Читать книгу I am Sophie Tucker - Susan Ecker - Страница 21
ОглавлениеYou’d Never Know That Old Town of Mine
I’ve been snubbed by the best of them.
A few years back, I was invited to the opening night of my good friend Carol Channing’s star turn in Hello Dolly! on Broadway.
Sophie and Carol Channing
We’d been pals since I saw her first act in Vegas, in which she did a spot-on impersonation of me. When I met her backstage she told me she wanted to grow up to be just like me. I told her she was doing just great as Carol Channing, but she should ax the Marlene Dietrich and Tallulah Bankhead impressions and do a few more minutes as yours truly. After that, whenever we played Vegas at the same time we would meet up in the El Rancho Hotel kitchen late at night, after our shows were over, to get the first crack at their freshly baked bread. I have no idea how Carol could eat a whole loaf and never gain an ounce. I guess I was gaining for two.
So, after Carol’s opening performance of Hello Dolly! there was a party at a club called Arthur’s filled with all of the A-list stars of the day. Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton were seated at the prime table and Burton drank heavily all night. Every performer in the room got up to do a song in honor of Carol, and when it was my turn she insisted on hearing “Some of These Days.” After I was done and the praise died down, Burton stood up.
Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton
“Ladies and gentlemen, up until now I thought my wife was in charge of butchering the English language, but I must admit I was wrong. Tonight I have witnessed the Empress of Butchery. Long live the Queen, Miss Sophie Tucker,” he slurred. He was the only one laughing as he staggered back to his seat. I was a little miffed, but it was hard to be too offended by a man so drunk he couldn’t appreciate that he was sitting next to the most beautiful woman in the world, Elizabeth Taylor, who shot me a quick look of apology. The next day, I received a telegram.
Burton’s apology, 1964.
Like I said, I’ve been snubbed by the best.
I went to Los Angeles in 1918 hoping to break into silent films, even though my only claim to fame was my singing. Who knew what I was thinking? The best I could do was wrangle myself a couple of screen tests with some no-name directors, the last of whom suggested they bill me as the next Clara Bow-vine.
Even so, when an invitation came through from Mrs. Cecil B. DeMille, I thought I was on my way to the top. Her husband was one of the biggest movie producers and directors in the world. I figured if I got to their Beverly Hills mansion and turned on the old Tucker charm, I’d end up on the silver screen in no time.
When the big night came I wore a new gown, put on my best fur and rang the doorbell fashionably late at a quarter past ten. A butler answered the door, but I’d barely set my toe inside when Mrs. DeMille came tearing in from another room, yelling about my tardiness. I lied and said I’d had car trouble. It wasn’t entirely false—getting a taxi in Los Angeles was never an easy task.
Silent film star Clara Bow.
Mrs. DeMille instructed Clifford, the butler, to take my coat. However, she stopped me in my tracks as I made my way toward the sound of laughter and tinkling cocktail glasses.
“It’s not time just yet, dear. Why don’t you follow Clifford to the kitchen and fix yourself something to eat. I’ll call you when we’re ready for you to sing.”
