Paul Lynde - A Biography (2 page)

Paul was very quiet today and serious, so I did most of the talking as he soaked up some rays. When I asked about his show, he told me he couldn’t get used to this theater in the round. I jabbered on about my prom, which I had asked him to go with me again, after we met. He said he would have gone with me, but was obligated to tape
The Hollywood Squares
that day. I was honored he actually considered it.

A few hours later, my sister Tricia came to pick me up. This was the first time she would meet Paul. After they said hello, Paul reminded me to come backstage after the show. As we drove home, Tricia told me she hadn’t realized how handsome he was and that when she saw him in his bathing suit she almost fell into the pool.

The next night was the show, and Paul swaggered out holding a drink and smoking a cigarette. The audience was already laughing before he even spoke. “Ha ha I can smoke and you can’t.” He teased. He loved menthol cigarettes but they affected his voice, so he stayed away from them. After a while, I noticed that he did not turn to different areas of the audience as a performer would normally do when it’s a round stage. He did some monologues and some jokes, and most of the evening, he seemed to direct the whole show toward me. “Excuse me for not turning around, but I’ve been talking to Cathy Fitzgibbon the whole time,” Paul announced. He then told the audience the story of how I found his home phone number in my local library and called him up. “She convinced me to meet her and she is truly a wonderful fan.” Then he added, “There are some kids I truly love to love,” and he broke out with his signature song, “Kids” from
Bye Bye Birdie,
and he sang it to me.

When the show was over, I immediately went backstage where Paul embraced me. He had drinks for everyone and introduced me to the performers from the show. The room was filled with chatter and laughter, and Paul was “on.”

It was time for the star of the show to go out and greet his fans. We walked arm in arm to the table that was set up for him. He signed autographs and had a few more drinks, and I saw the quiet man I had spent the afternoon with the day before become the life of the party. He was as hilarious, as we all knew him to be from
Squares.
The crowd loved him. In between penning his “Love and Laughter always,” he told the fans: “This is Cathy Fitzgibbon and I love her. She is devoted to me and better looking than the entire Osmond family…and has better teeth.”

I was in awe of all the attention he was giving me. I was thinking to myself,
Paul’s the star, but he’s making me feel like one.
As the line was getting down to the last few admirers, I asked him to sign my program. Someone said my name started with a K and Paul said, “No,
my
Cathy starts with a C.” As he began to write, he said, “There is only one thing I can write, and it’s the words that is perfect for us, and it’s the way I feel about Cathy; The Beatles wrote it and it’s
Silly Little Love Song.
” Then he stood up and sang the lyrics, “I love you…I love you.” He told my dad I was going to be a star and told my mom that she was a genius for having me. He called her Mother Aspirin because he said she was going to need them for having me as a daughter. Then he pulled me into his arms, hugged me so tight, and leaned over. And just like Clark Gable did with Scarlet O’Hara in
Gone with the Wind,
he kissed my mouth with such intensity. It was just after midnight, now the Fourth of July, and boy did I see fireworks. We kissed for a long time, until his bodyguard came and tried to separate us, but neither one of us was letting go.

I was so in the moment that I did not hear my mother yelling to my father, “Jerry, get him off of her, Jerry get him off of her,” as my friend, Robin, told me later. Finally, his bodyguard got us apart and turned to me with a disapproving look, “Don’t you see what you do to him?” he scowled. I had no idea what he was talking about.

As his bodyguard was steering Paul toward an exit, I ran over to Paul and said, “I will miss you.” Paul squeezed my hand and whispered in my ear, “Dear, wherever I go, you will be with me.”

Over the next year, Paul and I kept in touch through cards, letters, and phone calls. I had made plans to visit Paul at his home, which my mom now had reservations about, but there was no stopping me. I arrived in Los Angeles on June 23, 1977, with my friends Pam Morrow and Barbara Brinkerhoff. Barbara stayed with her sister, Arlene Kanea, in her apartment on Sepulveda Blvd in Los Angeles, and Pam and I stayed nearby at the cheapest motel we could find. Then the four of us drove to Beverly Hills, found North Palm Drive, and pulled up into Paul’s driveway. Pam noticed there were no windows, and I was surprised how plain and masculine the house looked. It reminded me of pictures I had seen of his previous home, which was also black and white, but this one was much smaller. Paul greeted us, and I introduced my three friends. He led us to his backyard by the pool, and my friends asked him questions about his career and other famous people he knew. He answered cordially but otherwise he did not talk much, except to say that Karen Valentine would love the shirt that Barbara was wearing. When Paul went into his house to get more beverages, Pam whispered to me. “I can’t believe how shy he is…and Cathy, I noticed whenever anyone else is talking, he just keeps staring at you. He must feel like a piece of meat because we all want to meet him just because he’s famous.”

“No,” I disagreed, “You are here because you are my friends.”

Paul expressed how disappointed he was that his house was not set up for us to see. He had been staying in the guest house on the property and had just recently moved into the main house, but his furniture and décor had not arrived. He gave us a tour of his home, which was filled with boxes, except for his bedroom, which had a chair, a television, a bed, and a dresser. As we passed the dresser, I was elbowed three times by my friends; there, on top, was an eight-by-ten photo of me and Paul that I had sent him a year ago. It was the only photo in the house!

The doorbell rang, and Paul was handed a huge plant with a large red bow on it. Paul read the card: it was from KC, of KC and The Sunshine Band, wishing him good luck in his new home. My friends and I thought it was so cool, as he had so many hit songs out like
Shake Your Booty
and
That’s The Way I Like It.

At the end of the day, we thanked Paul for his hospitality and left. I returned the next day to attend a children’s benefit in Los Angeles that he had invited me to. There was a limousine waiting for us in the driveway. Paul came out of his house holding a drink and introduced me to his chauffeur, Jonathon. I had been talking away, and Paul said to his chauffeur, “Excuse me Jonathon, would you like me to translate? Cathy talks so fast.”

“I don’t think she does.” Jonathon said.

“OH you’re ble-e-e-e-esed,” Paul teased. Today he was very funny and more talkative then yesterday. We arrived at the benefit, which was held outside in an open field. We stood with Angie Dickenson, Earl Holliman, Rosy Greer, Dick Martin, Dick Sargent, and Ethel Kennedy. Angie Dickinson was the friendliest, and we spoke for a while. Then she pointed at me and said to a young boy who was near us, “Look, she’s with Paul Lynde.” I felt important.

As we walked around the open field, Paul said to me, “I always feel safe with you.” I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I liked how it sounded. I told him that I had picked up a copy of
California Life
when I was at the airport because he was on the cover. I thought he would be happy about it, but instead he became quite upset. He asked if the magazine article mentioned anything about Jim Davidson. I had no idea who he was talking about, but I assured him there was no mention of that name and that it was a very positive article. Paul let out a sigh of relief, put his hand on my arm, and said, “Oh, Cathy it was the most terrible thing that has ever happened to me.” I listened as he touched on the story of how his friend had fallen to his death from a hotel window right in front of his eyes. Though it had happened over ten years ago, he was still emotionally affected by it. I had never heard anything about it until that moment. I felt sorry for him.

There were television cameras filming all the stars, and the event was to be aired later that day on a local station. Paul stopped to talk to different people, and I held his shoulder bag as he signed autographs. Towards the end of the afternoon, a scruffy looking man with a gray beard approached Paul and asked him for an interview. Paul gladly spoke into the microphone, answering the man’s questions about the benefit for kids and the day’s events. Then he asked, “So tell me; what do you think about Anita Bryant?”

Paul became angry, “Why are you harassing me?!” Then he grabbed my arm, “Come on Cathy, let’s get away from his man,” and we ran. When we were far away from the reporter, he said, “Ya see, I am here for the children and that man just had to ruin it.”

I stayed silent, trying to figure out what happened. I had no idea who Anita Bryant was, other than the lady who did the orange juice commercials, or why Paul was so upset. We returned to the limo and headed back to his house. Paul invited Jonathon to come in and watch the benefit on TV with us. I told Paul I wanted to call my parents so they could see us on TV, but Paul said it was only being showed locally. We had about a half hour until we had to leave for Paul’s next engagement. The doorbell rang, and a man, who I guess was about thirty years old, came in. Paul introduced Carlo to me, and we all sat and watched the benefit. I was sitting on a chair and, as I leaned down, I spilled my soda all over his new carpet. Paul just said, “No more drinks for you,” and he grabbed a towel and cleaned it up. Then he told the story of the rude reporter who questioned him earlier. He mentioned something about a campaign. When he finished, I innocently asked, “What does Anita Bryant have to do with you?”

Paul answered, “She attacked my people.” I couldn’t believe what he just admitted to me and everyone in the room.

When it was time for us to leave, to head to the Bill Cosby Dog Show, we went back in the limo, and this time Carlo joined us. I was the first one in, and then Carlo sat next to me, followed by Paul. Paul was paying a lot of attention to Carlo, and I was jealous. I also wanted to be sitting next to “my man.” There was rock music playing, and Carlo took out a joint. He hesitated and then looked at Paul, who said, “Light it up.”
This
was Hollywood, I thought.

Paul gave me his bag to hold while he went to present an award. Carlo, Jonathon, and I sat eating hotdogs in the bleachers. I wasn’t paying attention to the show, I was daydreaming about Paul. A few minutes later, he came back, looking a bit annoyed. “I’ve been paging you Cathy, didn’t you hear me?” I shook my head. “I needed my reading glasses and I wanted you to bring them to me.”

“Sorry,” I said, and I handed him his glasses. When the show ended, we walked back to the limo. I was still sulking from all the attention Paul was giving Carlo, and I did not hide that fact.

Paul put his arm around me and asked, “What’s the matter Cathy?”

I put my nose in the air and said “Nothing.”

He whispered something to Carlo, who then asked me if I wanted to sit next to Paul. “Yes,” I said with vindication,” and I did.

On the ride back, Paul had his arm around me and I was now content. As we drove through the town, Paul stuck his hand out the limousine’s blackened window and shouted, “Look everybody it’s a stars hand!” I was laughing so hard. He then rolled down the window and stuck his head out shouting, “It’s Paul Lynde.” People began screaming, they ran over, and he signed autographs for all of them.

As the evening ended, Paul asked me where I wanted to be dropped off. I panicked. I was staying in that run down motel and I did not want him to see that. I remembered Barbara’s sister lived on Sepulveda Blvd. I asked Jonathon to drop me off over there. Paul asked, “Is this where you’re staying?”

“I’m not sure.” I answered.

“You’re staying here and you don’t even know the address?”

“I didn’t sleep here last night,” I said.

“OHHHH You got lu-u-u-u-cky!!!” Paul teased, and I playfully slapped him lightly across the face.

“Oh you struck a star.” He half laughed. Then he stepped out of the limo and took my hand to help me out. As I thanked him for a great time, I put my arms round his neck and kissed him. I could hear him chuckling as we exchanged breaths. There I was kissing Paul Lynde on the streets of L.A. — I was stupefied. Then I headed down the block, without a clue to where I was going. It took me over twenty minutes to find Arlene’s apartment. When I found it, I opened the door and floated in.

The following spring, in a phone conversation, Paul said he was going on tour to do
The Impossible Years,
but the show would not be coming near my town. I was disappointed, but after we hung up, I decided I would surprise him. I called my friend Barbara, and we flew to Norfolk, Virginia. We arrived on August 5, two days before I would be turning nineteen, and I had my own romantic ideas of how I planned to celebrate it with Paul.

The show had already started at Chrysler Hall when Barbara and I walked into the dark theater that screamed with laughter. I watched Elizabeth Allen and Paul performing on stage. As soon as the show ended, I sent a message backstage, letting Paul know I was there. I waited by the table with a crowd who were lined up to get his autograph. The star of the show had changed his clothes and made an entrance wearing a long leopard caftan. He had a thick gold chain around his neck, a matching bracelet on one wrist, and an expensive watch on the other wrist. The crowd cheered and applauded for him. He then shouted, “Is
my
Cathy with a C here?”

I answered as loud as I could from the back of the crowd, “Yes I am,” and I squeezed through the fans with Barbara behind me. We hugged each other with all our heart.

He looked at Barbara and said, “You’ve changed your hair Babs, I like it.” We stayed next to him while he signed autographs for the long line of fans. He introduced me to the crowd and told “our story,” of how I found his home phone number in a library book and convinced him to meet me.