Monday, August 12, 2024. Sunny, partly cloudy with temps in the low 80s by day and the low to mid-60s by night. Very agreeable weather to live by unless the humidity steps in.
Today’s Diary takes us back to my Diaries when I was living and working in Los Angeles (late ‘70s through early ‘90s) in the film industry. This was an entirely fascinating place and time for the boy who grew up with “the movies” and its “stars.” I’d moved out there to acquire “the experience” of that community professionally. The following reflects but one of the many fascinating times that came my way out there.
Hollywood Lives; 1980s. I’d met Robin and Fred Astaire at a private dinner at the home of Edie Goetz, the eldest daughter of Louis B. Mayer who created Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. Mrs. Goetz, who lived in movie-star fashion in an enormous mansion with one of the greatest private art collections of the era, was famous in the community (and here in New York) for her brilliant dinner parties which almost always included a screening for a pre-released feature about to make its way to the public.
Fascinated by the company of course, during the evening I asked Mrs. Astaire if Fred might be available to be interviewed about his work for a television program I was doing. She explained that Fred did not give interviews but suggested that I contact Hermes Pan who worked with Fred as his choreographer from the very beginning at RKO throughout his entire career.
Meeting Hermes was a pleasure and so agreeable about his and Fred’s work that he filled me with background of their work and how it was created. Hermes’ role with Astaire was like that of an editor with an author except the two men were similarly obsessed with dance and creating something new for the camera. When rehearsing for a new film, they’d meet at the studio seven days a week to create the dance sequences, with “office hours” (9 to 5), including an hour’s lunch break.
The two men began each rehearsal session with an hour (or even more) of warming-up exercises and, with the pianist accompanying them, the two limbered up by competing in coming up with new steps and ideas. When it came to the actual scripted “dance number” with partner, that was created by the two men in rehearsal. And when completed, Hermes would then teach the role to Fred’s partner whoever she might be.
Hermes’s stories about their work led to many stories not only about their dance creations but also about Fred’s partners and their work, such as Ginger Rogers, Rita Hayworth, Eleanor Powell, Judy Garland, Cyd Charisse. The favorite partner (of both men) was Rita Hayworth, who Hermes said had “the best shoulders in the (dance) business.”
A few days later, we went down to Rancho Mirage with a television crew to interview Ginger Rogers at her house. Ginger’s secretary told us she never does this sort of thing but she was so impressed by our persistence with the Pan project that she was doing it. She was 75 and still working. She was also writing her book then. I’d never met her. I heard she’s “very vivacious,” according to Pan.
When we arrived, Ginger was waiting sitting on one side of a sofa in her living room as if already setting herself up for the interview. When the cameraman brought in a light for the camera, Ginger asked if that was the only one.
“Yes,” he replied.
“You need a backlight also,” she said with natural authority.
The man went back out to his van and came back with a second.
When she saw it before her, she told him to put it 6 feet directly behind her. He did so; and without her turning around to see, he told her it was there whereupon — again without turning her head — she put the forefinger of her right hand up to the tip of her nose. Then she reached under the cushion she was sitting on and pulled out a handmirror which she held right up to her face, whereupon she gave her approval. A pro, through and through.
Back to Hermes. One night, Pan was invited for dinner as a guest of Michael Jackson at his huge house in Encino. Michael had sent the limousine for Pan. The dinner guests were Pan, Michael, and a 13-year-old named Jonathan. Michael only had barely pubescent friends.
Hermes said he had one room full of trophies and awards and photographs of him with everyone including Queen Elizabeth to Reagan. Hermes and Fred Astaire both met Michael Jackson after Jackson had met them and sent all of his awards and trophies to Fred with the message that it was Fred’s dancing that had inspired him to create his dances — all of which were created with Hermes as choreographer. Fred returned them all with his thanks but reminded Michael that they were the result of Michael’s talent.
After dinner they went to the projection room and watched a reel of dances Pan had choreographed for Fred Astaire, Rita Hayworth, Betty Grable, etc. Michael was so excited watching that he was yelling and screaming just like a kid at some of the numbers.
Hermes said he was very intelligent and very interesting, but very shy and of course, “like someone from Mars,” which was how Astaire put it when he met him. Michael Jackson is a real Hollywood character — a strange one, a weirdo, a misfit, but very, very talented. And of course, very, very rich. They said his income last year (1980s) was $47 million.
The research took me deeper into interviewing some of Fred’s partners. The first interview was with Barrie Chase who danced with Fred in the 1960s.
She was thirty years his junior, and his last partner — for a series of tv specials — and despite the age difference, to the viewer, she was the perfect partner for Fred.
The partnership was so effective that many thought she would marry him, but no. She married a dentist who was also in real estate which explains the house they lived in in Holmby Hills. Huge and filled with English antiques, the swimming pool was outside the front door. A very fancy front door.
The house, which was built in the 1920s, had been owned by writer-producer Nunnally Johnson. Barrie and her husband bought it in 1974 and spent ten years remodeling it before they moved in! But the swimming pool was in the wrong place so they took the darn thing out and replaced it with a driveway (for the approach to the mansion), putting the swimming pool somewhere else. They had the land – two and half acres — which is a lot of land in that residential area.
In the garage was a perfect 1934 Ford V6 coupe, British racing green, doors that opened out; perfect, perfect, perfect, right down to the original upholstery nice and thick and velvety. And a 1948 Mercury four door station wagon also in perfect perfect perfect condition. Everything is exactly same as. Everything. Except both cars had automatic transmissions because Madame Barrie wouldn’t drive anything else. Can you blame her?
But the cars were beautiful. And they were kept in a garage with the floors of a polished grey tile with stainless steel pans underneath the cars to catch the riff-raff that dare drop out of the engines. Everything was sparkling. The cars looked like they’ve never been moved although Barrie drove them all the time.
