Posts Tagged ‘Beverly Hills’

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, 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…)