Broadway Babylon (9 page)

Although she lived well into the age of microphones, Ethel Merman declined to soften, lower, or alter her singing style. She advised one pro-mike producer who said, “You don’t have to belt,” “That’s not what I’m all about. What I do is me. That’s what I am.”

D
ESPITE HER NATURAL COMPETITIVENESS
, Merman sometimes encouraged young performers, usually male ones. She comforted an actor-dancer in
Gypsy
who was nervous before opening, “Honey, if they could do what you do, they’d be up here.”

However, with females of all ages there was an invariable one-upmanship. For instance, at the home of some friends, the family grouped for a photo with “Aunt” Ethel, who often doted on their son. But when their little daughter Trudy stood in front of Merman, the star tartly ordered, “Back up, honey. Nobody upstages your Aunt Ethel.”

Give-and-take came hard to Merman. Despite her wealth, she was notorious for giving cheap gifts for birthdays and Christmas. And though occasionally she agreed to perform for charity, she expected first-class treatment all the way In 1977 she and Mary Martin headlined a benefit for the Theatre and Music Collection of the Museum of the City of New York.

Both had starred in
Hello, Dolly!
and were to wear the famous down-the-staircase red gown. When the producer suggested borrowing the gowns from the David Merrick office, Merman told her, “Are you kidding? You’re asking Mary and me to wear secondhand outfits? We’re stars. You’ll have to make new costumes.” In spite of the plea that expenses were being kept to a minimum, Ethel got her way, with $2,500 added to the charity’s budget.

Then the producer explained that to get to rehearsals, “The museum has a taxi service that will be at your disposal.” Merman cried, “A taxi service! Whaddya think we are, a couple of chorus girls? Get us limos.” The limousines upped the budget by a further $2,200.

The ornery Ethel, who told friends Carol Channing was “a vulgar publicity seeker,” also opined that “Dolly was a foolproof part. Look how many gals have done it. Even Betty Grable!”—who had parlayed her Broadway success in Cole Porter’s 1939 musical
DuBarry Was a Lady
into screen superstardom. Despite having declined to leave the States to play
Gypsy
in London, Merman was furious when Angela Lansbury played Mama Rose there, to huge box office and critical acclaim. Lansbury said, “Ethel figured
Rose was her private property, and I had no right to play the role. She told people that.… Also, I got the Tony [for the role—in 1974, for
Gypsy
’s first Broadway revival] and she didn’t, although she richly deserved it.”

Merman was more legitimately aggrieved when asked to play a recurring role on Jack Klugman’s TV series
The Odd Couple
. She’d ordered her agent to “get me some of that dough they’re throwing around at all those second-rate actors out there” in Los Angeles, where she did appear on
Batman
as villainess Lola Lasagna. Ethel was enraged and stung when she learned, “They want me to play Jack Klugman’s aunt?! Goddamnit, he was my leading man in
Gypsy
! Why the hell should I play his aunt? It’s insulting.” The producers reconsidered and said she could play Klugman’s older sister. “Absolutely not!” she replied.

Ethel’s coarseness was well known, and though she voted and even campaigned for conservative candidates who made an issue of their “moral values,” she reveled in public shockers. According to biographer Bob Thomas, at one “rather formal reception in a palatial Manhattan residence,” Merman was going up a double staircase while actor-director José Ferrer was going down on the other side. “Hey, Joe!” she suddenly yelled. “Did you hear the one about the Polack who was so dumb he thought Fuck-ing and Suck-king were a couple of Chinese cities?” The embarrassed Oscar winner answered, “No, I hadn’t, Ethel,” and walked on.

She was also partial to risqué greeting cards that dealt an unexpected shock. Like one that read, “Help bring love to the world …” on the front and on the inside “Fuck someone today.” “She collected dirty jokes and nasty stories,” said friend and associate Benay Venuta. “At parties, she was known for telling them … [and] trying to make the hostess blush.… Ethel was received in several of New York’s finest homes—usually
once
.

“Back in ’72, a mutual acquaintance was at a restaurant party with her. After Ethel exhausted her fund of bodily function jokes, she let someone else talk. So this guy mentions that he’ll be voting for [George] McGovern in the upcoming elections. Ethel was aghast, and couldn’t or wouldn’t keep it to herself. In her book, McGovern’s a ‘Commie,’ so she starts talking up Richard Nixon, actually calling him ‘a fine and noble man.’ Most people already knew not to bring up politics in front of her.”

M
ERMAN DECRIED MOST OF THE CHANGES
sweeping America in the 1960s and ’70s, and many or most of the younger stars. Modern trends and new Broadway plays usually appalled her, but it also hurt that fewer youngsters knew who she was, or who she’d been. Gone were the days when Cole Porter had announced, “I’d rather write for Ethel Merman than anyone else in the world.” Though formerly she’d disapproved of people doing Ethel Merman impressions, toward the end of her life she was glad, even grateful, to hear them.

“There’s practically no great singers today,” she explained in a 1970 interview syndicated in Australia. “You gotta have style and real personality for ’em to imitate you.” About female movie stars, she somewhat hypocritically offered, “Half of ’em are tramps. Nobody acts like a lady anymore.” About Jane Fonda she specifically said, “No one wants to hear an actress’s opinion about politics!” Regarding a young female rock singer, she summed up Grace Slick as “gimmicky but good” (not explaining what the gimmick was), then allowed that she didn’t “get” Janis Joplin (who died later that year):

“That girl has problems.… Bein’ heard ain’t one of ’em; like me, she gives an audience their money’s worth. But when I sing, everything’s comin’ up roses. When she sings, it’s a primal scream, for heaven’s sake!”

Though she took up touring in concerts, Merman became an exile from Broadway. She refused to consider supporting roles, except on the screen, which came calling even less often than before. To a younger generation she became known as the aggressive lady with the booming voice and the very imitable vibrato. “As she got older,” noted conductor Les Brown, “Ethel’s voice remained strong. Yet when she held a note, there was now a vibrato, and it just seemed to get worse, until it became the easiest thing in the world to ‘do’ Ethel Merman just by singing loud and energetically, with an exaggerated, almost comical vibrato.” For many who’d never heard her in her prime, Merman’s voice sounded “funny,” and they questioned her vocal reputation.

Ironically, when she recorded a 1979 album of her hits set to a disco beat, the vibrato was temporarily gone, but
The Ethel Merman Disco Album
came out at the end of the disco era and appealed to neither her older nor her younger fans, including most gay ones. “I heard nearly every copy that sold, sold to gay men,” said Ben Bagley, “not that many copies sold at all.”

Though not as personally well liked as some other Broadway icons, Ethel Merman shone brighter over the Great White Way than most anyone else. Her career coincided with its years of glory and universal appeal, a time when a Broadway star could be a national star without aid of other media, and when many of the nation’s hit songs came from Broadway shows.

“Talent and charisma made Broadway stars,” said stage actor George Rose. “Not the cosmetic, shallow appeal of Hollywood, but real, in-person qualities. It takes real stamina and natural magnetism to keep an audience captivated and to make them return. When she got on the stage and performed, Ethel Merman crushed any traces of boredom or restlessness.… People might get bored or impatient at a Merman musical, but only when she wasn’t on. When she was, she captured all eyes and ears.

“She grabbed your attention and never let go till after the curtain calls. And
she
decided when the curtain finally fell.… Nobody else could consistently pull in crowds even to mediocre musicals. Merman was in good ones,
bad ones, great ones, and so-so ones. Regardless, you went to see
her
. Crude or loud, funny, boisterous, she had the true magnetism, that star quality. Ethel Merman just lit up Broadway.” In her heyday, she
was
Broadway.