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My father died 17 years ago today. November 30 is also Mark Twain's birthday. I imagine Dad would have liked to be linked to Twain, however tenuously. Funny... I just now remembered that I read THE INNOCENTS ABROAD the one time I visited Dad at his home in L.A.
In his early years in Hollywood, Dad lent his voice to various progressive causes, which got him branded as "a Red sonofabitch" (allegedly by Columbia Pictures honcho Harry Cohn), then tailed for decades by the FBI. The sign proclaiming "SCHOLARSHIPS NOT BATTLESHIPS" in this photo from 1937 (below) would have been perfect for an anti-Vietnam War demonstration--or an Occupy rally now. Alas, Dad and the other peaceniks were proved wrong four years later, when battleships became vastly more necessary.
PEACE "STRIKE" OFF CAMPUS AT U.C.L.A.
Westwood, Calif.--More than 1000 students of the University of California at Los Angeles walked off the campus in a peace strike as part of a nation-wide demonstration called by the United Student Peace Committee. --PHOTO SHOWS-- Lionel Stander, cinema actor, as he addressed the crowd of strikers, while standing on a truck parked near the campus. 4-22-37
1 Comments on Yahrzeit - Ahead & Behind theTimes, last added: 12/1/2011
My father would have been 103 years old today (the simplest date of all: 1/11/11). My latest acquisition of Lionel Stander memorabilia is a publicity still from The Big Show-Off, released in January 1945. I haven't seen it, but per the synopsis it's a typical Republic Pictures "B" picture. Its one claim to fame is that it stars Dale Evans just before she hitched up with Roy Rogers.
I visited my mom and stepfather in Maine two weeks ago. While I was doing my morning stretches, I suddenly noticed a book, which I'm sure had been on the same shelf for 20 years: BUILDING A CHARACTER. "Huh," I thought. "This might be useful in writing fiction." (I've been working on The Great American Potboiler, in fits and starts, for several years.)
I pulled the book down, and saw that the author was Constantin Stanislavski, inventor of "The Method" espoused by Jacob & Stella Adler, and countless other of Dad's actor friends.
I opened the book and was surprised to find that it was from the New York Public Library's Bloomingdale Branch, on West 100th St. Even more surprising, my father's temporary library card was in the pocket, with our old West End Avenue address and phone number--proof that he had indeed moved back in with Mom and me. The book was borrowed Dec 16, 1961, and due on Jan 26, 1962. The overdue fine is 5¢ "per calendar day." That's almost $900 by now, so this is a very valuable book.
I felt a mental connection with Dad when I started reading BUILDING A CHARACTER: this was a book that he went out of his way to read. The Dewey card is stuck between the first two pages of Chapter Four: "Making the Body Expressive." Did Dad get bored and stop there? That chapter is a bit of a slog. But he was such a voracious reader--usually a book per day--and Stanislavski's work so important that I'd like to think he read all the way through.
As luck would have it, today I found a bit on YouTube from "The Danny Kaye Radio Show," in which Kaye hilariously explains the Stanislavski Method to my father, who was a regular on the show. What I miss most about Dad is his voice, which is like no other. (I've never heard a credible imitation. When I was little my mother took me to the doctor because my voice was hoarse. Turned out I was trying to speak like Daddy.) So it's wonderful to be able to hear him long after his death--and long before my birth. He gets a few lines to set up the bit, then it's all Danny Kaye. Listen:
Lionel Stander (1908-1994) in 1936. Photo for Columbia Pictures by Irving L. Schaffert.
My father died 16 years ago today. Unaware of the date, yesterday I rearranged the Dad Wall in my dining area. More than two years after acquiring the above photo (part of a large lot) I read the caption on the back:
Eager to preserve his new furniture as long as possible, eccentric Lionel Stander, most popular of Hollywood comedians, selects this strange pose for purpose of relaxation and reading. Whether the book's more interesting read sidewise is a question only Stander can answer. His latest Columbia picture is "Cinderella Man," directed by Frank Capra and starring Gary Cooper and Jean Arthur. Lionel recently moved into a renovated farmhouse in the center of Hollywood, modernized for him by R. M. Schindler.
"Cinderella Man," retitled "Mr. Deeds Goes to Town," was named Best Picture of 1936 by the New York Film Critics and the National Board of Review. Capra won his second Oscar for directing and Cooper was nominated as Best Actor. My eldest half-sister was 3; my mother was 2.
The man who "modernized" Dad's house was noted architect Rudolph Michael Schindler, an associate of Frank Lloyd Wright and Richard Neutra. According to this list, in 1935 Schindler remodeled a house for "L. Stander, 2006 La Brea Terrace, Hollywood" and "Apartments for L. Stander, Los Angeles." Wish I knew the story behind those apartments. The house takes a good satellite picture: OMG, the house recently sold for $3.75M! Here's the realtor's listing:
COVETED GATED LA BREA TERRACE PRIVATE COMPOUND 4 Bedrooms | 4.0 Bathrooms | 3,753 Sq. Ft. | 23,070 Sq. FT. Lot Rarely are homes available in this private neighborhood. On over half an acre of private gardens is this fine home. Large LR w/ fplc, formal DR, kitchen with best appliances, play room, FR, library w/ fplc. Master with balcony, fplc, sitting area, bath with spa tub. Pecan floors throughout. Pool, outside fireplace, guest house with LR, kitchen, 1BD and 1BA and 2 separate garages for 4 cars. RECENTLY LISTED FOR $5,500,000, CURRENT PRICE MAKES THIS PROPERTY AN OUTSTANDING VALUE IN TODAYS MARKET.
Looks like an old farmhouse all right, but the windows were changed:
An arctic blast hit Denver over the weekend. It snowed yet again last night--snowfall #9 since October 8, for those keeping score. When I got up this morning it was 3°F outside. The thermometer outside my dining room window registered a sultry 20° a little after noon. When last I looked it was 10°.
Sunday night I watched Silk Stockings, with songs by Cole Porter, starring Fred Astaire and Cyd Charisse. (Fun fact: costar Janis Paige was married to my father's double-cousin Arthur, whose parents were Dad's paternal aunt and a Stander cousin.)
And what song could be more appropriate to the frigid weather than "Siberia," sung by Joseph Buloff, Jules Munshin & Peter Lorre:
When we’re sent to dear Siberia, To Siberi-eri-a, When it’s cocktail time ’twill be so nice Just to know you’ll not have to phone for ice.
When we meet in sweet Siberia, Far from Bolshevik hysteria, We’ll go on a tear, For our buddies all are there In cheery Siberi-a.
When we’re sent to dear Siberia, To Siberi-eri-a, There’s a most delicious bill of fare, You must try our filet of polar bear.
When we meet in sweet Siberia To protect us from diphtheria, We can toast our toes On the lady Eskimos In cheery Siberi-a.
When we’re sent to dear Siberia, To Siberi-eri-a, Where the fresh salt air makes us feel so fine, It is fresh salt air from our own salt mine.
When we meet in sweet Siberia, Where the snow is so superia You can bet, all right That your Christmas will be white In cheery Siberi-a.
Here's the number (stop at 2:31):
1 Comments on In Cheery Siberia (aka Denver, CO), last added: 12/8/2009
Lionel Stander (l) in a 1961 production of The Policemen, directed by Leonidas Dudarew-Ossetynski.
My father died of cancer 15 years ago today. We were a continent apart then--he in L.A. and me on the East Coast--and he would go years without seeing, or even speaking, to me. But now he's a constant presence in my life, due to the dozens of photographs on the walls of "the Dad gallery" in the upstairs hallway. I see him when I first wake up in the morning and just before I go to bed at night, which rarely happened during my childhood.
The newest additions to my ever-growing collection of Lionel Stander images came via email a few weeks ago. Early this year a woman in California named Valerie Hunken found me via Google. She was going through the possessions of her late father, the actor and stage director Leonidas Dudarew-Ossetynski. Among them were some stills from a 1961 Off-Broadway production of The Policeman, with my father. Would I be interested in those photographs?
Of course I would, I wrote her. I hadn't known anything about The Policemen or Dudarew-Ossetynski. (I learned from Google that he was born an aristocrat in Wilno, Poland--now Vilnius, Lithuania.) The only shows I recalled Dad being in were The Conquering Hero (memorable because Tom Poston held a puppy that peed on his hand during a rehearsal in Philadelphia), Brecht's Arturo Ui and Luther. The latter two were directed by Tony Richardson, who went on to cast my father in a London production of Brecht's St. Joan of the Stockyards, then broke the Hollywood Blacklist by putting him in the The Loved One (still one of my all-time favorite movies).
Months went by and I forgot about Hunken. Then out of the blue the photographs arrived on November 12th, four days after my birthday. And who else should be in some of the photos than Jack Gilford, whom I first knew as the nice man in the Cracker Jack commericals. (I still remember the lyrics!) He was also blacklisted, though not as long as my dad if he was doing commercials in the early 1960s.
Rehearsal of The Policemen. Director Leonidas Dudarew-Ossetynski is atop table, Lionel Stander is seated at center, Jack Gilford is s
3 Comments on Yahrzeit #15...and A Day In Court, last added: 12/3/2009
Bella, you write the most beautiful tributes to your Dad. I remember Jack Gilford from those commercials.
My Father in Law died of Esophogeal/liver cancer 9 years ago - and I still miss him. He was the heart of the family. A fact made all too clear when he died and his house grew icicles that have yet to melt.
Kim, that's an image I'll never forget. I'd say you and Bella are both good daughters/ds-in-law. Bella, I love your Dad Gallery and your line about not seeing him daily in real life but now sharing every day with him. I'm sure he's happy about that, too. Hugs, K.
My father, who belonged to Actors Equity and was a founding member of the Screen Actors Guild, in August 1940 was named as a Communist Party member in "closed" grand jury testimony that was leaked to the LA Times the next day.
From the New York Times, February 3, 1942:
In May 1953, in the middle of the roadshow run of "Pal Joey" (in which he was the Equity rep) Dad was called to testify before the Dies Committee in New York.
2 Comments on A Blacklist is Born, last added: 10/30/2009
wow. amazing, isn't it? And to know some of those forces are still at work in our country is so damned frightening. The more things change the more they stay the same
"It's been a long time. How are you doing?" my old (actually young) osteopath in Charlottesville asked me at his office this morning. He hadn't seen me in more than three years.
"I'm alive," I said.
He chuckled. A few minutes later, after he'd looked over the many pages of reports detailing the injuries I suffered in May 2006 and the many surgeries since, he said, "You're lucky to be alive."
"Yes," I answered. "It's been bad, but at least I'm here."
A few minutes ago, I read the news that 45-year-old actress Natasha Richardson died today from an unspecified head injury suffered when she fell during a ski lesson on Monday. According to the Quebec ski resort's spokeswoman, quoted in the NYT, “It was a normal fall; she didn’t hit anyone or anything. She didn’t show any signs of injury. She was talking and she seemed all right.”
In early August of 2005, I was in London and went to the theater with my long-lost cousin Larry. I'd gotten tickets to see "The Home Place" with Tom Courtenay, who'd acted with my father in the mid-1960s. I'd bought the cheapest tickets, but through some fluke was upgraded to mezzanine seats.
There were very few people in the mezzanine, so Larry and I moved up to the first row, by the railing. A couple of minutes later, he nudged me and gestured to the section to our right.
"Who are they?" he whispered.
I looked over to see a very glamorous couple getting seated. He was tall and craggy-handsome, with light-brown hair. She was gorgeous: blonde, tan, impossibly thin and dressed in impossibly spotless white from head to toe. Very L.A., I thought.
"You can tell they didn't take public transportation to get here," I muttered. (Larry and I had arrived via Tube.)
Then I looked a little harder.
"Oh, my God," I said. "That's Natasha Richardson and Liam Neeson. Her father Tony directed my dad in 'St. Joan of the Stockyards' in this theatre--or one just like it--in 1964, and in 'The Loved One' in 1965."
"Wow," breathed Larry.
After the play, we went backstage to see Courtenay, whom I'd been in touch with beforehand. Who else should be there but Richardson and Neeson, so I had a little chat with her. When I approached, she looked grim, probably thinking I was a fan, but warmed up when I told her of our connection. We exchanged names and everyone shook hands all around, greatly impressing Larry.
I then had a little chat with Courtenay, especially admiring the kiddie-print pirate sheets on the twin bed in his dressing room. Then the three famous people got into waiting limousines, and Larry and I walked to the Palms of Goa restaurant, where we ate cheap (for London), spicy food and marveled at our brush with the stars.
And now today Natasha Richardson is dead from a seemingly minor head injury, and I'm alive after a major one that left me with a concussion, PTSD, broken facial bones and nerve damage. The "family statement" to the news media from Liam Neeson came via Hollywood publicist Alan Nierob, who announced my father's death nearly 15 years ago.
It's all too close for comfort. But at least I'm here.
9 Comments on One Degree of Shock, last added: 4/6/2009
And springtime in Cville is indeed beautiful. How I've missed the Eastern woodland birds! A shimmering bluebird and I eyeballed each other for a couple of minutes yesterday, after which he flew off, whistling his poignant song. Sheer enchantment.
Wish I could be at the Festival this year since I had such a great time there last year meeting you (and other writer buddies!).
It's a small world, isn't it? I've been so bothered by Natasha Richardson's death--we really do need to live in the moment as much as we can! Enjoy your trip.
The Bluebird of happiness. That's appropriate. I have a little glass BOH from a glassblower in W. Virginia. I try to peek at him regularly, even when life feels more like a large black raven.
We were watching "Once Upon a Time in the West" last night on DVD, and when the barman appeared I said, "There's Bella's dad!"
Beautiful post. No rhyme or reason to so much of life (and death). When I give talks about writing, I tell people I don't write about what I know--I write about what I don't know, the stuff that drives me nuts. Because in a manuscript, at least I can try to make it make sense.
Hang in there, Bella. I'm astounded by all you have been through, and yet you have more energy and enthusiasm than 20-year-old Olympic athletes. I can't tell you how much your coaching and workshops have helped me. Hope Charlottesville was wonderful and see you at BEA.
Thanks, Carleen! I'm glad I'm here too, even though I'd rather not still be feeling flu-ish.
Indeed I'm not Kevin Bacon. But through my father, who acted for 60 years in films, radio, TV and theater, I'm just 2 degrees from any number of people, from Bob Hope to OJ Simpson.
Oh, and my old friend (read: brief acquaintance) Tom Courtenay stars in "Little Dorrit" that starts on PBS tomorrow night. I know I'll be watching.
The LIFE magazine photo archive, with millions of photos (some never published), is now online--and best of all, searchable--via Google. Start looking HERE.
I searched for "stander" and found pix of my father I'd never seen before. The one above is by famed photographer Gordon Parks, taken in May 1950 on the NYC set of St. Benny the Dip. Dad played one of a group of cons (a "dip" is a pickpocket) who disguise themselves as clergymen. He's flanked by Roland Young (misidentified in archive caption as Charles Ruggles; I sent Google a note) and singer Dick Haymes.
2 Comments on Virtual--and Visual--Treasure Trove, last added: 11/21/2008
More props: I did the first print interview with Edward P. Jones for THE KNOWN WORLD.
Coincidentally, my father was involved in the 1941 Broadway production of "Native Son." According to Hazel Rowley's biography of Richard Wright:
For once, the Mercury Theatre had no trouble attracting funding. Not with the name of Orson Welles -- the biggest man in Hollywood -- attached to the play. Lionel Stander, a left-wing actor known for his fundraising skills, easily persuaded the Hollywood investor Bern Bernard* to produce fifty-five thousand dollars.
Not so coincidentally, Kim Reid is a consulting client and fellow member of the Denver Literary Ladies Luncheon, as is Carleen.
I should think no wink would be needed with my demented smile.
I understand your having mixed feelings, but I think the 2nd-most segregated place in America (after church) is the bookstore. My bookshelves are mighty white--even the ones that are natural wood--so I think Carleen's campaign is a good idea.
Thanks to Google Alerts, I just found out that someone posted a tribute to my father, "Character Actors: Lionel Stander," a mishmash of scenes from the 1976 disaster pic The Cassandra Crossing. Dad plays a Swiss (!) train conductor named Max (also his character name in "Once Upon a Time in the West" and "Hart to Hart," and maybe others), with no attempt made to disguise or explain his New York accent.
The movie, with a screenplay cowritten by Tom Mankiewicz, is so God-awful that it's comical; "Murder on the Orient Express" it ain't. Even more fun is to be had in spotting the all-star cast: Richard Harris and Sophia Loren as a crime-solving couple named Jonathan and Jennifer (more shades of "Hart to Hart," some of episodes of which were directed and written by...Tom Mankiewicz), OJ Simpson, Ava Gardner, Martin Sheen, Lee Strasberg and Burt Lancaster.
Enjoy groaning:
Duh...I never thought to search YouTube for the Old Man. Turns out he has five pages of vidclips (a distressing number of which are from "Hart to Hart"). Here's one that's intentionally funny, the trailer for Polanski's "Cul-de-Sac":
From the late 1960s thru mid-1970s, my father was an Italian movie star, appearing in such unforgettable masterpieces as Per grazia ricevuta and Paolo il caldo. OK, maybe not such masterpieces, nor unforgettable. But he was also in C'era una volta il West (Once Upon a Time in the West), in which he played a lovable barman named Max; and an episode of Robert Wagner's "It Takes a Thief," shot in Rome, in which he played a lovable thief named Max. In 1979, after 15 years in Europe, Dad moved to L.A. to play lovable major domo Max in Wagner's TV series, "Hart to Hart." (We named the cat in hommage to Dad, though he didn't like cats, and his mother and sister were felinophobic. Conveniently, Max will only eat Max Cat dry food, so we never forget what brand to buy.)
In September 1973 I visited Dad in Rome, where he was living on the Appian Way with wife & daughter #6. The villa he was renting, formerly inhabited by screen siren Gina Lollobrigida, was down a quarter-mile driveway, lined with fragments of ancient Roman funerary busts. Though technically in Rome, the villa was so far out in the country that it was surrounded by fields of eggplants--not quite the glamourous neighbors I'd envisioned. A sixties-ish couple, Bruno and Rita, tended the grounds and house, and frequently my baby half-sister. Arno, a big white Abruzzese shepherd, ferociously guarded the property and its inhabitants against anyone he considered an intruder; e.g., yours truly, despite my honeyed words and friendly overtures.
The memories of that trip came flooding back thanks to an article in today's NYT about the Appian Way, Past Catches Up With the Queen of Roads. During my visit, I ate a marvelous pasta dish--scrigna, I thought it was--at a restaurant by a nearby ruin, but couldn't remember which one, and a Google search came up cold.
But from the Times, now I know the ruin was the tomb of Cecilia Metella, just down the road (left). Then a search for "Cecilia Metella restaurant" turned up--presto!--Ristorante Cecilia Metella, one of whose specialties is...Scrigno alla Cecilia, which looks exactly as I remembered it (below).
I no longer have the photos I took then, but a search of the house address led to Parco Appia Antica, which has a document containing photos and descriptions of various structures in what is now a park along the Appian Way. One of them is at the foot of my father's old driveway (below):
Tomb with epigraph of Baricha Zabda and Achiba Past the junction between via di Tor Carbone/via Erode Attico and on the right, opposite number 288, another concrete nucleus of a tower-shaped funeral monument has been preserved, bearing an inscription in front in memory of L. Valerius Baricha, L. Valerius Zabda and L. Valerius Achiba, freedmen of the Valerii family and clearly of Semitic origin.
How fitting that the only Jew on the block lived in a house with a Jewish monument out front! It used to have a little pine tree growing out of it--horizontally--about two-thirds of the way up. I gained an all-too-intimate knowledge of the edifice one day, when Arno decided that I was still a stranger. I clambered up as high as I could go and hung on till Bruno came along and called him off. After that I gave up on the sweet talk and kept well clear of Arno.
In New York two weeks ago, I stayed in the gracious Upper West Side apartment of an old (in years, but never elderly!) family friend. She's an actress, and by her desk has a bookshelf full of plays. One title caught my eye: Pal Joey.
Wow! That's the show my father was in when he met my mother. So I pulled out the slim paperback. To my surprise, it wasn't a play but "the book from which the successful Broadway musical was made." The author is John O'Hara, whose Appointment in Samarra resided unread (by me at least) in my stepfather's bookcase for decades.
Turns out that Pal Joey is a collection of fictional letters by the self-proclaimed "poor man's Bing Crosby," most of which ran in The New Yorker in 1939 and 1940. Unlike in the movie version starring Frank Sinatra [Dad was so blacklisted, even his character was cut from it], Joey is an unrepentant womanizing heel through the very end, where he's broke and alone in Chicago.
Given that Chicago is being blasted by a major snowstorm as I write, Joey's assessment [all spelling sic] of the weather there is particularly apt:
Friend Ted: I don't think I will be able to take it out here much more. In the 1st place it is because you never saw such cold weather until you spent a winter in Chi. I do not mean weather like you have to chop the alcohol before putting it in the radiator of the car. I mean weather that is so cold that the other day this pan handler came up to me and braced me and said I look as if I had a warm heart and I gave him a two-bit piece because if it wasnt for him would not of known I was alive or frozen to death. That has how it has been here in Chi. Maybe that explains some of the pecular actons of many of the inhabintants. Illinois is in a state of suspended animaton and the people live in hibernaton from Oct. to whenever it ever gets warmer. I do not know and hope I am not here long enough to find out. I am merely telling you this in case you ever decide to take a job to spend the winter in Chi and I am not there to stop you at the point of a gun.
And here's Joey on an old song requested by nightclub doorman Sailor Bob, a "punchy stumble bum":
He apprisiated my singing I will say that for him altho always asking why didnt I sing like Oh you beautiful doll which you are too young to remember and so am I but the story I hear is that when the Titanic went down (a ship) people sang it or hummed a couple bars and then said the hell with this and jumped the hell off the boat so they would not have to finish singing it. I do not know that for sure but only base that on hearsay based on a weak moment when I allowed the Sailor to sing it for me one nite.
0 Comments on Pal Joey: Still Wise After All These Years as of 1/1/1990
Once a month a bunch of New York area authors who write for teens getting together for Teen Author Drinks Night or TADN. People always look at me strangely when I say I'm going for Teen Author Drinks, until I explain that it's not about corrupting minors, it's about already corrupted authors who *write* for minors. Organized by the inestimable David Levithan, we meet at a Soho watering hole.
Last night I braved traffic and parking tickets. Silly me, thinking that the NYPD wouldn't ticket me with only 15 minutes before parking on the street was allowed and running to go buy the most recent issue of the New Yorker, which has a great article written by a man with Aspergers Syndrome - talk about an expensive magazine...$65 ticket plus $4.50 for the mag.
Anyway, it as still worth it to hang with these wonderful peeps:
Here we are looking innocent (or at least trying to) prior to popping our Pinkberries.
Although I think I look psychotic rather than innocent.
Pinkberry is awesome. I had a regular Pinkberry with toppings of raspberry and CAP’N CRUNCH!
I have a funny story about the CAP’N. When I was pregnant with Son I craved really healthy stuff like prunes and mangoes. But when I was pregnant with daughter I craved two things, both of which were impossible to find in rural England. 1) Cold Sesame noodles and 2) Cap’n Crunch.
I woke up one night drooling because I’d been dreaming of cold sesame noodles. I even had serious discussions about if a takeout order of cold sesame noodles would survive being DHL’d from New York to Dorset. Unfortunately the answer was no.
I also drove all over London looking for a store that supposedly sold American stuff, in search of a box of Cap’n Crunch. It had closed.
But when I was five months pregnant we took a trip to Kiawah Island and I bought a huge box of Cap’n Crunch and ate it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was fabulous, although probably not nutritious.
Anyway, after we finished our Pinkberry experience, Coe, Robyn and I headed over to Rice to Riches for our ritual purchase of delicious rice pudding. Daughter is in the dog house with me because she ate all the cheesecake rice pudding. Grr!
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