35 - Hollywood on the Hudson

THE WYNDHAM, New York City

The old  Wyndham on West  58^th Street, fronting the back of the Plaza, was in some ways my favorite New York hotel.  Though certainly never one of the most luxurious, and by the time I arrived it had decidedly known better days, it remained wonderful value for money.

For the price of an inexpensive room elsewhere, the Wyndham had some knockout suites.  Opened in 1929, the hotel’s golden era was the 1950’s.  New York was then the television capital of the world, and the Wyndham welcomed some of the new medium’s most sophisticated ladies and gentlemen, often for prolonged stays

Until its demise in 2005, it continued to maintain a crew of elevator operators for its antiquated lifts.

Meadows (Scott Allen photo)

 Danny was a little bit slow, very friendly and much beloved by many returning clients.   I once observed the actress Jayne Meadows in an animated conversation with him.  She was wearing the biggest dark glasses imaginable, the kind Cadillac might produce if they were in the sunglasses business.

“But Danny, concentrate, you’ve got to concentrate.  I left my suitcase with you last month.  Now you must find it.  Do try to concentrate, Danny.”  She enunciated each word as though projecting to the last balcony.  I hope he did remember.

Rarely has such a simple and little known hotel played host to quite such an impressive array of film and theatre luminaries.  

Laurence Olivier first stayed at the Wyndham in 1976 during the filming of "Marathon Man", a spy drama directed by John Schlesinger and co-starring Dustin Hoffman.  Dick Cavett interviewed him there from suite 1401.  

Hackman and smiling wife (Google)

 I ran into Gene Hackman several times, usually in the elevator.  He always spoke and smiled as though we were old friends.  He was invariably with an asian woman I assumed to be his wife.  She neither spoke nor smiled.  John Cassavetes introduced Peter Falk and Ben Gazzara to the hotel.  

Tandy and Cronyn (Google)

 Jessica Tandy and husband Hume Cronyn had their New York  apartment in the Wyndham.  On the week of Miss Tandy's death the lobby was filled with flowers, mostly roses, of condolence.  



 Grace Kelly lived in the Barbizon for Women when she first moved to New York in the late forties to seek a career on the stage; but she too had regular contacts with the Wyndham, as her favorite uncle, playwright George Kelly, often stayed there.  In later years, Princess Grace owned a smallish pied-à-terre around the corner on Park Avenue, and she sometimes put guests up at the Wyndham.   
    



Early Grace (photo by Life)

  Ingrid Bergman stayed several weeks in 1982.  Dying of cancer, she came to New York to celebrate the 30^th birthday of her twin daughters, Isabella and Ingrid Rosellini.

Arlene Dahl (left), Ben Gazzara and Wyndham owner Suzanne Mados (N.Y. Social Diary)

It was a family owned enterprise, and the proprietors, John and Suzanne Mados, had some solid connections in the show business world.  He sometimes gave cocktail parties across the street at the Sherry Netherlands, with various film luminaries from the fifties, faithfully reported by Liz Smith in her column.  Piper Laurie and Jane Powell always seemed to be in attendance, as were often Arlene Dahl and Gena Rowlands.

The Redgrave-Neros (AP)

 I once saw Vanessa Redgrave arrive with her ex and future companion, Franco Nero, to visit their daughter who was staying there.  The lobby was European shabby-chic, the guests were somewhat the same, and no one other than myself seemed to give the Redgrave-Neros so much as a passing glance.

Around 2000, I had a client who ran a shop in Bergdorf Goodman’s next door.  She was a bit eccentric (not to say that I am not) and perhaps a little snobby (some say I am, but I am not).  I was afraid she’d be put off by the kitsch decor, but I nevertheless invited her by for a meeting.  She was absolutely enamored of the place, and I was bursting with pride as she covered me with compliments for uncovering such a funny little gem.

Jane in  suite 804, summer of 2000

It was never perfect, you had to accept its terms:  no dial telephones,  no turndown service, and no fancy designer toiletries either. The Laurence Oliviers and Lena Horne had to make do like the rest of us with those little mini bars of Ivory soap.

At the very end there was talk of mice, but I never saw any.  At best it was an oasis of civility in a very quirky environment; at worst, settling into the 21^st century, it was beginning to resemble a once perky old lady in the early throes of Alzheimers.   

Still, I’d love to be able to stay there again, just once more.

Suite 824, September 1990 (Photo Pascale Charmet)

 SIDEBAR:  What Next?

Vintage postcard of 5th Avenue at 58th Street

When the Wyndham finally closed shop in 2005, it remained vacant for some time.  This coincided with the lengthy closing and renovation of the Plaza across the street, so that part of 58^th Street looked pretty lonely for awhile.

Around 2008 I noticed new life at Number 42.  At first it appeared to be just another apartment building, then I learned the site was sort of a hotel, though a very discreet one and with an emphasis on longer rentals than one or two nights.

Called the AKA, it was a new chain with five or six of its clubby branches scattered around the city.  Most of the accommodations were one bedroom apartments.

Otherwise, the AKA is run just like a luxury hotel with a particularly well trained and polished concierge staff.

I was intrigued.  Prices were flexible, according to season and availability, and for our next trip to New York we decided to give the AKA a try.   Despite my affection for the Central Park South location of the old Wyndham, we ultimately opted for the Sutton Place branch.  It was the only one with a pool, and the neighborhood was a new one to explore. 

I was about to discover another kind of lodging –half grand hotel, half apartment building.  When it works like it’s supposed to, you have the best of both worlds.

Stay tuned.

Sutton Place, Queensboro Bridge (Google photo)

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

Next Friday:  "The Good and the Bad ... Sutton Place AKA"

  [Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

34 - Remembering Diana Dors

THE DRAYCOTT HOTEL, London, and the GEORGE V, Paris

Classic Diana Dors circa 1954 (RKO)

She was widely known as the British Marilyn Monroe.  I wonder how many people today even remember Diana Dors, the hugely popular movie star of the 1950’s.  

Before I begin, let me point out that I never actually met Diana Dors.  Our paths did cross, however, and on several occasions.  

A popular Dors at the Cannes Film Festival 1955 (Corbis photo)

I remember once seeing a photo which captured magnificently the 20^th century phenomenon of celebrity and paparazzi.  It was a black and white shot showing D.D. arriving at the Venice film festival.  She was riding in a gondola, wearing a mink bikini.  The photo showed hundreds of photographers hanging off buildings and in every conceivable location to capture the blonde actress during her 15 minutes of superstardom.

By 1969, D.D. was becoming decidedly blowsy, and her film stardom was pretty much in the past.  She had great resilience, however, and made a serious comeback that year on the London stage in a highly successful comedy-drama "Three Months Gone" at the pretigious Royal Court Theatre.

With husband Alan Lake 1968 (AP)

Happy couple

  She had recently married Alan Lake, a former truck driver and sometime-actor with a penchant for brawling which would on occasion land him in prison.  He was at least a dozen years her junior (her own age was never clearly established), and  bookmakers gave the marriage, her third, poor odds. 

I had requested an interview, and the theatre’s press person arranged a meeting at the Draycott Hotel around the corner from the Sloane Square theatre.  The interview was scheduled after the evening performance.  I had already seen the show, and had a few drinks with friends before heading for my rendez-vous.  I was thoroughly irresponsible in those days, and I arrived at the hotel’s little bar ten or fifteen minutes late.

 

The Draycott Hotel today (Draycott photo)

 Miss Dors had wasted no time hanging around, and rightly so, the interview consequently coming to nil.  The next morning the press lady called to see how the encounter had gone.  I told her the star had not appeared, neglecting to mention my own tardiness.  “That bitch,” she snapped.

Even then I felt guilty at my singular lack of honesty.

 [D.D. was once quoted as complaining about the inefficiency of her publicity agent (it probably wasn’t the same lady, though it could have been).  She caustically quipped to a journalist, “A shame she wasn’t doing publicity for poor old Johnny Gielgud when he was arrested.  That way, it could have all been kept hush-hush.”  She was referring to the widely publicized scandal provoked by the arrest of actor John Gielgud for what was then illegal sexual conduct.]

Early British poster (Hammer Films)

* * * * * * *

 More than a decade later, walking up the Champs-Elysées in Paris one Sunday afternoon, I noticed a seriously overweight woman attracting a lot of attention.  She was dressed in a tight, red dress with inappropriately plunging cleavage,  inappropriate for both her age and her weight.  Her shoulder-length hair was platinum white, and she was wearing full stage makeup and then some.  I suddenly realized it was Diana Dors.

She was accompanied by the same husband, and despite the poor odds, they still seemed  devoted to each other.

The later years... (google)

 They were window-shopping in one of those arcades for tourists.  A little crowd had gathered around, but it had nothing to do with Diana Dors, the movie star, who was by now quite forgotten … at least in Paris.   

Bystanders were staring because the old girl was so grotesquely over the top.  I felt deeply sad for her, although she seemed happy enough, and her husband looked at her as though she were still the glamour girl of bygone days.

They were on the way back to their hotel, the George V, (now a Four Seasons), which for most of the 20^th Century was -- like the Savoy in London -- the Parisian hotel most favored by actors.  I heard them discussing the route to take, as they may have been slightly lost.

The Four Seasons George V today

I was tempted to offer assistance.  I really wanted to tell her that I recognized her, that I had admired her work on the stage that time in 1969.  That I remembered the extraordinary photo of her in the mink bikini.  I know she would have liked the recognition, but regretfully I said nothing.

I watched them walk away, hand in hand, and then turn down Avenue George V towards the hotel.

Diana Dors died of cancer the following year.  She was still news back in England, and most of the papers carried her obituary on the front page.  The pundits had declared that the marriage would never last.  In truth, Alan Lake couldn’t live without her.  He put a bullet through his head soon after her funeral.

Arrival Cannes Film Festival with Ginger Rogers 1955 (Google)

      SIDEBAR:  The Royal Film Premiere of “Staircase”                           

 (the Taylor-Burtons, Princess Margaret, and another glimpse of Diana Dors)

"Staircase" poster.  It got a lot of attention, but the film flopped!

I did run into Diana Dors again, though only from afar.  It was the Spring of 1970, my last months in London, and I found myself at the Royal Premiere of Staircase, a  Stanley Donen  film starring Richard Burton and Rex Harrison.

Some top director at UPI had been invited to the formal reception preceding the film.  Indifferent, he had left the single invitation up for grabs in the newsroom ...  just in case someone might wish to go. 

The Burtons about the same time (Google)

 As no one else showed any interest, I was only too happy to rent the mandatory tuxedo, and set out for the Odeon Cinema off Piccadilly Circus.  I never expected the invitation to entitle me to anything other than admittance to the film, so I was astounded to find myself with a handful of VIPs in a tiny roped-off red carpet area alongside the Taylor-Burtons, Princess Margaret, the grand old stage actress Cathleen Nesbitt (who played Burton’s mother) and various cinema executives. 

I didn’t actually have any conversation with any of the aforementioned celebrities, but I thoroughly enjoyed sipping champagne while listening to them talk to each other. 

Princess Margaret (Corbis Image)

  Princess Margaret to Elizabeth Taylor:  “Is this the new diamond everyone’s talking about?”

E. Taylor to Princess M.:  “Oh, no, the new one is so much nicer, but the insurance people won’t let me wear it yet.”

Anonymous film executive to R. Burton:  “Will you be staying in London long?”

R. Burton to anonymous:  “We live here actually.  We’re keeping our apartment at the Dorchester, at least until the summer.”

The whole little pre-film reception shouldn’t have lasted more than 15 minutes, but as the Taylor-Burtons were delayed for about three quarters of an hour (they were driving in from Switzerland that day), I had the added bonus of listening to  various snide comments about their tardiness.  Princess Margaret waited in a private office until they made their entrance, but her husband, Lord Snowdon, made repeated, irritated enquiries about the stars’ whereabouts.

When the famous couple finally did arrive, Princess Margaret initially seemed frosty, but E. T. was so exquisitely beautiful and so supremely gracious that everyone seemed to melt before her charms.

During that time I saw a number of lesser celebrities herded behind a plexiglass barrier, up a stairway into the cinema.  One of these was Diana Dors, whom I vividly remember being pushed back away from the little VIP area.  She was laughing loudly and craning her neck, none too discreetly trying to get a glimpse of Liz and Richard and Margaret …. and me.

Liz and partial view of Richard ... and THE diamond (AP)

-o-

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

Next Friday:  "Hollywood on the Hudson"

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

The Taylor-Burtons were also featured in:  blog No. 20, "Decafeinated coffee ... in Hungarian?" Jan. 11, 2013 (to access, click on above title).

  

33 - Breakfasts in the 1970's

THE SHERRY-NETHERLAND, New York, The PLAZA ATHENEE, Paris, etc.

View of Manhatten at dawn, arriving  from the sea 2009

 

Ann came back from her first trip to the States in 1976 deliriously pro-New York.  She liked everything about it, even in those violent, dirty days of the Big Apple.

One of her prime discoveries was the New York City breakfast.  Not the diner variety (which I tend to prefer nowadays), but the kind you find in a grand hotel.

Ann around 1978

Someone had invited her to the Sherry-Netherland on 59^th Street, and breakfast there was an eye-opener.  At the time, the Sherry’s breakfast room was on a circular mezzanine overlooking the main lobby area;  Ann's description of watching the animated comings and goings below of luxury hotel life, while enjoying a tasty breakfast, conjured up a glamorous world to which I had never before given much thought.

 Back in Paris, she recounted how anyone could just walk into the best hotels in New York, have a cup of tea, a wander around, or even stay for scrambled eggs. We decided to try some of the Parisian hotels for our own little breakfast survey.  Hemingway got there first, but we liked to call it our moveable feast.

Other than in Anglo-Saxon countries, eggs and bacon are not the normal morning staple.  Except in the smarter hotels, that is, and there it is often a point of honor for the chef to sparkle his “English” at breakfast time.

We launched our outings with what was then still considered to be the best America had to export --the Hilton and the Sheraton.  They were both shamefully disappointing:  cold toast and heavy, lumpy eggs, it was so dismal that we almost abandoned the whole Paris breakfast project.

Me 1978, the year I quit smoking (photo Martin Woods)

Fortunately we persevered, and it was in this manner that I first started to learn about life in the Paris Palaces. 

The power breakfast had not yet arrived in the French capital, and our presence was sometimes looked upon as a real oddity.  No one seemed to waltz in from the street like us in those days.  We were sometimes greeted a little like Martians, but usually as welcomed ones.

Ann 1976

 It often took a bit of nerve walking in for breakfast.  There was never a direct street entrance, but at any rate I wanted the chance to explore the hotel lobbies, and we also always tried to reconnoiter the toilets for future information.

When inevitably asked for our room number, Ann (whose French was much more polished than mine) taught me a rather elegant expression that vaguely translated as “just passing through.”  I felt it gave me an extra bit of self-assurance.

It was thus that I got to know a little of the Bristol, the George V, Prince de Galles, Le Crillon, the Ritz and many others.  It was not cheap.  In the beginning nearly 40 years ago it cost close to eight dollars.  A lot of money in those days, but still cheaper than anything else up for sale at those hotels.

The Plaza Athenée's flower-bedded facade 2012

Of all our outings, only the Plaza Athénée let us down with an unwelcoming greeting.  We had arrived on a 14^th of July, the French national holiday, and the hotel and restaurant were packed.  We were already seated when an important Arab trade delegation began to pour in, taking every other available seat.

Franchot Tone (Google)

The staff was probably taken unawares, and a harried, crotchety old maitre D' (picture an older, belligerent Franchot Tone) asked for our room number.  When I tossed out my prepared catchphrase about “just passing through,” old Franchot Tone gave us such a condescending, withering glare that it took real wherewithal to survive it.

Long before we were even thinking of leaving, he was back with the check.  With a look of supreme exasperation, he virtually snapped his fingers in impatience.

 Ann and I both felt singularly unloved.  I ultimately wrote to the managing director about our failed outing, and we were invited back, compliments of the house.  This time the restaurant was almost empty, Franchot Tone was nowhere to be seen, and the food beyond reproach.

Still, it’s that earlier, less successful breakfast that I remember best!

 SIDEBAR:  Hotel dining rooms

Lunch at the Meurice. Paris

Ever since the arrival of Auguste Escoffier at the London Savoy around 1890, hotel dining rooms have held a special place in the world of fine cuisine. 

In recent years top hotels around the world have engaged in a fierce bidding war to hire the finest, award-winning chefs.  It has become a necessary note of prestige for a really fine hotel to engage a star in the kitchen.

Tea time at the Mount Nelson, Capetown

Pastry shop at the Savoy, London

Lunch at Apsleys in the Lanesborough Hotel, London

 In contrast to "normal" restaurants, grand hotels don't necessarily have to make a profit on their food.   It is but one of the many facets of a hotel's personality, designed to attract paying guests and to bolster the overall reputation of the establishment.

Sunday lunch at the Negresco, Nice

 Since the turn of the 21st century, hotels have increasingly counted on outside diners to both help balance the budget and to add a little diversity and ambiance.

Tea at the Mount Nelson, Capetown

As luxury  hotel dining rooms can be intimidating to many, management has devised a  number of ways to attract a more democratic (i.e. less rich) clientele.  In addition to the "power breakfast" --early morning, high powered business meetings over breakfast-- or the increasingly popular money-maker, the afternoon tea, there is the lunchtime "businessman's menu," and it is this that I have almost exclusively availed myself of.  

Here are a few memorable and photogenic dishes from hotel lunches in recent memory. 

 

Game pie at the Negresco

Fish dish with beets and spinach, Negresco

Shrimp in cream sauce, Negresco

Vanilla soufflé and ice cream at the London Ritz

Mount Nelson tea buffet, Capetown

Olive-crusted lamb, The Lanesborough

Tempura di scampi at the Lanesborough

Scallops at l'Hotel, Paris

Chocolate cherry dessert, Le Meurice. Paris

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

Next Friday:  "Remembering Diana Dors"

  [Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

Ann was also featured in blog No. 5 "Room without bath," 28 Sept., 2012; No. 20 "Decaffeinated Coffee in Hungarian?" 11 Jan. 2013, and No. 28 "Rue des Beaux-Arts."  The Sherry Neverland was the setting for part of blog No. 53 "Looking For Carlotta" 24 Jan. 2014  (to access, click on titles)