"Bad Birdie"

When I was subbing on drums at Radio City Music Hall during the late 50's, playing four shows a day, the orchestra members would hang out in the cafeteria downstairs back stage, along with the Rockettes, singers and ballet dancers. Concert Master Glenn was a buddy and he dated Marie, an attractive Rockette.

One afternoon, between shows on a Monday, Marie, Glenn and I shared a table. She was laughing so hard tears flowed. Why? Because over the weekend on Saturday Marie and eleven of her Rockette friends had been hired to entertain a wealthy recluse who lived in a Westchester mansion in Bronxville, New York. Here is what transpired.

A 12 passenger van picked up the ladies, drove to the mansion and they had lunch with the recluse, a man in his 40's, only five feet tall and a very large nose. He introduced himself as "Waldo," obviously a fake name, and made small talk about the weather, the Hudson River and his desire to lead a happy life. Hmmmmm. They all smelled a rat on the latter comment.

After the lunch, a delicious shrimp salad, the ladies were told to enter the large bedroom on the first floor where they would find their bird costumes. They would have 30 minutes to change, dress and do their makeup. Then they would all go into the basement family room and dance around Waldo, chirping as birds, singing "Ring Around the Posie."

They dressed in the costumes, put on their makeup (to look like birds), practice singing for a few minutes, and then take the elevator downstars for their performance. No talking or laughing. On cue, Waldo would end this scenario, they would change into their own clothes, each receive a hundred dollar bill and exit to the van for travel back to New York City. That all sounded simple enough.

When the Rockettes, pretending to be birds, entered the downstairs family room, they all gasped at first. Waldo was laying in an open coffin naked with an erection. They started to dance and sing around the casket as Waldo masturbated. Round and round they went for perhaps ten minutes until he ejaculated a stream of sperm that splattered most of them.

It was hilarious to all of them, also somewhat depressing that this rich jerk would subject Rockettes to such a depraved ritual. But they all performed as instructed, except Andrea. She just couldn't contain herself, laughing between chirping as a bird. After they returned to the dressing room and changed clothes, Waldo met them at the door, handing each a hundred dollar bill. When Andrea received hers, Waldo said loudly, "Bad birdie!"

So this was the true tale from Marie that convulsed her in the cafeteria, along with Glenn and I. Both he and I expressed some doubt at first, but she didn't have to make it up. It really happened that way. Would she do it again? "No way" Marie said. "Maybe for a thousand dollars," she added.

DON’T EVER PROCRASTINATE AGAIN

Lee Miles, the President of Bridgeport University, had invited several dozen people to his home on campus for dinner. I was included because I had lectured at the college several times.

Due to heavy traffic from Westport to Bridgeport I was a half-hour late, as was an elderly lady in her 80’s, Clara Mertens. She and I were ushered to a table for two and proceeded to have a lively conversation.

I learned that Clara, a widow, had financed several buildings at the college, thanks to a few million dollars from her late husband’s real estate investments. I suddenly realized Merten’s Auditorium was the venue where I had lectured.

Clara said she was going to Europe for the summer and would return to her estate in Easton around September. She also had an apartment in New York City where she stayed when seeing a Broadway show. But she wanted to know if I had a major project she could finance.

Of course I had a dream to someday establish a museum for unknown creative people who failed to gain proper recognition for their talent. I would be the curator for one year and then depart for oher activities. My museum could be funded for one million dollars.

After our dinner we mingled with the other guests, I said goodby to Clara Mertens, she told me to call her in three months and we would arrange to meet with her attorney to draw up the agreement for my one million dollars to finance the museum.

I could hardly believe this chance encounter that would certainly change my life. Clara had written both of her unlisted phone numbers on my business card and a note to “call before the end of September.” My bucket list of creative people I knew who could profit from a grant began to take shape.

That summer flew by, I had signed to begin a series of lectures in October and was working on my material. Suddenly I realized it was October 1st and I hadn’t called Clara in September. I made the call. Both her phone numbers were disconnected.

My heart skipped a beat. Perhaps she had died. I called the President’s office at Bridgeport University. Yes, Clara had passed away on September 28. Then a call to her attorney. He said he knew about her plan to finance my museum, and had been waiting for me to contact her. I waited too long and she was gone.

Clara Mertens left 16 million dollars to the University of Bridgeport with no strings attached. She had outlived all family member at 89 and so there were no challenges to her will.

But I failed to call her in September and lost my benefactor. Boo hoo.