Hello, I Must be Going
Page 45
I’m sure Shaw didn’t go into a discussion of Fabian socialism with Harpo.
ERIN
When Groucho went to see T. S. Eliot, he tried to read The Waste Land.
MORRIE RYSKIND
Groucho always made fun of me and said I was the guy who went to college. He always had this inferiority complex—and this to me is the stupidest thing in the world. I know many people who didn’t go to college, and who have an inferiority complex about it…
GROUCHO
I have.
MORRIE RYSKIND
I know you have. This is stupid because an awful lot of guys who have a degree are the biggest bores in the world and don’t know a helluva lot. Groucho was always better read than half the guys I knew.
ERIN
I wish some university would give Groucho a degree.
MORRIE RYSKIND
How about two degrees?
GROUCHO
I’ll take the third degree.
MORRIE RYSKIND
Didn’t Dartmouth want to give you a degree?
ERIN
They wanted him to come there and speak.
GROUCHO
I just had a letter from Notre Dame, and they wanted me to come there and talk. And a letter from Harvard for the same thing.
MORRIE RYSKIND
But no degree?
GROUCHO
Suppose I got a degree. What good is it?
ERIN
But Groucho, then you’d be a college graduate.
GROUCHO
So what?
ERIN
Then you wouldn’t have an inferiority complex anymore.
GROUCHO
I don’t have it now.
MORRIE RYSKIND
You do to some extent. I was just thinking today: I remember you in some of the old stuff you did, somebody would say, “Wittier,” and you’d say, “The poet?” I’ll bet if you said Whittier today, half the kids wouldn’t know what you were talking about.
GROUCHO
Some eleven-year-old kids were at the door today to get my autograph.
MORRIE RYSKIND
Well, why not? They’re only eleven—let ’em have it, Grouch.
GROUCHO
I did, but I kicked them out.
MORRIE RYSKIND
With this permissiveness, I don’t know what you’re going to do. Nobody haunts me or comes around to my house asking for my autograph. All they ever want is a check.
GROUCHO
(Starts singing “God Bless America”)
MARY RYSKIND
You know, it’s so strange; people stand up for that as though it were the National Anthem.
GROUCHO
It should be the National Anthem.
MORRIE RYSKIND
When Pearl Bailey sang “The Star-Spangled Banner”—oh boy, you really got a thrill out of that!
GROUCHO
It’s a lousy song.
MORRIE RYSKIND
No, it isn’t.
GROUCHO
It’s a song about war. “The bombs bursting in air…” That’s a lousy song.
ERIN
He likes “God Bless America” better.
MORRIE RYSKIND
If you remember, Grouch…Do you know the circumstances under which that was written?
GROUCHO
Yes. When Washington was crossing the Delaware.
MORRIE RYSKIND
No. When Baltimore was being burned. And this guy is out on a British ship and wondering will our place survive. It’s a hell of a song.
GROUCHO
It’s a lousy song. “God Bless America” is a great song.
MORRIE RYSKIND
All right! I like Berlin, too!
GROUCHO
I don’t like Berlin. I prefer Frankfurt.
MORRIE RYSKIND
To have written that…
GROUCHO
And so many other cities…
MORRIE RYSKIND
…and the bombs going off, and wondering…
GROUCHO
…all of them better than Berlin.
MORRIE RYSKIND
…if America was going to survive, and…
GROUCHO
You don’t sell me on that.
MORRIE RYSKIND
So all right. You can Passover it.
GROUCHO
I will.
MARY RYSKIND
We should let Groucho have his massage now.
GROUCHO
I’m gonna put on my pajamas and watch my show.
MORRIE RYSKIND
Is it all right if I watch your show from my house?
GROUCHO
No. It’s not the same. Tempus fugit. Or rather, tempus fidgets. Did you know him?
MORRIE RYSKIND
Yes!
GROUCHO
I knew him well. For the last forty years I knew him well.
BILLY WILDER
Writer-director-producer Billy Wilder was born in Austria and grew up in Vienna, where he often watched Trotsky play chess in the Café Central. As a young reporter, he met Richard Strauss, Arthur Schnitzler, and Freud. In pre-Hitler Berlin he worked as a full-time crime reporter and part-time thé dansant partner for unescorted ladies at the Hotel Eden. He had begun writing film scripts, including the classic People on Sunday, but with the ascension of the Nazis, he fled Germany.
For a while he was an expatriate in Paris, then he left for Hollywood. In 1938 he and Charles Brackett wrote Bluebeard’s Eighth Wife, followed by Ninotchka, both directed by Ernst Lubitsch. Billy Wilder’s first directorial credit was The Major and the Minor. Some of his other important films include The Lost Weekend, Double Indemnity, Sunset Boulevard, Sabrina, and Some Like It Hot. He has been nominated for twenty-one Academy Awards, winning six.
Just before Christmas of 1974, Billy Wilder came to have tea with Groucho, Erin, and me. A few days earlier Groucho and I had gone with Sidney Sheldon to see The Front Page, Billy Wilder’s latest film, at the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ theatre.
Billy Wilder arrived exactly on time. His attire was conservative-casual, combining the European emphasis on quality material with the emphasis on comfort characteristic of Southern California. He wore an open sports shirt, a cashmere pullover, peccary moccasins, and trousers with a perfect crease. Groucho commented on this after Billy Wilder had departed. “And he had two of them, two creases. They didn’t look like the pants my father used to make. His tailor must’ve used a tape measure.”
When Billy Wilder arrived, Groucho inquired about his wife, former actress Audrey Young:
GROUCHO
Where’s Audrey?
BILLY WILDER
I hope she’s out buying a Christmas gift for me.
GROUCHO
Where’s I. A. L. Diamond?
BILLY WILDER
I don’t take Izzy everywhere with me. I hear that you liked my picture.
GROUCHO
She (Indicating me) went with me. It’s great! But it got some bad reviews.
BILLY WILDER
That doesn’t paralyze me. I just get more anxious and determined. In Europe they think you’re as good as the best you’ve ever been. In Hollywood it’s “What have you done lately?” I don’t look back. That would be like looking up a girl you slept with thirty years ago. The bad reviews hurt for a week, and then you get over it. You have to. If you think about it, and feel they’re going to kick you in the stomach again, you can’t do the next thing. I remember talking to Mary Benny the day after she was robbed of all her jewelry at the Pierre. She said she was on her way to Harry Winston. You have to get right back on the horse. (Looking at the cake Erin has just carried in from the kitchen) Aaaah! It’s a Streuselkuchen. Do you have a coffee klatsch like this every day?
ERIN
(Lightly) Of course.
GROUCHO
(Truthfully) No, we’re just doing it to impress you. (To Erin, who is cutting the Streuselkuchen) Don’t I get so
me of the kuchen? I’m master of the house. (Groucho bursts into song in German, and Billy Wilder joins him)
BILLY WILDER
I think it’s words by Heine and music by Schubert.
GROUCHO
(Indicating Erin) She doesn’t speak German. She’s from Canada. The last time we played there it was ten below zero, and the audience was forty below zero.
BILLY WILDER
(Observing the painting on the wall of Groucho’s dining room) That’s The Peaceable Kingdom. And what is that? (Indicating a smaller painting on the opposite wall, depicting three women)
GROUCHO
Those are my three hookers. It’s my three ex-wives.
BILLY WILDER
It should be in the bedroom.
ERIN
It’s just a picture he picked up somewhere. It’s not of anyone.
GROUCHO
(To Erin) All right, girlie. (To Billy Wilder) Have you read the book about Kaufman?
BILLY WILDER
That was a long time ago.
GROUCHO
No. There’s a new one. It’s great. Eight hundred pages.
ERIN
Groucho reads about six books at a time.
BILLY WILDER
So do I. Maybe I’m in the mood for one. Maybe another. Sometimes a paperback mystery or something in German. You were in Europe, I understand, Groucho.
GROUCHO
Yeah. That’s where they gave me this. (Indicating his Legion of Honor) You know Gregory Peck? (Billy Wilder nods) When I was living in London, we lived in Mayfair, next door to Gregory Peck and his wife, and we had a couple keeping our house, and every weekend, they used to buy one hundred condoms and go over to Ireland and sell them. They made a lot of money.
BILLY WILDER
The Pecks?
GROUCHO
(Over laughter) No.
BILLY WILDER
When I was making a film in London, we had the Greek king and queen on the set, the parents of the deposed king, and one of the electricians hollered down, “Hey, Queenie, where were you when I needed you for my inside straight?” The queen didn’t understand at first, but someone translated for her. Then she laughed and applauded. What do you hear from Krasna these days?
GROUCHO
He’s doing a play on Broadway. When he lived in Beverly Hills, he had a Japanese butler he used to play tennis with every day, and Krasna beat him every day. Until Krasna fired him. He gave him two weeks’ notice, and in those two weeks the Japanese beat him 6-0, 6-0, 6-0.
BILLY WILDER
Is he still living in Switzerland?
GROUCHO
Yeah. I wrote him a letter the other day, and I signed it Al Ritz. When he got married, he married someone named Erle, so I sent him a telegram: “You finally struck Erle.”
BILLY WILDER
You can be funny.
GROUCHO
I was in show business for quite a while.
BILLY WILDER
You were funnier on purpose than anybody else.
ERIN
Groucho, why don’t you show Billy the rest of the house. (We go to the back part of the house, where Groucho shows the photographs and treasured souvenirs to Billy Wilder; Groucho pats his Oscar, which has stage center on the back hall table)
BILLY WILDER
I got six, but that’s the past. (Billy Wilder looks at the photographs that line the wall to Groucho’s bedroom)
GROUCHO
Look at this one. (It is the photograph taken by Charlotte Granet which appeared in Life magazine, showing a group of Groucho’s friends dressed up as Groucho; at the top of the stairway is Harpo) Do you know which one I am? (Billy Wilder points to Harpo) Yeah.
ARTHUR WHITELAW
Arthur Whitelaw, who produced Minnie’s Boys on Broadway, took Groucho and me to the Westside Jewish Community Center in Los Angeles to see an amateur benefit production of this play.
Following dinner at Chasen’s before the show, we had to wait longer than usual for Groucho’s car. He checked his Groucho watch. “It’s twenty-five past Groucho,” he said with some consternation. He never liked to enter late for a show, still remembering the days when the Marx Brothers were the opening act on a vaudeville bill.
GROUCHO
(To parking attendant) Get that lousy car out here, will you? (To Arthur and me) I wonder if we can get the car without giving him a dollar. (When the car arrives, he hands the very tall parking attendant a dollar) Here you are, Shorty!
ARTHUR WHITELAW
He’s taller than we are, Groucho.
GROUCHO
Only in inches.
When we arrived at the Henry Weinberger Auditorium, Groucho was the object of much covert attention as we were whisked inside. The play had begun, and our seats were in the front row. As we came down the aisle, the performers stopped speaking and watched as we groped our way to our seats. Recovering, they went on, amid whispers throughout the audience which virtually drowned out the words being spoken onstage. “It’s Groucho.” “Groucho came.” “Groucho Marx is here.”
Had the role he was to play in that night’s performance been contemplated, he undoubtedly would have received credit in the program as one of the players. He uttered frequent asides which met with enthusiastic laughter from the audience. He filled in details from his own memories, calling out corrections like, “Not All-bee, Albee!” when the producer’s name was mispronounced. The young actor playing Groucho went back and corrected his mistake, but it was drowned out by the laughter that continued after Groucho’s comment.
Minnie’s Boys ended, and the audience gathered respectfully around Groucho, orderly but eager. As the actors finished removing their makeup, they also came out to meet Groucho. They were all very happy. So was the audience.
MAN
What did you think of it, Groucho?
GROUCHO
Fine. They’re much better than we were.
WOMAN
May I shake your hand, Mr. Marx?
ANOTHER WOMAN
Groucho, may I kiss you?
GROUCHO
I’ve never been kissed before. This is wonderful. The biggest thrill of my life. (But he moves away, avoiding the kiss)
FRIEDA (THE USHER)
My name is Frieda, F-R-I-E-D-A.
GROUCHO
Like fried potatoes? I can spell that.
ANOTHER WOMAN
(As Groucho signs autographs) Are you reliving all the memories?
GROUCHO
Yeah. I wish I was dead.
ANOTHER WOMAN
I finally get to meet the man I adore.
GROUCHO
So do I.
SAME WOMAN
I still watch your show every time it’s on.
GROUCHO
So do I.
ANOTHER MAN
(With a beard) I just want to thank you.
GROUCHO
I don’t blame you. Get a shave. (Indicating Arthur) This is my brother. (After signing a great many autographs) Write your name, and I’ll sign it.
ANOTHER WOMAN
I already wrote my name.
GROUCHO
Write another one. I don’t like that one.
ANOTHER MAN
Is there anything you want, Mr. Marx?
GROUCHO
Yeah. To get out of here.
ANOTHER MAN
Groucho, I’ve been watching your program for many years.
GROUCHO
No kidding? Well, there’s a fellow in Philadelphia who watches it too. (Indicating Arthur) This is my uncle. I’d like you to meet my uncle.
ANOTHER WOMAN
(To me) Are you Melinda?
I
No. A friend.
ANOTHER WOMAN
I have nine grandchildren. Would you write their names for me and sign yours for each of them.
GROUCHO
No. You write their names, and I’ll sign it. Once for all of them.
DAVID WEITZ (the actor
who played Groucho)
I’m very happy to meet you, Groucho.
GROUCHO
You were much better than I was. I knew you right away.
DAVID WEITZ
Only by the glasses.
GROUCHO
I didn’t wear those kind of glasses.
DAVID WEITZ
We’ll have to do it all over again.
GROUCHO
I enjoyed it, and I had a very good time. Now I’ll go home and whip the bishop.
TODD TATUM (the actor who played Harpo)
Thank you for coming, Mr. Marx.
GROUCHO
You were all very good. You were better than we were. Especially the jokes.
PRETTY GIRL
Thank you so much for coming.
GROUCHO
You were the best one in the show. (To Arthur and me) She was the best one. (Starting to leave) Happy Chanukah! A peaceful harmonica to all our friends. (We leave. Outside, to Arthur) You were the best.
Groucho commented to me the next day at breakfast, “They were amateurs, but for amateurs, they were very good. I told them they were better than we were. It’s when they try to do comedy, that’s when they fall down.”
Arthur Whitelaw, who was one of Groucho’s friends and favorite piano players, met Groucho in 1958.
“I first met Groucho when I was about eighteen years old. Groucho was touring in Time for Elizabeth, and I went up to Westport to see the play. That wasn’t the first time, however, that I fell in love with the Marx Brothers. That goes way back to my early childhood when I was about three years old.
“I was taken to see A Night at the Opera. That was in 1943. I remember coming out of the theatre and not being able to breathe because I was laughing so hard. That was my first introduction to them.
“I’d always wanted to meet Groucho, and my first opportunity was when he came to Westport, because I lived on Long Island, and it was just an hour and a half away. I went backstage after the show and met Groucho and his daughter, Melinda, and Eden, whom he was married to at the time.
“We sort of corresponded for a little while after that. Then I got to be a producer two or three years later. Seven years later we were discussing the Rolling Stones and the Monkeys and the Beatles, and I noticed that they were all doing what the Marx Brothers were doing years ago—that same irreverent kind of putting down the establishment and individuals. So I thought, ‘What a good idea to do a musical about the Marx Brothers.’
“I came out to California in 1968 and met with Groucho, and explained exactly what it was that I wanted to do. He thought it was a super idea. I said the thing that I thought was really interesting was to show their lives off the stage—at home with Minnie and Frenchie and Hannah, and all the people that surrounded Groucho on Ninety-third Street, the people who really affected their careers. The characters onstage were drawn from their real experience.