My father's reminiscence about an evening out he and I had back in around 1996 or early 1997 requires, to my mind, a preface.
If you are a fan of the movies of yore, circa 1930s and the 1940s in particular, you will likely remember an actor named Sheldon Leonard. He usually played the "bad guy" in the old black and whites, but my favorite role of his was a small one in the still poignant film, "It's a Wonderful Life" with Jimmy Stewart. He's the bartender at the local bar in that one. My father and I both knew real people who spoke and comported themselves as the actor did in his roles, people born and raised in New York as was Mr. Leonard. Tough talking, curt, sarcastic but genuine. In later years Mr. Leonard became a high powered producer of many of my favorite television shows like "Dick Van Dyke" and "Andy Griffith". When I was a kid, I had no idea he had even been an actor.
I wouldn't exactly say that Mr. Leonard was a favorite actor to my father, but that New York connection, and the familiarity of cultural background meant that he often mentioned the first role that Leonard had in the movies, one I have never seen still, called, "Tall, Dark and Handsome". I guess it was a sense of "one of us" ordinary folk born and raised in some concrete neighborhood had made it to Hollywood Glamour.
Anyway, the one thing about living in the environs of Hollywood that I have always enjoyed is running into actors and actresses living their lives and having your life intersect with theirs ever so briefly. I think maybe in one of these blog entries I will list the people I have seen since 1977 or 8 (Michael Callan was the first. Does anybody know who he is? And it was in the long defunct Hamburger Hamlet on Sunset Boulevard).
I had some bet with Dad. We were always at loggerheads over various subjects and, though at the time I would have denied it vehemently, my late father and I had similar personalities and neither of us would give an inch in a debate. He usually "won" by virtue of his authority as parent, even when I was in middle age. But this time, I insisted that there be a consequence. Dinner on the loser for the winner in a really nice restaurant. Alas, I lost. My father, a Depression era child,who did not like to spend money on food that he felt he could easily make better himself at home, was prepared to release me from my obligation. I insisted. And he conceded.
Le Chardonnay was a comfortable, dark, classy French Restaurant on Melrose Avenue. Unlike me, my father paid no attention to the other customers or the possibility that any of them might be from the glory days of Hollywood or the more au currant stars. He would not know the latter and the former would require me to point them out. We were waiting to be seated. A threesome came behind us, two women, one with a cane or walker, and a tallish dapper man whom I immediately recognized as Sheldon Leonard. His aura at that moment projected none of the street smart New Yorker of the movies. My father was paying no attention to me, but continued to look ahead. I turned to Mr. Leonard and I said, "Mr. Leonard, my father," to whom I pointed, still unaware of the proceedings, saw your first movie. He shook my hand. I now addressed my father. "Dad", I entreated. My father was slightly deaf, though he usually claimed that his failure to hear was the result of my mumbling, and so he did ot immediately turn. "Dad!" and he turned. "This is Sheldon Leonard". My father said, without preamble, "Tall, Dark and Handsome!". Leonard was visibly pleased. I realized that these two men had much in common. Both had been average New Yorkers who rose in the world, one a bit more famous than the other, but men who pulled themselves up by "the bootstraps". And both, gentlemen.
They shook hands. It seems to me that even before Mr. Leonard's grasp had broken, he called to his female companions, "This gentleman knows my first film." They were unimpressed. And uninterested in the exchange. Both Dad and I later said that Mr. Leonard was about to invite us to join him and his companions for dinner, but was interdicted by their annoyance.
I never thought that my father was much impacted by meeting Mr. Leonard. Actually, Mr. Leonard died not long after our accidental meeting. I was surprised, as was my father, because he had seemed very hardy when we saw him. That was 1997.
My father died in 2008. As you know from all of my transcriptions here, Dad left behind lots of stories and commentaries. Among them was a short reminiscence of that night which he sent to TV Guide in the hope that they might publish it. I could have told him that TV Guide wouldn't accept a submission from someone outside their writing pool, but he didn't ask me, and until I found it I did not know he had even made a submission. I am amazed at how our memories of that evening are fairly comparable, except perhaps for the exactness of some of the quotes.
His submission letter said the following: "Sheldon Leonard's passing had a deep impact on me. I felt as if we had, somehow, a long association. You see, our paths crossed, one night, on an after summer night, as told in the accompanying effort. He appeared strong, years younger than his stated age, vital, and on his way to a gourmet meal. I will miss him."
AN EVENING OUT IN THE LAND OF LILLIPUT
Given a choice between two similar items, identical in al things but price, Djinna will choose the more expensive one. It is as if some shadow of opprobrium affixes itself to a bargain. I feel as if I am commiting "heresy"; that I am ungrateful, particularly since I have been the beneficiary of this profligacy, to wit: an eight hundred dollar refrigerator, a cruise to Ensenada, a bowl full of book matches that announce to the world I have been treated to most of the trendy restaurants of this town, and then some.
I am not surprised, therefore, at the opulence of her choice, for the evening, a very French, "n'est ce pas", restaurant called "Le Chardonnay". It has a narrow anteroom, kind of like Gibraltar is to the entry to the Mediterranean, through which the patrons must pass and be verified before being seated.
A well-appointed gentleman arrives behind us. We are importuned further by two elderly women, one assisted by the other and a walker. They are impatient.
"Excuse me," says the more ambulatory lady. The two squeeze themselves to the front, where a Maitre D' posts himself. "I'm sorry," says my daughter, to no further acknowledgement.
"Sir," I hear Djinna's voice. This is my daughter's name. "I do not generally do this, but are you Sheldon Leonard?"
"I am", he says, very pleased.
"My father is a long-time fan of yours," she adds, though I would characterize my interest in celebrity as somewhat less than adulation. Generally, my expertise consists of faces that are familiar, whose names I don't remember from various movies.
"Yes," I say. I really enjoyed your film, "Tall, Dark and Handsome". It actually is the only one I remember.
The still pleased Mr. Leonard addresses the two ladies in a loud voice. "The gentleman remembers a nineteen forty one film!" My daughter recalls that he refers to it as his first film.
The ladies are visibly annoyed and make no response.
Sheldon-I feel I may take this familiar tone--shakes my hand. He has a strong grasp. He is led--before us-by the Maitre D' but I do manage to make on parting comment.
"Mr. Leonard, you were indeed a great 'bad guy'. I know he would like to hear more about the days when his bulging eyes, sneering lips, and menacing Bronx acccent brought terror to the screen's 'good guys' as in this case Cesar Romero. I would have liked to pursue this discussion. I have always been curious about the female lead, Patricia Gilmore. I sense that he would also like to talk about yesteryear. I suspect, also, that one of the impatient ladies is his wife, the other, perhaps, his mother in law. What mortal man can deal with this immortal combination?
My daughter and I are seated. Our waiter is, of course, French, wise and experienced. His outer conformation, though, gives the impression of the look of an Irish Leprechaun. His is formal, at first, but seems to warm up.
The splendor of the high ceiling, the enormous plate glass windows, the elaborate wine list, from an expensive twenty five dollars "ad astra" which is a way of saying, "to the stars", an a la carte menu of gastronomic opulence, with prices to match--I could not have expected less of my beloved progeny.
I do not recall what my daughter ordered. For me, I saw futility in looking for moderation on the menu. I went for the best-- a Gibson, with three onions, Lobster Bisque, superb and only ten dollars, Filet Mignon, perhaps two inches thick, a bottle of Pouilly Fuisse, wrong with red meat, and likely to raise the eyebrow of the waiter, but a wine I like. I had, also, two brandies, Remy Martin, and an expresso. I left the tip, out of mercy.
On the way out the sartorially elegant proprietor beams, and bids us good night.
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