Archive for December, 2011

Law and Order: Beverly Hills Unit

Friday, December 30th, 2011

Do you remember when Zsa Zsa slapped a policeman in Beverly Hills?  It made all the papers.  Made the nightly news.  People might have assumed she was just a hot head.  I have news for those people.  He deserved it.  Big time. If he’s the guy I’m thinking of, and I’m pretty sure he is.

The cop sported a mustache that was so retro in style, yet not hip in the least. For that ugly mustache alone he deserved that slap.    He was a cowboy on his motorcycle moving in and out of the traffic without awareness of other drivers.  He also spun around on his horse, I mean, motorcycle, on some mornings to give my handicapped father shit about being dropped off in front of his favorite deli.  My father knew this routine well.  He would ask whoever was driving him to drop him off directly in front of places to make it the easiest on himself for a quick entry.  Or, as he called it: “a straight-in job.”  And sure, he was double-parked, but there was another lane and rarely any traffic at that time of day.  My dad would be threatened with a ticket but he would just keep moving and yelling at the cop.  And the next day, it would start all over again. (more…)

My Best Christmas was Chanukah

Tuesday, December 20th, 2011


I was never walked into a temple.  Never.  Not by my dad, the Jew.  I thought being Jewish meant eating lox, bagel & cream cheese in a deli.  Because that’s what my dad, the non-religious Jew told me.  When we ate at Nate n’ Al’s, he would announce loudly as he seemed to be pointing to the food, “We’re Jews!!!”

I sang with my friend Cindy Lou Carlson in her church for the Christmas pageant.  Those rehearsals alone put me in a church more times than I was ever in a temple — at least until my kids and step-kids became B’nai Mitzvah.

I’m assuming my mom was some sort of Christian, but your guess is as good as mine.  She never walked us into a church and never spoke of any religion.  So, there you go, two parents – one gentile, one Jewish — who offered zero religious guidance.  We called ourselves half-and-half.  This was pretty commonplace in Beverly Hills, though each family would often choose a side and go to temple or church.  Christmas or Chanukah.

We celebrated Christmas, tree and all.  Show business was up and down and some years we had big-time gifts.  The trees were bigger in those years.  At other times we might have skimpy trees with few gifts.

One year, I scored.  We all scored.  My dad had a friend who had a TV show and he finagled a bunch of freebie popular toys of the day for us.  I coveted Patty Play Pal.  She’s all I ever wanted.  I wonder if there were Chatty Cathy people and Patty Play Pal people.  I just dug how big that doll seemed.  I was little, so for me she was huge.  That year, my mother got her new hi-fi and played it continuously Christmas day.    Holiday paper and ribbon were strewn about as Bobby Darin belted “Mack the Knife.”  And I got my big-ass doll — a new friend in my wonderful fantasy-filled life.  My brother got shit he wanted.  We had pogo sticks and stilts.  We were a very happy family with a house filled-to-the-brim with every hot toy and gadget.

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The Birds and the Bees

Friday, December 9th, 2011


Xmas in Palm Springs is like an oxymoron. The palm trees sway, the sun shines bright and it’s often hot and balmy. It’s where Beverly Hills families often went. Where some were lucky enough to have vacation/weekend homes.

We were lucky to “know” someone. My dad was always up for a freebie and one winter vacation we borrowed his friend Alan Freed’s house. Alan, the New York disc jockey known as “the father of rock & roll,” had in fact coined the phrase “rock and roll.” Poor Alan Freed. Sometimes when we were there to visit him and not on our own, I would make him sit and listen while I auditioned for him, singing the hit Allan Sherman camp song, “Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh (Here I am at Camp Granada).” I was convinced I had a great voice, but in truth could not have been more off-key.

Hello Mudder Hello Fadder

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The Fishell family lived a few blocks away because they were one of the lucky ones who owned their own home in the desert. The Fishell girls were very grown up and popular. All the boys gravitated to them. My dad was a friend of their dad Dick, an older father like my own, with a hot, younger wife, also like mine. To be honest, my parents had been divorced for years, but we went everywhere together as a family. Very modern, way ahead of their time. Maybe no one even realized they were divorced.

The twins, Jeannie and Jackie Fishell were a year younger than me, in fifth grade, and Robin was my age and also in sixth. Every day we hung out as a large group of pre-teens. Robin was probably too mature for me so I hung out more with Jeannie and Jackie. At night we had spin the bottle parties with lots of boys who remember our peck of a kiss to this day. Like John Sofro who would later marry one of my BFF’s — Barbara Dudley. (more…)