Dead today at age 81. Colon cancer.
I didn't like her. And I have a personal story, but it's not nice to speak ill of the dead.
But if you beg nicely, I will tell it.
***********
So many of you have asked, begged and pleaded for me to tell my encounter with the late Eartha Kitt. Ok, here goes:
In the early 80’s in New York, I worked at a club called Tyson’s on 9th Avenue and 51st. It was basically a piano bar/restaurant. I was the featured entertainer every weekend Thursday – Saturday. The piano was on the same level as the tables and was in the center of the room across from the bar. There were tables right beside the piano.
One Sunday, I went into the club to get my pay for the weekend and to have a steak cooked by Sarah, the divine cook. This particular Sunday night a new kid in town was working the piano and doing his best. His name was Michael McAssey (sp?). And I sat at the bar and listened to his set. He was quite good.
Now across the street in those days was a building called “Networks” which was a series of studios for dance classes and small black box theatres for showcase productions. I even directed a performance of “And Miss Reardon Drinks A Little” there once.
Well, Eartha Kitt was teaching a dance class there at this time. I guess she was hurting for money, because Networks was a dump, a real dump. Anyway, her class on this Sunday night ended and Eartha made an entrance at Tyson’s along with half of her class.
She was seated right beside the piano, right beside Michael who was giving his all to the crowd. I watched in horror as every time Michael started a song, “Miss Kitt” would turn to him and loudly say, “Oh, you’re NOT going to play that, are you?” It was devastating to Michael. But the manager of the club just let it pass. I was fuming at the bar.
It got worse and worse and finally Eartha would bang on her table and throw her arms up in the air every time Michael started a song. I finally had enough and went over to Michael and motioned for him to get up and let me sit down. After all, it was “my room” in those days.
I sat down and “Miss Kitt” put her hands on her hips and gave me a look which let me know she was going to start in on me. And, the muse was with me because I just smiled at her and played one chord on the piano and sang, “Black, black, black is the color of my true love’s face.” And slowly glanced at "Miss Kitt" sitting right beside me.
“Miss Kitt” left. And good riddance. I have hated her since that moment to this day. As Edith-Ann would say, “And that’s the truth!”
In the early 80’s in New York, I worked at a club called Tyson’s on 9th Avenue and 51st. It was basically a piano bar/restaurant. I was the featured entertainer every weekend Thursday – Saturday. The piano was on the same level as the tables and was in the center of the room across from the bar. There were tables right beside the piano.
One Sunday, I went into the club to get my pay for the weekend and to have a steak cooked by Sarah, the divine cook. This particular Sunday night a new kid in town was working the piano and doing his best. His name was Michael McAssey (sp?). And I sat at the bar and listened to his set. He was quite good.
Now across the street in those days was a building called “Networks” which was a series of studios for dance classes and small black box theatres for showcase productions. I even directed a performance of “And Miss Reardon Drinks A Little” there once.
Well, Eartha Kitt was teaching a dance class there at this time. I guess she was hurting for money, because Networks was a dump, a real dump. Anyway, her class on this Sunday night ended and Eartha made an entrance at Tyson’s along with half of her class.
She was seated right beside the piano, right beside Michael who was giving his all to the crowd. I watched in horror as every time Michael started a song, “Miss Kitt” would turn to him and loudly say, “Oh, you’re NOT going to play that, are you?” It was devastating to Michael. But the manager of the club just let it pass. I was fuming at the bar.
It got worse and worse and finally Eartha would bang on her table and throw her arms up in the air every time Michael started a song. I finally had enough and went over to Michael and motioned for him to get up and let me sit down. After all, it was “my room” in those days.
I sat down and “Miss Kitt” put her hands on her hips and gave me a look which let me know she was going to start in on me. And, the muse was with me because I just smiled at her and played one chord on the piano and sang, “Black, black, black is the color of my true love’s face.” And slowly glanced at "Miss Kitt" sitting right beside me.
“Miss Kitt” left. And good riddance. I have hated her since that moment to this day. As Edith-Ann would say, “And that’s the truth!”
4 comments:
Ah, but has been said:
The only thing worse than being talked about, is NOT being talked about!
Even the dead know that there's no such thing as bad press!
If you don't have anything nice to say tell me.
I need to know, please tell.
Ouch!
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