Brass Diva: The Life and Legends of Ethel Merman (72 page)

Most of the time when reporters asked Ethel about the prospect of remarriage, she laughed it off with a "Why jump back into the frying pan?" or
"What, with my track record?"34 Occasionally, interviewers coaxed Ethel into
admitting that she would like to have a man to take care of her, which close friends and family knew to be the case, even though she handled being alone
well. But she was tired of men who "wanted to be linked with me just because I'm Ethel Merman" and of others who took her heart. "The truth is I'm
very unhappy when I'm in love. I'm basically a one-man woman," and when
the men start to stray, "I go right up the wall."35 So Ethel had various escorts
and didn't actively seek serious new romance.

During this period of a relatively active nightlife, Ethel was spotted doing
the twist with no less a partner than Jerome Robbins, attending dinners with
Perle Mesta, and serenading at the party for Jule Styne's wedding. She wrote
to her parents: "At the dinner to Jule Styne and his bride Maggie last
night-everyone was there, including Jack Warner, Mervyn LeRoy, even
Groucho Marx- [I'm] packing now. Love, Ethel."36 She sang "Everything's
Coming Up Roses" with special lyrics that Sammy Cahn had penned for the
occasion:

In public, Ethel altered the lyrics of the songs she sang only once, out of respect for their creators and out of her deep sense of professionalism. At private parties, though, she sometimes sang blue renditions of her hits for
laughs; few records of those were kept.

In 1963, Ethel performed twice at Harrahs' South Shore Room, a popular
nightspot in Lake Tahoe. Before the April appearance, Van Johnson sent a
telegram pleading, "Please don't take this coast too. It's all we have left. "38 She
sang at the spring Oscars telecast that was hosted by Frank Sinatra. For that,
Ethel's adored designer from There's No Business Like Show Business, Miles
White, sent a handwritten card: "Dearest Ethel-That was the most superb
and exciting version of `Show Biz' I have ever seen you perform! You were so
magnificent and beautiful on The Academy I am still thrilled-Thank
you-with my love Miles."39

By this point Merman's activities were more diverse than they'd ever
been when she was working on a show, and she was free to appear in different venues, media, and events. On May 6, 1963, Time invited Ethel and all
of the other people who had graced the magazine's covers to attend an
enormous dinner commemorating the publication's twenty-fifth anniversary at the Waldorf-Astoria. Later in the month she appeared on The Red Skelton Show, and she was also performing in live shows throughout New
England. Reviews for these shows on the road were mostly positive, if less
consistently adoring than those from New York. After noting that the Merman voice was in fine shape, a Boston critic wrote that "There's No Business ..." aside,

without the friendly cover of costumes and sets, [the other pieces] seem
strangely old-fashioned. Cole Porter's "You're the Top" is a period piece, and
needs to be treated that way. In its day, it represented a high kind of nervous
sophistication; now its slick lyrics are out-of-date and its rhythms, too. "Down
in the Depths on the Ninetieth Floor" was pretty moving it its day; now it is
desperately old-fashioned.... Whoever put [the show] together made a basic
mistake, presenting her as though she were an old-timer making a farewell appearance.

Although this reviewer insisted that Merman herself was no old-timer, he
closed with the line "her glow is, alas, dimmed. 1140

Soon after that, the woman with the ostensible "dim glow" performed at
the Washington Amphitheater in June, where a critic there said, "That was no
siren pealing across town last night. That was Ethel Merman opening.... And
she blasted it [the amphitheater] open."41 Critics seemed intent on finding in
Ethel Merman either a trip down memory lane or a delightfully overpowering force of nature; the range of her public image was by now narrowing and
losing the nuance and complexity it had enjoyed earlier.

That summer-still 1963-Ethel recorded a song for the U.S. Post Office to promote the new zip code system it was introducing and did publicity shots standing next to a cardboard cartoon of a smiling postman
holding up envelopes with zip codes written boldly across them. In August
a big performance at the Hollywood Bowl was scheduled but, after an extensive advance publicity campaign, was canceled, a casualty to either conflicts with Ethel's shooting schedule or, more likely, competition feared
from a Dodgers' baseball game the same night. No matter. On September
22, Ethel, back in New York, appeared on a live special televised by CBS
from Lincoln Center, celebrating its first anniversary. The special was so big
that it preempted the extremely popular Ed Sullivan Show that night. The
special, hosted by Alistair Cooke, included classical, popular, and show performers, and after her introduction by Richard Rodgers, Merman sang
"Everything's Coming Up Roses," "They Say It's Wonderful," and "Blow,
Gabriel, Blow."

Three Divas on The Judy Garland Show

October 1963 saw more TV work, including another appearance on Red
Skelton's variety show. While she was taping it, Merman made a TV
appearance that would become almost as celebrated as her work with
Mary Martin on the Ford 50th Anniversary Show. Elsewhere in the CBS
building, where Merman was doing the Skelton show, Judy Garland was
taping her show, hosting guests the Smothers Brothers and a young Broadway star named Barbra Streisand. ("I'm doing Funny Girl next with Jule
Styne.") Streisand-barely twenty-one years old and wearing a long slit
skirt and a sailor-style top-sings "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered"
from Pal Joey before responding to some diva chatter initiated by her admiring host:

After dueting with "Get Happy" and "Happy Days Are Here Again," the
two women chat about singing, and as soon as Judy tells Barbra, "You really
belt a song, and there are very few of us left," Ethel's recognizable voice comes
up from the audience singing the first few bars of "You're Just in Love." Ethel
joins them onstage to great applause, telling them she'd been across the hall
recording for Skelton and "you guys were belting!" Barbra is introduced as the
new big belter and appears rather shy and overwhelmed by the two old pros,
especially when all three team up for "There's No Business Like Show Business." Merman stands in the middle, sandwiched between an appreciative,
glowing Garland and an awkward, bemused Streisand, who allow her the
center stage vocally as well. Merman and Garland's affection for each other
is transparent in the footage. At one point Ethel says, "You look great!" Garland responds, "I finally lost a few ...... and Merman blows out air on her,
as if she could knock her thin friend over. The show aired on October 6, and
to this day remains a classic; every fan of big belters-from Merman to Garland and Minnelli and Streisand-refers to this show as a near holy moment
of the trinity of Belt.

In November, Ethel sang live at the prestigious supper club the Persian
Room, to the delight of New Yorkers; it was her first Manhattan nightclub engagement since the Central Park Casino when Girl Crazy was running
three decades earlier. Like other contemporary singers, Ethel wore a mike, as
she did for all her concert appearances (but never her stage work), but that
scarcely stopped the jokes about the big Merman voice. One ad announced,
"A war is about to be unleashed!" Ethel the Singing Warrior was too happy
with her new work to be missing old Broadway much.

Ethel would be photographically teamed with her fourth and final husband
nineteen months before they ever met. On April 22, 1962, papers announced
NBC's plan to broadcast Call Me Madam with a photo of Merman dancing
with George Sanders in the film.' Below it on the same page is a picture of
Ernest Borgnine from Marty, his 1955 film, which, like Call Me Madam, was
now making its debut on the small screen. Quite unlike Sally Adams, Marty
was ordinary, an overweight Italian-American butcher who lived in the
Bronx with his lonely and overbearing mother. Borgnine's depiction earned
him an Academy Award.