Brass Diva: The Life and Legends of Ethel Merman (88 page)

As a historical figure, Ethel Merman towers over Broadway. With no flops in
a forty-year stage career that paralleled the golden age of the American musical (her retirement and death roughly coinciding with its demise), she seems
Broadway's human embodiment. For Tony Cointreau, Ethel's role as Broadway legend and great belter is what she will be remembered for in twenty
years.30 Conditions now are such that another Ethel could not come into
being again. Her performance style, the songs she sang, and the light book
musicals that showcased Merm are gone to history; so, too, the shows written for individual stars. The business of show business has been utterly transformed, and the nature of the entertainment industry doesn't line up with
anything of Merman's time. Still, Broadway Ethel will always be around, as
surely as other "Ethel Mermans" will continue to be regenerated. Moreover,
what's special about Merman's image in afterlife is that it's one people can
venerate and also have fun with, opening it up to new appreciations, respectful and playful all at once.

It seems only fitting that Ethel continues to be remade-this woman
with a media savvy precocious enough to appreciate how public a production "Ethel Merman" always was. And so for as much as Ethel "stayed
the same," as Cointreau and other intimates say, and for as much as her
vocal and performance style stayed constant, her long career spanned so many American contexts and periods that Ethel Merman was continually
born in new forms, even during her life. As much as she is lost to the historical moment, there is still plenty of "Ethel Merman" to go around.
With so many Ethels around us today, she remains as vital and boisterous
as ever.

Brass Diva has taught me that writing a biography is a group effort. I've been
fortunate that the Ethel Merman world I've inhabited for the last four years
has been filled by mostly generous, open-hearted people who shared memories, stories, gossip, and multifaceted appreciations of the Merm.

Without three sources in particular, this book could never have come into
existence. First is the Museum of the City of New York. The Theater Collection there is home to Ethel Merman's extensive scrapbook collection and
was where I spent over a half year as a visiting scholar going through those
scrapbooks-the first writer to tap them in their entirety. My thanks to those
who invited me there: Sarah Henry, Debbie Waters, and everyone who made
it a pleasure to go in every day in the summer and fall of 2003. Special thanks
go to Eileen Kennedy Morales, Marguerite Lanvin, and to volunteers, such
as Mary Cope and John Kenrick. Without question, though, my deepest appreciation goes to theater curator Marty Jacobs, a man whose knowledge of
Broadway and theater history is outstripped only by his love for cranky, overweight cats.

Al Koenig Jr. is a high school teacher in New Jersey who has spent his
adult life researching Merman's career and achievements. When Edward
Zimmermann was ailing, Mr. Koenig helped him sustain his daughter's
scrapbooks when his vision made it impossible to do so alone. I am grateful to Mr. Koenig for sharing his research collection, his images, contacts,
and countless written appreciations. Without his contribution, the
appendices-especially the discography-would be but a shell of what they
are here, and his eagle eye helped detect errors in other portions of the book
as well. Mr. Koenig's enthusiasm for Merman and this project was nearly superhuman: for over four years, hardly a day went by without my receiving multiple communiques, lists, and essays from him. Thanks in large part to
that level of energy, this book sees the light of day now.

Merman's family proved a warm and spirited group who shared their vantage points on an Ethel to whom very few outsiders were privy. I thank Merman's granddaughter Barbara Geary, who relayed Grandma Ethel stories
with refreshing candor and good cheer. "Archivist and extended family
member" Tony Cointreau spent hours with me on the phone, sharing his
memories of life with Merman; his eye for exactitude, moreover, saved this
book from several embarrassing inaccuracies. His dedication to the Ethel
Merman he knew is a model of loyalty and love. Ethel's son, Bob Levitt Jr.,
graciously communicated for several years during the writing of this book in
long letters, e-mail, and, in July 2004, a personal interview in his small community in Northern California. I appreciate the intricate picture Mr. Levitt
shared of his mother; it is my hope that this book illuminates for others the
woman he loved and lived with in real time.

I'm happy to express thanks to the helpful staff at the following institutions: everyone at UCLA Arts Special Collections, especially Lauren Buisson
and Julie Graham; Jennifer Miller at UCLA's Film and Television Archive;
Ned Comstock at the Cinema-Television Library at USC; everyone at the
Academy for Motion Picture Arts and Science's Margaret Herrick Library,
particularly Stacey Behlmer, Barbara Hall, Val Almenderez, and their dog
June, veterans all of the art of love. My gratitude to the inimitable Miles
Kruger and the Institute of the American Musical in Los Angeles, and to the
staff at the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts, especially Jeremy Megrah, and the Billy Rose Theatre Collection.

I received generous feedback on drafts of Brass Diva from Al F. Koenig Jr.,
Tony Cointreau, Stacy Wolf, Gary Goertz, Barbara Geary, David Lahm, Klea
Blackhurst, Jeannette LoVetri, and Bob Levitt. Errors or inaccuracies that remain are my own. Diane Meyer and Arlen Fast provided expert photographic
assistance with images. For various other tasks such as typing, fact checking,
and bibliographic work, I need to thank Lauryn Bianco, Dale Steiber, James
Reel, Teresa Simone, Joy Wilcox, and Diane Weiner.

This biography put me in touch with singer Klea Blackhurst, to whom I'm
grateful for our long and lively Merman talks; Miss Blackhurst is a walking
Merman archive in her own right and had much to contribute about Merman and the powerhouse voice. Thanks to her I was also able to view many
unavailable Merman film and TV recordings. I was also fortunate to talk at
length to the onetime president of the Ethel Merman Fan Club, Marilyn Cantor Baker. Mrs. Baker is the undisputed queen of Merman memories,
and she shared recollections that stretch back to the 1930s; I thank her for her
generous and spirited discussions and for the Gypsy picture that looked down
on me in my office as I wrote.

I obtained other Merman recollections and thoughts from the talented
Kaye Ballard (a fan of Merm and fellow Gypsy performer) and Ethel's Art of
Love costar, Elke Sommer, both of whom graciously spoke on short notice.
At Manhattan's Roosevelt Hospital, Susan Fenton (director of Volunteer Services) spoke of Ethel's long-running history with the hospital, and it was she
who put me in contact with Ruth Munson, the volunteer who worked at
Roosevelt with Merman during the 1970s-and who still volunteers at the
hospital today, as she enters her tenth decade.

Carol Frieden and her husband, Jerry, interrupted their holiday to speak
about their firsthand experience with the late Ethel Geary. Various voice and
music professionals in New York shared their observations about Ethel Merman's voice and career. Special thanks to Gary Thor Wedow, chorus master
of the New York City Opera, and to chorus members Ed Zimmerman and
Jill Bosworth, for our lively discussion. Vocal expert Jeannette LoVetri shared
her thoughts on the Merman belt and offered a welcome historical and physiological perspective; I thank her for her insight and generosity. Voice trainer
William Riley and voice therapist Linda Carroll offered ideas, and David
Lahm, the son of Dorothy Fields, exhibited both patience and generosity in
discussing Merman, his mother, and Annie Get Your Gun.

A host of other people shared thoughts on Ethel and on the work involved
in producing a biography such as this. For their stories, guidance, and helping hands, I thank (among others): Charles Affron, Kay Armatage, Cari
Beauchamp, Jerry Beck, Arthur Boehm, Ralph Bravaco, Donna Cozzo, the
late George Custen, Mary Driscoll, Arlen Fast, Krin Gabbard, Darlene
Goertz, Gary Goertz, Kristin Graves, Stephen Mo Hanan, John Haskell,
John Henrick, the late Edna Hill, Marry Jacobs, Miguel Juarez, Kay Kalinak,
Liz Kennedy, John Kenrick, Louise Koehn, Skip Koenig, my agent Sydelle
Kramer, Miles Krueger, Mark Langer, Marguerite Lanvin, David Lugowski,
Bill Luhr, Sharon Mazer, Richard McQuillan, James Parish, Robert Parish,
Joseph Patton, Kathleen Powers, Bobbi Prebis, James Reel, Morgan Sills,
Charles Slocumb, Eric Smoodin, Chris Straayer, Liz Weis, Diane Wiener,
Stacy Wolf, and Sande Zeig. I would also like to thank the people I received
tremendous help from at the University of California Press, especially Mary
Francis, Sue Heinemann, and Kalicia Pivirotto.

Heartfelt thanks to my friends, colleagues, family, and students for all of
their suggestions, stories, and support during the time it took to write this
book. And finally, I want to express my enormous gratitude to the large and
lively communities of Ethel fans and appreciators for sharing all of their stories and encounters-some real, some imagined-about La Merm.

From the start, it was both the press and the public that "made" Ethel Merman, Broadway supernova, out of the Astoria stenographer who was born
Ethel Agnes Zimmermann. In a way, this is an oddity, because in early
Depression-era America, media and promotional industries weren't massmarketing stars to the extent that they did later, particularly for stage players;
Broadway has never been as fully under the grip of national publicity machines as Hollywood studios. To an extent, Merman's celebrity was allowed
to develop organically, especially at the outset. (Again, this is not to say the
mass media weren't involved, for without them, "Ethel Merman" couldn't
have been produced at all.) But Ethel's appointment of ten-year-old Marilyn
Cantor as president of the Ethel Merman Fan Club in the mid-i93os clearly
indicates that we are talking of another era. No publicity department oversaw this Merman, nor could it have anticipated the other Mermans to come
or her place outside Broadway, living in the recordings owned by middle-class
Americans, in her guest spots on their TV sets, and in the imaginations of
fans who never even encountered her.

The single most important document I found that shows the process of
"the making of Ethel Merman" is the fifty-plus-volume scrapbook collection
that details her professional life. Housed at the Museum of the City of New
York, the largely intact collection runs from the early '3os through the '70s.
Portions have found their way into other institutions such as the Library at
Lincoln Center and into the hands of individuals; the 1970-83 books are with
a private collector who helped Merman maintain them late in her life. It was
easily the most compelling source consulted for this project, showing the processes and mechanisms that produced Ethel Merman. These volumes contain
every public piece of information printed about her, flattering or unflattering, with as many as seventy-five copies of the same syndicated photo from papers around the country pasted on adjoining pages. For the peruser who
believes Merman maintained them, reading the scrapbooks transforms the
star into nothing short of a self-absorbed egomaniac. But their actual caretaker was Ethel's father, Edward Zimmermann, and this knowledge lends
them a very different meaning, painting a compelling portrait of paternal devotion and love, however compulsively enacted. Edward included any published reference to his daughter, no matter how trivial or repetitious: onesentence announcements comparing new singers to Ethel, erroneous gossip
reports, Ethel advertising shoes "like you can get in Hollywood!" in a Manhattan dress shop. Tabs glued onto newspaper clippings indicate that Zimmermann subscribed to a national clipping service to obtain all print stories
that mentioned his daughter, items he meticulously arranged in chronological sequence.

From the outset, Edward Zimmermann seemed to know that the scrapbooks were recording the history of a celebrity whose life would interest more
people than the immediate family and seemed to be aware that the scrapbooks could help memorialize his daughter's fame. He wasn't keeping family records; these big, green clothbound books of her career are separate from
the extensive private ones in which Merman maintained personal and family events. In that scrapbook series, each of her children received his or her
own black-bound volume.