Posts Tagged ‘Beverly Hills’

The Eulogy I Never Wanted To Write

Monday, April 8th, 2019


First the joke I wrote while waiting behind the gauze curtains at a Jewish funeral.  The first joke I would ever write.

Let me set the scene:  Forest Lawn in Burbank, California.  The year 1996.  The chapel – is it called a chapel?  Is spilling over.  There are well over 200 guests and not enough seats so some people will be outside.

“I think I might need my dad’s cane here today and maybe his brace.  God knows I have his balls.”

I looked straight into the audience and saw Red Buttons and Shecky Greene laughing.  That’s when I knew I had this.  Though I’m not great at public speaking.  It’s my biggest fear – among so many fears.  Maybe I didn’t inherit the large balls after all.  My father was fearless.  Oh, did I mention this is my dad’s funeral?  Now you know.

The beauty of my father was – well – so many things I’ll try and share with you.  But one of them being that he would grade you.  He’d give everyone an A or 100%.  But, it was always a perfect score.  So, first off, I’d like to give my dad 100 for being the best dad a little girl could ever have. (more…)


Tuesday, July 21st, 2015

collage of famous 60s people


I was in my head so much that I didn’t watch TV, never read. Playing with friends was distracting because I would rather be in my fantasy world. Who I pretended to be was a full time job.   Let me introduce you to all the roles I played. It was exhausting being me.

I was Haley Mills in The Parent Trap.

I played tambourine and sometimes drums in my famous all-girl band – The Pink Pussycats. We wore pink Helanka turtlenecks, pink stretch pants and pink Courreges boots. We wore Mary Quant and Yardley makeup. Because of our sudden rise to fame, we did many glamorous magazine covers like Vogue and Seventeen.

I was all the characters in Peter Pan, my favorite being Tinkerbell. I would spend days hunting butterflies to collect the sticky stuff off their wings which would enable me to fly. This required leaving my house and the fantasy bubble I lived in.

As Shirley Temple, I sang The Good Ship Lollipop and tap-danced on the top of pianos. (more…)

The Mother of All Waitresses

Saturday, May 12th, 2012

I once went to the most spectacular Hollywood funeral ever.  And the love that poured out was well deserved.  We knew her by one name, kind of like Cher or Madonna.  Kaye.  Do you all know whom I’m talking about?  You do if you were lucky enough to grow up in Beverly Hills at that time.  It’s Kaye Coleman, beloved Nate n’ Al’s waitress and star of our collective childhoods.

Although Kaye had her own daughter and son (and grandchildren), she was the unofficial surrogate mother to some of the biggest mothers in Hollywood.  And her “sons” looked after her well.  I’d run into Kaye at the priciest restaurants, dining with her posse of waitress friends, the tab picked up by Lew Wasserman or Bernie Brillstein.  Those two moguls would also send her on European vacations and ocean cruises.  At times, Kaye lived a fancier life than many of her Beverly Hills customers.

Larry King was the emcee of Kaye’s funeral, the only funeral I can think of that had one.  His two Nate n’ Al’s buddies, the ones he eats with everyday, Sid and Bob, gave their own hilarious eulogies.   So funny, that I overheard Suzanne Pleshette — with that happy newlywed look on her face after her surprise marriage to Tom Poston — leaving the funeral saying, “Who knew?  Guess we have to get those two to speak at my funeral.”  Sadly, that day would come too soon (not fair). (more…)

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…)