suddenly reappeared, and we were able to make our way into the theatre.
Ron Delsener, who as a producer of rock stars had been through traumatic scenes like this before, witnessed the episode from a knowing vantage:
“When we showed up, there was a mob of kids outside the movie, and there was no real passageway to get in. Right away I said, ‘There’s going to be trouble here,’ because the theatre hadn’t anticipated this size crowd. The management hadn’t any real setup, and it looked like they belatedly called the police, and some policemen showed up—some of them on horseback—but there was still no passageway to get in. When I waved my invitation up in the air, one of the ushers said, ‘They’re okay. Clear the way in.’ The kids were in a jolly mood outside. They weren’t in a violent mood, so a few cleared the way and we got in.
“I waited out front a little bit, then I kept getting up from my seat to see if Groucho was going to get through the mob. Finally he showed up in a limousine, and naturally everybody crowded around the car. You were in the limousine with him. Then he got out, and he was just buried in a sea of people. I thought he was going to be trampled to death. I said, ‘This is it. Right here.’ Miraculously, they pulled him through it, and he was white, he was like almost in a coma. He was almost like a robot.
“Inside there were flashbulbs popping in front of his face, and two people telling them in a lackadaisical manner not to do that. Groucho got up and sauntered down to the mike with Goddard helping him. He said a few words about his being lucky to be alive because he almost got killed coming in. Then they showed Animal Crackers.
“Getting out was a big chore. I saw what was going to happen. I knew the end of the movie was coming, so we got out of our seats, my wife and myself, and went out the door. The mob was still there, and it had swelled, and now the police were much greater in number. As I got out, the people outside started to close the exit aisle up.
“All of a sudden, my wife pulled me out of the way because a policeman’s horse was coming down on me. This horse almost got me. Limousines were backing up, and we were caught in a cross fire, but somehow we got out. I didn’t stay around too long, but I did see Groucho make it to a car and get pushed in. Then there were people jumping on top of the car, people screaming, horses neighing, and horns beeping.
“They should have treated it like I do with a pop concert. You check all the exits beforehand—how to get out afterwards, and how to get in, too. Maybe you have to arrive in an ambulance. Anyway, it’s got to be different every time. You don’t go in through the backstage door. You use a different entrance. You arrive long before the crowd.”
The need for pop-star security conditions at the revival of a 1930 movie, even if Groucho Marx was going to make a personal appearance, was underestimated, as was his charisma, especially with his younger fans. When he was finally led up onstage to accept his award he commented, “I’m delighted to be here, although I was almost murdered.”
We had all been seated in the last row, which had been reserved so as to enable us to get in and out easily. Adolph Green was on one end and Betty Comden and her husband on the other, with Groucho in the middle and Goddard and me on either side of him. Erin was so nervous she couldn’t sit down, preferring to stand throughout the whole film. Before the showing of Animal Crackers, some fans came back with their cameras, getting so close with their flashbulbs that we were almost blinded. The audience inside the theatre was just as excited by the presence of Groucho as the young fans outside.
After Adolph Green and Betty Comden had introduced Groucho, he was led to the stage by Goddard Lieberson and presented with a plaque from the Friends of the Cinémathèque Française. In his acceptance speech, Groucho said, “It’s all a lie. I have to give it back, but I’m gonna sell it back instead. Three cheers for the red, white, and blue, and thank you all.”
During the showing of Animal Crackers Groucho made comments, and members of the audience close enough to hear him at all strained to catch every word:
When the name Captain Jeffrey T. Spaulding first appeared on the screen, Groucho said, “That’s me!”
When Captain Spaulding appeared in his sedan chair, Groucho said, “Who’s that young guy?”
When he told Margaret Dumont, “You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and that’s not saying much for you,” he was reminded that she never seemed to understand his jokes.
When he said to Margaret Dumont, “Would you wash out a pair of socks for me?” he told me, “I had plenty of sox appeal.”
During the Hungerdunger, Hungerdunger, Hungerdunger, Hungerdunger, and McCormick sequence with Zeppo, Groucho told me, “I wrote the whole scene and added to it each day. That’s a good scene. The original part was just, ‘Take a letter.’” Later during this same scene he said, “I like where I took a swing at Zep, and I almost knocked myself out.”
When Chico said, “I see you just want a telephone booth,” and Groucho said, “I’d get in touch with Chic Sale,” Groucho explained to me what this meant. “You don’t remember Chic Sale. That was before your time. He used to tell outhouse jokes.”
We left early in order to escape before the exiting audience. That was all right with Groucho. “I know how it ends,” he told us. Outside the mounted police had arrived, and the horses had entered into the spirit of pandemonium and were having a good time, creating as many problems as they were solving. Long after the occasion, Groucho reminisced with me about that night:
GROUCHO
/> Remember the night of Animal Crackers with all of the mounted police? Did I ever tell you that one of the horses asked me for my autograph?
I
Did he get it?
GROUCHO
Yes.
I
Was he pleased?
GROUCHO
I think so. He gave me quite a horselaugh.
That night, after the film, Groucho had a party in honor of the event, with Comden and Green entertaining. One of their songs was “La Marseillaise,” sung to the tune of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” and vice versa. Groucho added, “I was Napoleon in I’ll Say She Is and I said, ‘Ah, the Mayonnaise! The troops must be dressing.’” Groucho’s party was in his suite at the Regency, and besides those of us who had accompanied him to Animal Crackers, he also invited Ahmet Ertegun.
The plaque presented to Groucho read:
To Groucho Marx,
Whose comedy is timeless; a gentleman and a gentle man; the
master of the illogical, of the deflated platitude, of funny truths,
of reductio ad absurdum,
Gratefully,
With all our laughs,
THE FRIENDS OF THE CINÉMATHÈQUE FRANÇAISE
In appreciation, Groucho wrote the following letter to S. M. Estridge, chairman of the board of the Friends of the Cinémathèque Française:
Dear S.M.,
I was honored to receive the plaque, and I’ll wear it on my shoulder to eternity.
Groucho
Sometime later I talked with Betty and Adolph about that evening:
ADOLPH GREEN
I suddenly became aware of what a legend to young Americans he had become. I really got the picture instantly. I’d never thought of it before.
BETTY COMDEN
He’s worshiped. But it was quite scary when Groucho tried to get into the theatre. I think even he was surprised that there was such a mob. I remember being deeply concerned for him, because there was a mob that just wanted to touch him and be near him, which is lovely, except that it was just a little bit frightening. You had to force your way in, and there were a zillion photographers…
ADOLPH GREEN
Obviously they were gentle…
BETTY COMDEN
Oh yeah, just ecstatic. They were so excited.
ADOLPH GREEN
That was the nearest thing to “I carved my way through a wall of human flesh, dragging my canoe behind me,” because of Groucho.
I
They were tapping on the top of the car with coins, with us inside. It made a terrible noise.
BETTY COMDEN
That’s kind of frightening.
ADOLPH GREEN
It is frightening.
BETTY COMDEN
Seeing the picture was great fun, of course, and then we both got up and presented Groucho with the award. Then, after the event, going back to the hotel, Groucho was very lively. The evening hadn’t tired him in the least.
ADOLPH GREEN
I think after being scared he was sort of exuberant.
BETTY COMDEN
We sang for a while, doing numbers.
I
Groucho loves those performances you give when you come to his parties.
ADOLPH GREEN
Well, we have to! We have to come through. It’s not even a command. It’s “Or else!” We’d better come through.
During Groucho’s stay in New York, two very special moments were the visits he made after many years to the East Ninety-third Street apartment where the Marx Brothers all spent their early years, and to the house in Great Neck where Groucho lived with Ruth and his young family after “making it.” The Yorkville neighborhood where he grew up had changed less than might have been expected, but Groucho was disappointed when he couldn’t find the corner grocery where he used to be sent to fetch the beer for dinner.
The trip to Great Neck was “produced” by Ron Delsener, who took time out from his summer concerts in Central Park and the Madison Square Garden rock shows to whisk us on a picaresque journey. Ron described it:
“One day at the Regency Hotel I said to Groucho, ‘Let’s go back to your neighborhood, your old neighborhood.’ Of course, Manhattan was really his old neighborhood, the East Side in the Nineties, but he had told me that he’d lived in Great Neck. I said, ‘I’ll take the afternoon off, and we’ll drive out there.’ Well, it was a real rainy day, and I had to really convince him, but he’d told me he always wanted to go back and see his house in Great Neck.
“I said, ‘Listen, we’ll have fun,’ so just before we got to the Fifty-ninth Street bridge, I stopped at a store and bought two cheap wigs, one for Groucho and one for me. I bought a blond wig and a brunette wig, and we tried them on. We were laughing, singing, and making jokes, and he was acting very effeminate. He told one of my favorite stories about this vaudeville team called Swayne’s Rats and Cats. The rats sat on the backs of the cats like jockeys on horseback. He said he figured I had heard it before, but I enjoyed hearing it anyway.
“As we got into Great Neck, he recognized the street where he had lived, but there were a lot of changes since he’d been there. He said the street looked a little smaller to him. As he approached the house, you could see the memories start to come back, and as we went up the stairs, he was really excited.
“An elderly gentleman came to the door, obviously a robust sort of individual and in good health, but not much younger than Groucho. The minute he saw Groucho, he knew who it was. He said, ‘Groucho Marx! Groucho Marx!’ He was all excited, and he called the children in the house. There were two children. This was the children’s grandfather, and he was just so delighted to see Groucho. He said ‘You’ve come home. This is your house.’ Groucho was delighted too.
“We went upstairs to the bedroom, and Groucho said, ‘It’s laid out a little differently now. They must have taken down the wall.’ The man verified this. Then the little girl came into the room, and the old man said, ‘This is Groucho Marx, and once he lived in this house.’ They had a big poster of Groucho in the room, and giant blowups of scenes from Marx Brothers films. The girl looked at Groucho, kind of shyly, smiling a little.
“The grandfather was very upset that his daughter wasn’t home, and he tried to contact her. He said, ‘Won’t you stay a few more minutes for something to eat?’ But we had to go back. The weather was quite bad. It was still raining. But it was a great moment, and he’s remembered it every time I see him. He had a hell of a time that day!”
By the kind of rare coincidence that was always happening to Groucho, the man who had shown us around Groucho’s old Great Neck house was E. Bruell, who had for years been a projectionist at the Sutton Theatre, where Animal Crackers had just been newly premiered. As we left, Groucho said to Mr. Bruell, “When I was born, there were no movies, and now there aren’t any either.”
We left 21 Lincoln Road, where Groucho had spent years of his life, and headed into downtown Great Neck. He wanted to visit a bakery he remembered. “I used to buy a roll there that was full of nuts—just like me,” he told us as we drove up and down the main street looking futilely in every bakery. Groucho took a quick look in each but was disappointed. “It’s only been fifty years,” he said in mock dismay. “Things change so fast.” We drove back to Manhattan in the pouring rain.
Back at the Regency, we rode up in the elevator with a bridal party of bridesmaids and ushers. “Where’s the bride?” Groucho asked. He was informed that the party was on the twelfth floor, and was invited to attend by the giggling bridesmaids. We stopped at his suite for Erin, who was waiting with Salwyn Shufro, Groucho’s friend and financial adviser since the twenties. Then we all went upstairs to visit the party, where Groucho kissed the bride and all of the bridesmaids. As we left he told us about another bridal party that he and Harpo had inadvertently attended:
“When we were playing I’ll Say She Is, we were invited to a bachelor party for a friend of ours who was getting married. So Harpo and I got into the ele
vator and took off all our clothes. We were stark naked. But we got off at the wrong floor, where the bride was having a party for her friends. We ran around naked until a waiter finally came around with a couple of dish towels.”
Just after Groucho’s eighty-fifth birthday he was honored at the University of Southern California. On learning of the coming event, he pondered the gravity of it. Then, after a moment, he asked:
“What are they serving for lunch?”
“Groucho, it’s really big!” Erin exclaimed.
“Well, I guess I’ll stand up and say a few insincere words, then.”
He was honored at USC on October 16, 1975. Reading excerpts from his plays, letters, and books were Jack Lemmon, Roddy McDowall, Lynn Redgrave, and George Fenneman. Afterward Groucho sang as Billy Marx accompanied him on the piano; then he answered questions from the audience. One of the questions was, “Who is the best comedian?” Without hesitation he answered, “Woody Allen.”
Groucho was proud to have been in demand and working in show business in his eighties. He enjoyed earning money not only because he remembered the 1929 Depression and remained permanently insecure about lasting financial security, but because he felt that getting paid for what you do grades you. He said frankly, “I’m not available cheap. Free, maybe. Cheap, never.”
One morning while we were having breakfast, the mail arrived. Groucho produced a check from one of the envelopes, payment for a recent guest appearance, and waved it at me: “Look, I got a check. I’m still alive.”
Not very many people are fortunate enough in life to be able to enjoy some of the best times of their lives after the age of eighty. Groucho was the first to admit, “I’ve been lucky,” despite his occasionally saying to Erin, “Just remember: I’ve given you the worst years of my life.”
Hello, I Must be Going Page 28
