Hugh Hefner, Playboy Magazine’s publishing giant, died on September 27, 2017. And just today, October 1, 2017, Ross Douthat, wrote a scathing op-ed piece in the New York Times entitled, “Speaking Ill of Hugh Hefner.” It is a very slanted, negative and audacious obit (of sorts).
Douthat’s nasty (and perhaps honest) essay about Hugh Hefner actually triggered a cascade of memories that I had not visited in many years. Good memories, btw. Here it is: I had breakfast with Shel Silverstein once at the Playboy Mansion and it was grand. Just how this happened is a very circuitous story. But first, allow me to digress and wax poetic about the great Shel Silverstein (if you don’t already know).
Shel was an American poet, singer-songwriter, cartoonist, screenwriter, and author of children’s books. He won a Grammys for “A Boy Named Sue” by Kris Kristofferson, and “Where the Sidewalk Ends, as Best Recording for Children. He was nominated for an Oscar for Best Song, “I’m Checkin’ Out,” for Postcards From the Edge, sung by Meryl Streep at the end of the film. Silverstein’s friendship with “Hef,” and why he had carte blanche at the Holmby Hills mansion began in 1957, when Shell became one of the leading cartoonists for Playboy – a job that sent him around the world doing illustrated travelogues. Eventually, this collection of writing and illustrations was published in 2007, and called Playboy’s Silverstein Around the World. Shell’s work was translated into more than 30 languages, and his books sold over 20 million copies. He was ALL of that. He was no slouch. Now, ON to breakfast:
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It was October of 1988. My best friend (and fellow Chicago native, Karen) and I flew up to Lake Tahoe on a miniature American Eagle airplane that had no bathroom. Having never received that memo, I drank a can of Ginger ale prior to boarding. In terms of my bladder, the one-hour flight was actually 10 hours and excruciating. That’s what it felt like. Lesson learned. The purpose of the trip was to visit the set of David Mamet’s second film, Things Change, co-written with his good friend, Shel Silverstein. Things Change was a lighthearted story based on a series of misunderstandings and plot twists. Well reviewed, it was mostly shot on a very large soundstage in Lake Tahoe, where there they built an exact replica of a room at Chicago’s Lincoln Park Hotel (a landmark where David once lived as a starving artist).
Both Karen and I had known David Mamet for many years via the Chicago theater scene. Karen did several plays with him, and I fell in love for 3 months. We also knew some of Mamet’s favorite “stock players,” like Joe Mantegna and JJ Johnston who were both in Things Change. JJ made bunking arrangements for us in a nice townhouse and set up our rendezvous with Mamet at his condo after we arrived. It was a laid back and delightful reunion. David tried to pretend that he didn’t know we were coming, but I know JJ told him. David Mamet is brilliant beyond the pale, but not a great actor…
The weather was crisp and beautiful. There is nothing like the air in Lake Tahoe. In fact, there is nothing like Lake Tahoe.
For three days, we hung out on a soundstage, watched filming and ate with the crew. And yes, it was impossibly fun. Mamet runs a very relaxed set and he feeds people really well. Craft service was spectacular. During those three days, I got to meet veteran actor and bonifide movie star, Don Ameche; WHO, at the age of 77, won his first Oscar for Best Supporting Actor in Cocoon, directed by Ron Howard. As you may recall, late in life, Mr. Ameche also made a huge splash with Eddie Murphy in Trading Places. During lunch one day, Ameche told me something stunning. His anecdote is emblematic of the whimsical nature of an acting career. Anything can happen at any time.
Ameche: “Until Trading Places, I didn’t work as an actor for 35 years.”
Me: “Oh my goodness!! What did you do?
Ameche: “I raised 6 kids.”
On our second night in Tahoe, Mamet and Silverstein invited Karen and me to dinner. We all piled into a rental car along with JJ Johnston and headed out. David drove. I don’t remember the restaurant, but it was an upscale steak, seafood and whiskey type joint. And as you might imagine, it was a lively dinner, filled with anecdotes, jokes and outrageous remarks. From that slightly raucous and interesting evening, I can share that Shel Silverstein was a great provocateur, and often a little bit naughty. I posted a photo of Shel to illustrate that he DID NOT look at all like someone who wrote award-winning poetry and children’s books, but he did. After dinner, we all went back to David’s condominium and talked for a few hours. At the end of that evening, Dave said, “I wish I had known you were coming. I would have put you in the movie.” As it was, he put his nanny’s in the film!!
Karen and I flew back to Los Angeles with Shel on another American Eagle balsa wood airplane. Unfortunately, this trip my bladder was devoid of fluids, BUT we flew at night during a raging thunderstorm. Seriously. Both Karen and Shel were seated across the aisle from each other and I was by the window. During the flight, our toy plane was bandied about the sky like a Pixar cartoon, but it wasn’t cute. Thinking we were all going to die, Karen and Shel held hands across the aisle, while I chewed off my knuckles. Shel leaned over every few minutes, “Are you okay?”
Upon landing safely and recovering emotionally, Shel said, “I’m staying at The Playboy Mansion – why don’t you two come to there tomorrow for breakfast?” Without hesitation, we said, “YES.”
The next morning, we pulled up to the famous stone edifice, with an expansive and empty driveway. All was quiet. A butler or some such male answered the door. Karen and I walked into the very dark entry. To our immediate left was the famous mahogany staircase (leading up to Hef’s famous playpen). Looking straight ahead, we could see an expansive lawn; and to our right, were a kitchen and more rooms. I found the mansion very dank and somewhat depressing. It seemed to be stuck in a time warp, and never updated. It did not feel fresh, and the carpet probably had never been replaced. If I had known, I would have brought some Glade. This place would have been ideal for George to the Rescue.
Within moments, Shel appeared, smiling and lead us into a breakfast alcove, with a large round table, white tablecloth and china. The large round breakfast nook was surrounded by ornate windows, which were closed. Almost immediately, a “waiter” showed up to take our order. I naively asked, “What do you have?” The waiter said, “Order anything you’d like. We have a full service kitchen – we can make anything.” I think that Karen and I snuck glances at each other. We were in new territory. I ordered eggs Benedict and Karen ordered blueberry pancakes – and cappuccinos of course.
The food was good. The three of us reviewed every moment of our “near death” plane ride. Karen was a master flirt in a way that I could not compete – she had Southern born chops for the art of flirtation, and it made for great entertainment. It wasn’t serious or romantic, but she and Shel really hit it off. I watched them like it was a show.
At that time in my life, I was a youngster. I had zero idea that I would eventually morph into a writer. It’s astounding and even regrettable to think that I could have essentially interviewed Shell. I could have blitzed him with an avalanche of questions about writing. Never happened, but perhaps it would not have played out well. Perhaps our innocence was refreshing. I didn’t have the crystal ball. I was a single cell organism.
After breakfast, Shel showed us around the grounds, and of course, took us to the famous grotto. At that time, it was a nice piece of architectural landscaping (probably still is) – with whitewashed stones, waterfalls, a giant Jacuzzi and a covered lagoon, etc. Looking at the sexually exotic playground, ALL I could think about were germs. All I could think about were bodily fluids too. Not only that – bodily fluids belonging to the rich and famous, co-mingling. Noooooo! It did not take a genius to “get” that the grotto was rife with famous DNA. Even with a boatload of chlorine, the grotto looked to me like a small lake, full of flesh-eating organisms. That being said, the grounds were cool.
It was a great weekend in Tahoe, and it was a great breakfast with Shel Silverstein. Saying goodbye to Shel on the front steps of the Playboy Mansion was a little bit poignant. The tree of us had just bonded over a special weekend. We both hugged him and thanked him. Karen stayed in touch with Shel by snail mail for about a year, but we never saw the likes of him again. We knew that we never would. How fortunate we were.
Shel Silverstein, a true original, died at the age of 68 on May 10, 1999.