Travelling On My Own

THE PICCADILLY,  New York City

Piccadilly Hotel 1929

     My first hotel all on my own  was New York’s Piccadilly in the Spring of 1968.  It was right in the heart of the theatre district, off  Times Square at West 45^th Street.  Its brochure boasted it as “the meeting place of the celebrities,” though the only one I ever saw there was Orson Bean, a television personality of the day.

  Another ad said the Piccadilly was “smartly located in the center of everything!”   I am pretty sure I could see Sardi’s from my window, and that was already pretty exciting for me.  It was big and booming and old fashioned.  Certainly not luxurious, but I loved what I perceived as its cosmopolitan atmosphere. 

(Photo Greensboro Record)

I was working for the Greensboro afternoon newspaper at the time, where I reported on school news and church notices, among other things.  Dottie wrote about show business, and her beat was needless to say more interesting.    

She was a bit of a local celebrity, seriously overweight and a dedicated drinker.  We worked together and we often did our drinking together.  We became great friends, and it was she who steered me to the Piccadilly as an inexpensive, conveniently located place to sleep. 

In the sixties and seventies it housed the ground-floor Scandia Restaurant known for its smorgasbord, adjacent to the Circus Bar.  I never ate there, because it seemed expensive and “smorgasbord” somehow sounded so foreign at the time.

I later learned that Ginger Rogers had lived there with her mother, Leila, when she was just starting out in the musical theatre in New York around 1930. I once had tea with G.R. when she was doing “Mame” in London, but I didn’t ask her anything about the Piccadilly.  

Early Ginger circa 1930

 The hotel’s entire crystal chandeliered ballroom, dating from 1928, was bought by a Detroit plastics factory when the hotel was razed in 1982.  The purchase included eight turn-of-the-century portraits painted directly onto the room’s pine panelling.

The Marriott Marquis now stands on the site.

The main restaurant and ballroom

As for Dottie, she died of cirrhosis of the liver at the age of 42.  I fully expected a similarly early demise, and I was certainly heading in that direction.  However, life rarely works out as you’d expect, so here I am, against all odds, healthy and happy forty years on.

-o- 

SIDEBAR:  Fan mail still coming in 

    When I started jotting down these memories, I checked Google to see what kind of photos I might unearth, wondering if anyone else even remembered the old Piccadilly.

     To my surprise, I discovered something akin to a parallel world where Piccadilly aficionados communicate on various websites about their experiences at this old Times Square landmark.

     I contacted a few, including the last Piccadilly owner’s granddaughter, to get permission to include their comments.  Here are some:

     Ricky says, “The first time I stayed at the Piccadilly, I can remember our room had wallpaper with huge yellow flowers on it and matching bedspreads. One night there was a horrible, very loud clanging noise that woke me up. I called down and the operator told me, very nicely, ‘That’s just the radiator, hon’. Being an innocent boy from the Midwest,  I said “Oh, thank you” ... and went back to sleep."

     Jo came to the Piccadilly at age 10 in 1975 with her Dad all the way from Australia.  It was part of what she described as an “epic trip to honor the wishes of my late mother” who had died the previous year.  “It was kind of run down like most of Times Square at that time, but I thought it was the most exciting place in the world.  I adored watching the Winston cigarette guy blow smoke rings from the billboard from our window.”

     Kate (speaking with Lisa, the hotel owner’s granddaughter):

     “My Dad was the Master Carpenter at the Booth Theatre right across from the hotel for over 40 years.   Since he had to work holidays, we always had Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners at your hotel. We were a family of 8 and we always loved the food, the atmosphere and knew all the wonderful waiters and bartenders !. We had so many fantastic times there and were heartbroken when we found out its fate. To this day I miss the Hotel Piccadilly sooooo much and will never forget our cherished times there.”

     Marilyn says:  "My sister was executive housekeeper and I worked in the laundry room on weekends with the nicest bunch of maids and housemen.  And especially the owner, Mr. K, he was so good to my two kids.  Carmen, I miss you and Sammy and Bernice.  Please find me on facebook.”

     I have saved the most touching for the last.  From a French site, I have translated these lines from Maugerie, a testimony to the Piccadilly as well as to a long lost love:

     “I have just discovered a book of matches from the Hotel Piccadilly, which brings back a flood of memories.  I was a young French man, visiting New York for the first time in 1974 with Helene, my girl friend, and we spent several nights at this hotel.  It was enormous and old and had seen better days, but it had a soul.

     “I retain an immense tenderness in my heart for Helene, who might have become my wife if our lives had not taken different directions … and remembering the Piccadilly today only intensifies my melancholy for a lost love.” 

Vintage bellhop-advertisement

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

Ginger Rogers was also mentioned in blog No. 28, "Ginger and Me!" 
(to access, click on above title).

Your input is welcomed:  frank.pleasants@libertysurf.fr

Next Friday:  Back to Taormina, introducing Clementina La Floresta

28 - Ginger and me !

THE SAVOY and THE DORSET SQUARE HOTEL, London

Ginger Rogers in Drury Lane dressing room 1969

Seen in her "bow gown" donned solely for curtain calls (Google photo)

 

     My arrival in London 44 years ago coincided --by sheer coincidence, I might add-- with that of Ginger Rogers, who had contracted at a record-breaking salary to star in the Broadway musical "Mame" at the Drury Lane Theatre.   

Southampton arrival with 5th husband Bill Marshall

     Disembarking at Southampton from Cunard’s spanking new QE2, one hundred-odd members of the press and a few celebrity guests joined her for the trip to London on the "Mame Express," a vintage train rented for the occasion with a champagne fountain and showing the 1935 Astaire-Rogers film “Top Hat.”

     The whole over-the-top entourage headed for the Savoy Hotel where Ginger was shown into her new digs, rebaptized the Ginger Rogers Suite.  She remained in her six-room apartment there for over a month.   

      The exact same week found me arriving (via Reykjavik, Luxembourg and Paris) to make my life in London, fresh off Icelandic Airways, which in those days was pretty much the polar opposite of an oceanliner crossing. 

     I initially stayed at the Dorset Square, at that time still an inexpensive, exceedingly simple neighborhood hotel.  It was there by the sheerest luck that I discovered directly across the square a grand, though tired Georgian mansion.

     Gilbert, the owner-landlord, was a somewhat down-at-the-heels aristocrat, who barely managed to make ends meet by renting out most of his home.  He had once worked for the BBC, and tended to speak with his teeth clenched and mouth almost shut.  He sounded to my ears much like the Duke of Windsor.  

Gilbert, Dorset Square 1969

     I rented an undistinguished room with an inefficient gas heater requiring a steady stream of sixpence pieces.
  

Jon

     It was there that my path sort of crossed that of Ginger Rogers.   Jon, a singer in “Mame,” lived across the hall.  As I was out of work and almost out of money, he arranged for me to have occasional employment as “dresser” for six of the company dancers. 

I was only needed for certain afternoon performances, and the pay was way beneath minimum wage (I seem to remember it being one pound per performance!).  It was a union regulation that someone be present in each dressing room to make tea and sweep the floor.  As it turned out, I didn’t know how to make tea, and I was told not to bother with the broom.  It was just one of those crazy union rules that required a presence.  I loved every minute of my brief life in show business.

In rehearsal (Google)

     During much of the show I enjoyed watching the musical numbers from the wings.  Freshly embarked from my native North Carolina, I have rarely felt so sophisticated and worldly as I did standing backstage at the Drury Lane Theatre.

     Ginger was the toast of London and "Mame" the flavor of the month.  Though I frequently captured a glimpse of the aging star and occasionally caught bits of her conversations with others, our paths still didn’t officially cross quite yet.

     It was many months later, after having found employment at United Press International, that I actually had an unforgettable (for me, not for her) dinner-interview with the Academy Award-winning actress.  It was at the then-trendy restaurant Inigo Jones, and I recall her ordering a “rare-rare” steak which she then proceeded to send back for being too rare.  

      I particularly remember her telling me that the "dear Queen" (she tended to overuse adjectives like "dear" and "sweet") had told her that she and her little sister Margaret had seen all of the Astaire-Rogers musicals as little girls in the palace projection room.

     One thing about wire services, they do service the world, and my little article, which was a  lesson in banality, was nevertheless picked up by hundreds of newspapers across the globe.  This was obviously more a tribute to G.R.'s star power than to any journalistic prowess on my part.

Ginger with Mom on opening night (Corbis Images)

     As an indirect result, I later found myself tête-à-tête with the actress at her luxurious St. Johns Wood apartment.  For reasons which I will spare myself the embarrassment of explaining, she had invited me there for tea.  

With Queen Elizabeth II and singer Tom Jones (Google)

     I offered her some hippy "love beads," made from watermelon seeds which my Greensboro friend Dottie Benjamin had given me.  I think she didn't quite know what to say, so she called her old Polish maid in to take a look.  

      I fear they may have exchanged knowing glances about the mental equilibrium of her guest.  Whether that was the case or not, I was fairly crazy at the time, and suffice it to say, I did not manage to cement a lasting friendship. 

     That was the last I ever saw of G.R., though I followed her waning career with enthusiasm, always tending to think of her a little like an old friend. 

 SIDEBAR:  Rediscovering the Dorset Square

Dorset Square, winter 2007 (photo by  Rob Skinner)

I stayed at the Dorset Square again when I returned to London in 1986, and it had recently been tarted up to the point of being totally unrecognizable.

It’s a shame I didn’t take any photos when I first stayed there in 1969.  Despite its rather fashionable address, it was then a very basic, bathroom-down-the-hall-style dump.

View of the square from room 105

 When I rediscovered it in the 1980’s, it had become the height of chic, one of London’s first boutique hotels.  It was already internationally on the map, as the regular, quirky little ads in the New Yorker attested. 

It was then I learned that the Dorset Square, itself --a private, gated park with key for residents-- was the original Lord’s cricket ground until 1811.  It was here that the first Eton versus Harrow cricket match was played in 1805, an annual sporting event continuing today, though no longer at this location.  

Mixed cricket match circa 1900

Back in 1986 I remember a rather haughty young French girl worked at the desk, and I overheard her interacting with a backpacker off the street.  I assume he had asked the price of a room, that it wasn't the first time returning clients had been surprised by the hotel's transformation, and she seemed to assume the new price would not be acceptable.  I don't remember how much it cost in those days, but she added in a snippy manner for all to hear:  "And yes; that is the tarif for one night and NOT a week."

Despite that desk clerk’s demeanor, I enjoyed staying at the Dorset Square on increasingly frequent trips to London throughout the late 80’s.

Just this year the Dorset Square has amazingly made Tatler Magazine's coveted list of "the 101 best hotels in the world."  It has indeed come a very, very long way.

Brenda at the Dorset 2009

Your input is welcomed:  hotel-musings@hotmail.fr

Next Friday:  "Keith Richards at the Gresham Palace"

[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

The Savoy Hotel was also featured in sidebar for blog No. 13, "Kaspar, the Savoy's Black Cat" Nov. 11, 2012; and blog No. 27, "Stompin' at the Savoy," March 8, 2013  (to access, click on above titles).

6 - Travelling On My Own ...

THE PICCADILLY,  New York City

Piccadilly Hotel 1929

My first hotel all on my own  was New York’s Piccadilly in the Spring of 1968.  It was right in the heart of the theatre district, off  Times Square at West 45^th Street.  Its brochure boasted it as “the meeting place of the celebrities,” though the only one I ever saw there was Orson Bean, a television personality of the day.

  Another ad said the Piccadilly was “smartly located in the center of everything!”   I am pretty sure I could see Sardi’s from my window, and that was already pretty exciting for me.  It was big and booming and old fashioned.  Certainly not luxurious, but I loved what I perceived as its cosmopolitan atmosphere. 

(Photo Greensboro Record)

I was working for the Greensboro afternoon newspaper at the time, where I reported on school news and church notices, among other things.  Dottie wrote about show business, and her beat was needless to say more interesting.    

She was a bit of a local celebrity, seriously overweight and a dedicated drinker.  We worked together and we often did our drinking together.  We became great friends, and it was she who steered me to the Piccadilly as an inexpensive, conveniently located place to sleep. 

In the sixties and seventies it housed the groundfloor Scandia Restaurant known for its smorgasbord, adjacent to the Circus Bar.  I never ate there, because it seemed expensive and “smorgasbord” somehow sounded so foreign at the time.

I later learned that Ginger Rogers had lived there with her mother, Leila, when she was just starting out in the musical theatre in New York around 1930. I once had tea with G.R. when she was doing “Mame” in London, but I didn’t ask her anything about the Piccadilly.  

Early Ginger circa 1930

 The hotel’s entire crystal chandeliered ballroom, dating from 1928, was bought by a Detroit plastics factory when the hotel was razed in 1982.  The purchase included eight turn-of-the-century portraits painted directly onto the room’s pine panelling.

The Marriott Marquis now stands on the site.

The main restaurant and ballroom

As for Dottie, she died of cirrhosis of the liver at the age of 42.  I fully expected a similarly early demise, and I was certainly heading in that direction.  However, life rarely works out as you’d expect, so here I am, against all odds, healthy and happy forty years on.

-o- 

SIDEBAR:  Fan mail still coming in 

When I started jotting down these memories, I checked google to see what kind of photos I might unearth, wondering if anyone else even remembered the old Piccadilly.

To my surprise, I discovered something akin to a parallel world where Piccadilly aficionados communicate on various websites about their experiences at this old Times Square landmark.

I contacted a few, including the last Piccadilly owner’s granddaughter, to get permission to include their comments.  Here are some:

Ricky says, “The first time I came to New York with a group from college, and we stayed at the Piccadilly. I can remember our room had wallpaper with huge yellow flowers on it and matching bedspreads. One night there was a horrible, very loud clanging noise that woke me up. I called down and the operator told me, very nicely, ‘That’s just the radiator, hon’. Being an innocent boy from the Midwest,  I said “Oh, thank you.” and went back to sleep."

Jo came to the Piccadilly at age 10 in 1975 with her Dad all the way from Australia.  It was part of what she described as an “epic trip to honor the wishes of my late mother” who had died the previous year.  “It was kind of run down like most of Times Square at that time, but I thought it was the most exciting place in the world.  I adored watching the Winston cigarette guy blow smoke rings from the billboard from our window.”

Kate (speaking with Lisa, the hotel owner’s granddaughter):

“My Dad was the Master Carpenter at the Booth Theatre right across from the hotel for over 40 years.   Since he had to work holidays, we always had Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners at your hotel. We were a family of 8 and we always loved the food, the atmosphere and knew all the wonderful waiters and bartenders !. We had so many fantastic times there and were heartbroken when we found out its fate. To this day I miss the Hotel Piccadilly sooooo much and will never forget our cherished times there.”

Marilyn says:  "My sister was executive housekeeper and I worked in the laundry room on weekends with the nicest bunch of maids and housemen.  And especially the owner, Mr. K, he was so good to my two kids.  Carmen, I miss you and Sammy and Bernice.  Please find me on facebook.”

 I have saved the most touching for the last.  From a French site, I have translated these lines from Maugerie, a testimony to the Piccadilly as well as to a long lost love:

“I have just discovered a book of matches from the Hotel Piccadilly, which brings back a flood of memories.  I was a young French man, visiting New York for the first time in 1974 with Helene, my girl friend, and we spent several nights at this hotel.  It was enormous and old and had seen better days, but it had a soul.

“I retain an immense tenderness in my heart for Helene, who might have become my wife if our lives had not taken different directions … and remembering the Piccadilly today only intensifies my melancholy for a lost love.” 

Vintage bellhop-advertisement

Posted by Frank Pleasants at 8:31 AM 4 comments:

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

Ginger Rogers was also mentioned in blog No. 28, "Ginger and Me!" (to access, click on above title).

Your input is welcomed:  hotel-musings@hotmail.fr

Next Friday:  Back to Taormina, introducing Clementina La Floresta