When comedian Joe E. Brown deadpanned Billy Wilder’s (and I. A. Diamond’s) classic closingline in SOME LIKE IT HOT, “Well, nobody’s perfect”, an iconic movie moment was born. A dotty old rich guy (Brown) had just proposed marriage to a cross-dressing باس, گھنگھور violin player (Jack Lemmon) forcing Lemmon’s character Daphne to reveal his charade. Joe E. Brown’s unconditional acceptance of Jack Lemmon/Daphne was an unexpected comic delight.
But, I beg to differ with Mr. Brown’s تبصرہ that “…nobody’s perfect”. I offer as proof one Mr. John Uhler (Jack) Lemmon, perfect in SOME LIKE IT HOT, perfect in SAVE THE TIGER, perfect in MISTER R..OBERTS and perfect as an accidental acquaintance, occasional drinking companion, conversationalist and human being.
I’m reminded of the ending of SOME LIKE IT HOT, one of my پسندیدہ movie moments, as I write this on in the last week of June 2009, on the دن before the 8-year anniversary of the death of Jack Lemmon (June 27, 2001), an off and on drinking companion for over 45 years, and on the 7-year anniversary of the quadruple by-pass and valve replacement operation of an old friend and long-ago business partner, Chris Keith (June 26, 2002). On June 27, 2002, while waiting anxiously for news about Chris’ operation, I couldn’t help remembering Jack’s death, praying that Chris would survive so that this 2-day period in June would not become the permanent ossuary of my memories of two dead friends.
I had visited with Chris and his wife Margaret in their apartment in Manhattan’s TriBeca the week before his operation and he was in good spirits. He greeted me barefoot, in pajamas and bathrobe, and, while Margaret was getting us some coffee, Chris went to the bookshelves completely covering one دیوار in the living room and, from amongst the hundreds of books, plucked out an مالٹا, نارنگی binder and handed it to me. I recognized it immediately as a copy of the 1st draft of a novel I’d been working on. I’d دیا it to him about 2 months earlier. (We regularly read and شدہ تبصرہ upon each other’s work.) Margaret later told me that since he’d begun having the cardiac problems leading up to the bypass he’d been fairly idle. But when I called to tell him I was coming into New York to visit several saloon keepers who managed my stock پورٹ فولیو and would stop سے طرف کی
to see him, he quickly reread my stuff and wrote several pages of criticism, praise, and suggestions, most of which was right on target. I was pleased and touched that دن and overjoyed a week later on the دن after his operation when Margaret called me with the good news that the operation had been successful and the long-term prognosis was good.
The good news about one friend was tempered سے طرف کی the fact that it came on the 1st سال anniversary of the death of another, not quite as close, but nevertheless a friend. I knew Jack Lemmon mostly within the confines of Sardi’s, the theatrical saloon in Manhattan’s theater district. He’d usually drop سے طرف کی when he was in New York. The last time I saw him at Sardi’s was about a سال and a half before he died and he gave no hint of the battle he was just beginning with cancer. It has since become known that he had acknowledged a drinking problem and supposedly had stopped drinking altogether. Over the years, I knew he was a drinker but never saw any evidence of a ‘drinking problem’. I guess he wasn’t just acting when his character in THE DAYS OF WINE AND ROSES says, “My name is Joe Clay and I’m an alcoholic.” All I know is that, when I last saw him, he was still drinking, although he had switched from the hard stuff and had become a red wine sipper while I remained a Johnny Walker Black swiller. He was also still the consummate human being.
On that occasion, he was sitting سے طرف کی himself in the corner of the bar where I usually stood. I walked in, he saw me, smiled hello and started to get up to make room for me, as if he were sorry for taking my place. Now there was no way I was going to let Jack Lemmon اقدام for me. I waved him back and, as he settled back onto his stool, quickly sat down اگلے to him, thinking to myself that there’s just no ego with this guy. I don’t mean that he wasn’t self-assured یا aware of his celebrity and star-status. He just didn’t let those things get in his way. When I had once remarked about another actor who was a real self-impressed, pompous pain in the ass, Jack’s take was that آپ shouldn’t let that shit get in the way and those that did (and he knew a lot of them) were ignorant assholes. I assure you, Jack Lemmon was neither.
However, having spent some measure of time in his company over the years, I am astonished at how little of substance I remember of our conversations. My intent throughout has not been to say – look at all the marvelous things myself and so-and-so did together – but rather to try to illustrate the humanity and everydayness of the man. Maybe that’s it, his everydayness. Not ordinary, mind you, for Jack was far from ordinary. But آپ can't make a very tasty سوپ out of countless casual conversations about family, mutual دوستوں and the weather. So, I continue to rake the weeds of my memory, looking to uncover any hidden blossoms. However, the first time I met Jack Lemmon stands out in my memory like a botanical garden. I was introduced to Jack Lemmon سے طرف کی David Wayne while sitting at Sardi’s bar. Not a bad trifecta.
It was the late spring – early summer of 1957. Jack was already a star, on his way to becoming his own galaxy. I was a struggling young would-be actor making the daily rounds of casting agents and auditions and had managed to become an accepted regular at Sardi’s. It was late afternoon and I was in the near corner of the little bar, the دیوار phone at my back, sitting اگلے to David Wayne, with whom I had developed a casual acquaintance. On this دن I had finally worked up the courage to engage him in an extended conversation and began talking about the play, THE TEAHOUSE OF THE AUGUST MOON. He had originated the role of the Okinawan interpreter Sakini on Broadway and won the TONY as Best Actor (unfortunately Brando did the movie) and I had recently done Sakini in the world’s first amateur production. He was gracious enough to put up with me, the seasoned pro being nice to the new boy, especially when I told him I’d been approached سے طرف کی the guy who had directed me in TEAHOUSE to do Sakini in a stock company he’d be directing that summer.
David Wayne seemed to enjoy talking about Sakini and I was thrilled. We talked about playing ‘yellowface’, getting the oriental accent right (I had been put together with a lovely Japanese lady named Kaye Nakamura who worked patiently with me on inflection, tone, “r’s” and “l’s”, etc.) and about getting skin the right color, eyes slanted and hair blackened. When I remarked that, at 5’10”, I felt the need to hunch over a bit to appear shorter, he کہا something to the effect that it was one of the few times in his life that he was pleased to be only 5’7”. (He had won an earlier TONY as one of the ‘wee people’, the leprechaun in FINIAN'S RAINBOW.) In the midst of this conversation, Jack Lemmon came in, walked سے طرف کی us clapping David Wayne on the back, and sat down in the سٹول on the other side of him. The two very successful actors began chatting and, never having met Jack Lemmon, I turned back to my drink assuming that my pleasant interlude had come to an end.
Then David Wayne leaned back in his stool, turned back to me winking conspiratorially, and introduced me as a “new, young actor” to Jack Lemmon. I was overjoyed with David’s gesture and even مزید so when Mr. Lemmon extended his arm towards me and we shook hands across David Wayne’s chest. I say Mr. Lemmon because that’s what I called him (for the first and only time) as I stammered my pleasure at meeting him. In the اگلے moment I was exposed to the real Jack Lemmon, the one I was to get to know a bit and enjoy over the years. “It’s nice to meet آپ too Jack, and good luck”, he said, “but forget that Mr. Lemmon crap. It’s Jack to all my buddies.”
I tell آپ I was in seventh heaven, it was my دن of days. I had introduced myself to David Wayne, the original Sakini and Ensign Pulver on Broadway, and he, in turn, had introduced me to Jack Lemmon, the movie Ensign Pulver. I did not realize at the time that this was an introduction I was to cherish and take advantage of, on and off, for almost half a century.
I saw David Wayne on several subsequent occasions, once when he asked me about whatever happened with my being invited to do the summer production of TEAHOUSE. I had to inform him that I had been disinvited at the last منٹ as the owner of the theater (I think her name was Joy Thompson) had decided to play Sakini herself. As کرن, رے Rizzo, the director who had approached me in the first place explained when he gave me the bad news, Joy had seen the Mexican actress, Rosita Diaz, do the role in the 1956 N.Y. City Center
production of TEAHOUSE and decided at the last منٹ that she’d do it herself. So the summer of 1957 lost its promise as it was too late for me to hook up with anything else and I spent some of my time tending bar in a neighborhood شراب, ٹھیکی mill to generate some income. Incidentally, in the following سال (1958), I got to know ٹمٹم, gig, لٹو Young who had appeared with Rosita Diaz in that 1956 City Center production of TEAHOUSE. Gig’s less than favorable تبصرے about her personality and her performance were some small solace.
But, most important to me was that initial introduction to Jack Lemmon. After that, it was always a pleasure running into him occasionally when he was in New York and, while I remember enjoying our scattered conversations, as I mentioned earlier, I recall very little of their substance.
I do remember once in the mid-1960’s after I’d gone straight, was gainfully employed and recently married, we were talking about beginnings, how people get themselves into whatever turns out to be their life’s work. Our backgrounds were fairly similar, up to a point. In college, both of us were not great students, mostly concerned with things theatrical. He was Harvard - Hasty کھیر, پکوڑی Club (I think he was president) and I was Iona - lead actor in the plays, wrote book & lyrics for a few musicals as well as appearing in and directing them). He had done PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD early in his career and I’d had a brush with it, compliments of Malachy McCourt and the Irish Players, but that’s another story. But the similarity ended there. He was exceptionally talented, driven to succeed, studied under Uta Hagen, played piano to stay alive and really worked at his profession. Very few people realize how much radio and ویژن ٹیلی he had done before he hit it big in Hollywood. On سب, سب سے اوپر of all of that, he was the paradoxically unique everyman who quickly found an audience regardless of the medium in which he worked.
He کہا something about being the luckiest son of a کتیا, کتيا alive. But luck won’t do آپ much good unless آپ got the talent, personality and motivation to take advantage of it. I was pretty lucky myself (and fairly talented) but, if I had spent less time hanging around waiting to be discovered and مزید time preparing myself for what I thought I wanted to do…… But, enough of that.
He talked about doing summer stock early on, how that was a great way to begin to learn the business. I had spent a few days in the summer of 1952, before I went into the army, visiting a friend who was at Group 20, Alison Ridley’s stock company in Avon Connecticut. I was fascinated سے طرف کی the whole environment, even met Fritz Weaver who eventually played the whiskey priest in the movie of my پسندیدہ author, Graham Greene’s THE POWER AND THE GLORY. All of which compounded my remembered disappointment at being disinvited to do TEAHOUSE in the summer of 1957.
I remember only a few occasions where we discussed his work. The first time was sometime in the mid-1960’s. I had recently seen him in UNDER THE YUM YUM TREE, a smarmy little film in which Jack played a despicable, only slightly funny lecher. Two years earlier another drinking buddy of mine, ٹمٹم, gig, لٹو Young, had appeared in the play on which the movie was based. I never saw ٹمٹم, gig, لٹو in the play but it wasn’t difficult to picture him in the part. He had that smug, off-handed manner and it was not at all a stretch to accept him as the lecher. But Jack was another story. I worked up my courage and offered him my opinion that he was too nice for the part and I had felt uncomfortable watching him in it. I had been reluctant to say anything, not wanting to threaten a relationship I valued, but he took no exception to my impertinence. He didn’t hesitate to admit that he felt uncomfortable making it and could understand my reaction. I read somewhere later that one of the reasons he had done the film in the first place was because his dead buddy Ernie Kovacs’ widow, Edie Adams, had also signed for the picture and his involvement would insure that she got the most out of it. There also had been reports that Jack had donned one of the gorilla suits in at least one of Ernie Kovacs’ Nairobi Trio sketches and I once asked him about it. His voice denied it, telling me he thought I knew better than to believe everything I heard, but the twinkle in his eye as he کہا it told me something else.
Another time we disagreed. It was about IRMA LA DOUCE. I had absolutely loved the Broadway musical with Clive Revill and had seen it several times. The whole structure of the show, with its narrator stepping out and guiding the audience, along with some magnificent musical numbers and a cast including a delicious Elizabeth مہر and a delightful Fred Gwynne (Herman Munster) really appealed to me. When I heard that they were doing the film with Jack Lemmon, I couldn’t wait to see it. When I discovered that the film was a non-musical adaptation of a bastardized plot, I was concerned and, when I finally saw it, I was very disappointed. On the other hand, Jack کہا it was one of his favorites, working with Billy Wilder and Shirley MacLaine.
It would be nice to be able to say that Jack Lemmon and I had a lot in common, but that would be at least presumptuous and at best ridiculous. However, I found out that we did share two پسندیدہ things, Christmas and crosswords. It was toward the end of December sometime in the late 1970’s یا early 1980’s when we ran into each other at Sardi’s. As we wished each other the blessings of the season, he remarked that earlier that دن he had seen the درخت in Rockefeller Center and that he always looked آگے to seeing it because Christmas was his پسندیدہ holiday. I told him about the 30 foot Christmas درخت in my living room in Ridgefield, CT (yeah, he thought I was an exaggerating son of a bitch, too) and I even carried a تصویر around with me for the اگلے few weeks on the chance I might run into him again.
Crossword puzzles; he loved to do them. I was مزید into the cryptic puzzles like the one in the Financial Times. On the other hand, he loved golf and fishing, two things I could do without. He also loved Seinfeld, another thing I could do without.
The only time I ever ran into him outside of New York was sometime in the late 1960’s in Trader Vic’s in Los Angeles. I was there with a client, discussing a project we were doing for his bank over a few early evening Navy Grogs, when I heard the bartender say, “Good evening, Mr. Lemmon.” I looked over, saw Jack and raised my glass and said, “It’s a long way from Sardi’s.”
He looked up, skipped a beat and کہا a noncommital “Hi ya, buddy.” Then I guess he connected the dots, smiled and walked around to where we were sitting.
“Whatever آپ do, don’t tell Vincent آپ saw me in another saloon. He’s such a jealous bastard,” he said, referring to Vincent Sardi, Jr."
The اگلے گھنٹہ went swimmingly and, after Jack left, I had a client to whom I could sell anything.
But, back to that last time at Sardi’s bar. As I کہا earlier, there was no ego to the man. His secret seemed to be that everyone could identify with him. But I never really could. There was too much that was special about him; too much that was unique. . He had once told me that if this acting thing ....hadn't worked out he probably would have become a teacher. Maybe that's the key to the man. Maybe he was a teacher after all.
I suspect many people learned from him. I know I did.
AFTERTHOUGHT
At the سب, سب سے اوپر of this piece, I used the Sardi's caricature of Jack Lemmon. However, the one I've always preferred is Al Hirschfeld's (below) which was also used on the cover of the Playbill for TRIBUTE.
“Oh my grief, I’ve lost him surely. I’ve lost the only Playboy of the Western World.”
* * * * * *
LEMMON MAY NOT HAVE HAD AN EGO.
However, there may be some who'd claim that I do not share that deficiency.
TEAHOUSE OF THE AUGUST MOON - Jack Deeney (1956)
Note: I have not yet figured out how to include on this site several تصاویر and caricatures which accompany the original article. This and other مضامین regarding Jack Lemmon's contemporaries can be found on a Google site MEMOIRS OF AN AMNESIAC, access to which will be provided upon request to jackdeeney@yahoo.com.
But, I beg to differ with Mr. Brown’s تبصرہ that “…nobody’s perfect”. I offer as proof one Mr. John Uhler (Jack) Lemmon, perfect in SOME LIKE IT HOT, perfect in SAVE THE TIGER, perfect in MISTER R..OBERTS and perfect as an accidental acquaintance, occasional drinking companion, conversationalist and human being.
I’m reminded of the ending of SOME LIKE IT HOT, one of my پسندیدہ movie moments, as I write this on in the last week of June 2009, on the دن before the 8-year anniversary of the death of Jack Lemmon (June 27, 2001), an off and on drinking companion for over 45 years, and on the 7-year anniversary of the quadruple by-pass and valve replacement operation of an old friend and long-ago business partner, Chris Keith (June 26, 2002). On June 27, 2002, while waiting anxiously for news about Chris’ operation, I couldn’t help remembering Jack’s death, praying that Chris would survive so that this 2-day period in June would not become the permanent ossuary of my memories of two dead friends.
I had visited with Chris and his wife Margaret in their apartment in Manhattan’s TriBeca the week before his operation and he was in good spirits. He greeted me barefoot, in pajamas and bathrobe, and, while Margaret was getting us some coffee, Chris went to the bookshelves completely covering one دیوار in the living room and, from amongst the hundreds of books, plucked out an مالٹا, نارنگی binder and handed it to me. I recognized it immediately as a copy of the 1st draft of a novel I’d been working on. I’d دیا it to him about 2 months earlier. (We regularly read and شدہ تبصرہ upon each other’s work.) Margaret later told me that since he’d begun having the cardiac problems leading up to the bypass he’d been fairly idle. But when I called to tell him I was coming into New York to visit several saloon keepers who managed my stock پورٹ فولیو and would stop سے طرف کی
to see him, he quickly reread my stuff and wrote several pages of criticism, praise, and suggestions, most of which was right on target. I was pleased and touched that دن and overjoyed a week later on the دن after his operation when Margaret called me with the good news that the operation had been successful and the long-term prognosis was good.
The good news about one friend was tempered سے طرف کی the fact that it came on the 1st سال anniversary of the death of another, not quite as close, but nevertheless a friend. I knew Jack Lemmon mostly within the confines of Sardi’s, the theatrical saloon in Manhattan’s theater district. He’d usually drop سے طرف کی when he was in New York. The last time I saw him at Sardi’s was about a سال and a half before he died and he gave no hint of the battle he was just beginning with cancer. It has since become known that he had acknowledged a drinking problem and supposedly had stopped drinking altogether. Over the years, I knew he was a drinker but never saw any evidence of a ‘drinking problem’. I guess he wasn’t just acting when his character in THE DAYS OF WINE AND ROSES says, “My name is Joe Clay and I’m an alcoholic.” All I know is that, when I last saw him, he was still drinking, although he had switched from the hard stuff and had become a red wine sipper while I remained a Johnny Walker Black swiller. He was also still the consummate human being.
On that occasion, he was sitting سے طرف کی himself in the corner of the bar where I usually stood. I walked in, he saw me, smiled hello and started to get up to make room for me, as if he were sorry for taking my place. Now there was no way I was going to let Jack Lemmon اقدام for me. I waved him back and, as he settled back onto his stool, quickly sat down اگلے to him, thinking to myself that there’s just no ego with this guy. I don’t mean that he wasn’t self-assured یا aware of his celebrity and star-status. He just didn’t let those things get in his way. When I had once remarked about another actor who was a real self-impressed, pompous pain in the ass, Jack’s take was that آپ shouldn’t let that shit get in the way and those that did (and he knew a lot of them) were ignorant assholes. I assure you, Jack Lemmon was neither.
However, having spent some measure of time in his company over the years, I am astonished at how little of substance I remember of our conversations. My intent throughout has not been to say – look at all the marvelous things myself and so-and-so did together – but rather to try to illustrate the humanity and everydayness of the man. Maybe that’s it, his everydayness. Not ordinary, mind you, for Jack was far from ordinary. But آپ can't make a very tasty سوپ out of countless casual conversations about family, mutual دوستوں and the weather. So, I continue to rake the weeds of my memory, looking to uncover any hidden blossoms. However, the first time I met Jack Lemmon stands out in my memory like a botanical garden. I was introduced to Jack Lemmon سے طرف کی David Wayne while sitting at Sardi’s bar. Not a bad trifecta.
It was the late spring – early summer of 1957. Jack was already a star, on his way to becoming his own galaxy. I was a struggling young would-be actor making the daily rounds of casting agents and auditions and had managed to become an accepted regular at Sardi’s. It was late afternoon and I was in the near corner of the little bar, the دیوار phone at my back, sitting اگلے to David Wayne, with whom I had developed a casual acquaintance. On this دن I had finally worked up the courage to engage him in an extended conversation and began talking about the play, THE TEAHOUSE OF THE AUGUST MOON. He had originated the role of the Okinawan interpreter Sakini on Broadway and won the TONY as Best Actor (unfortunately Brando did the movie) and I had recently done Sakini in the world’s first amateur production. He was gracious enough to put up with me, the seasoned pro being nice to the new boy, especially when I told him I’d been approached سے طرف کی the guy who had directed me in TEAHOUSE to do Sakini in a stock company he’d be directing that summer.
David Wayne seemed to enjoy talking about Sakini and I was thrilled. We talked about playing ‘yellowface’, getting the oriental accent right (I had been put together with a lovely Japanese lady named Kaye Nakamura who worked patiently with me on inflection, tone, “r’s” and “l’s”, etc.) and about getting skin the right color, eyes slanted and hair blackened. When I remarked that, at 5’10”, I felt the need to hunch over a bit to appear shorter, he کہا something to the effect that it was one of the few times in his life that he was pleased to be only 5’7”. (He had won an earlier TONY as one of the ‘wee people’, the leprechaun in FINIAN'S RAINBOW.) In the midst of this conversation, Jack Lemmon came in, walked سے طرف کی us clapping David Wayne on the back, and sat down in the سٹول on the other side of him. The two very successful actors began chatting and, never having met Jack Lemmon, I turned back to my drink assuming that my pleasant interlude had come to an end.
Then David Wayne leaned back in his stool, turned back to me winking conspiratorially, and introduced me as a “new, young actor” to Jack Lemmon. I was overjoyed with David’s gesture and even مزید so when Mr. Lemmon extended his arm towards me and we shook hands across David Wayne’s chest. I say Mr. Lemmon because that’s what I called him (for the first and only time) as I stammered my pleasure at meeting him. In the اگلے moment I was exposed to the real Jack Lemmon, the one I was to get to know a bit and enjoy over the years. “It’s nice to meet آپ too Jack, and good luck”, he said, “but forget that Mr. Lemmon crap. It’s Jack to all my buddies.”
I tell آپ I was in seventh heaven, it was my دن of days. I had introduced myself to David Wayne, the original Sakini and Ensign Pulver on Broadway, and he, in turn, had introduced me to Jack Lemmon, the movie Ensign Pulver. I did not realize at the time that this was an introduction I was to cherish and take advantage of, on and off, for almost half a century.
I saw David Wayne on several subsequent occasions, once when he asked me about whatever happened with my being invited to do the summer production of TEAHOUSE. I had to inform him that I had been disinvited at the last منٹ as the owner of the theater (I think her name was Joy Thompson) had decided to play Sakini herself. As کرن, رے Rizzo, the director who had approached me in the first place explained when he gave me the bad news, Joy had seen the Mexican actress, Rosita Diaz, do the role in the 1956 N.Y. City Center
production of TEAHOUSE and decided at the last منٹ that she’d do it herself. So the summer of 1957 lost its promise as it was too late for me to hook up with anything else and I spent some of my time tending bar in a neighborhood شراب, ٹھیکی mill to generate some income. Incidentally, in the following سال (1958), I got to know ٹمٹم, gig, لٹو Young who had appeared with Rosita Diaz in that 1956 City Center production of TEAHOUSE. Gig’s less than favorable تبصرے about her personality and her performance were some small solace.
But, most important to me was that initial introduction to Jack Lemmon. After that, it was always a pleasure running into him occasionally when he was in New York and, while I remember enjoying our scattered conversations, as I mentioned earlier, I recall very little of their substance.
I do remember once in the mid-1960’s after I’d gone straight, was gainfully employed and recently married, we were talking about beginnings, how people get themselves into whatever turns out to be their life’s work. Our backgrounds were fairly similar, up to a point. In college, both of us were not great students, mostly concerned with things theatrical. He was Harvard - Hasty کھیر, پکوڑی Club (I think he was president) and I was Iona - lead actor in the plays, wrote book & lyrics for a few musicals as well as appearing in and directing them). He had done PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD early in his career and I’d had a brush with it, compliments of Malachy McCourt and the Irish Players, but that’s another story. But the similarity ended there. He was exceptionally talented, driven to succeed, studied under Uta Hagen, played piano to stay alive and really worked at his profession. Very few people realize how much radio and ویژن ٹیلی he had done before he hit it big in Hollywood. On سب, سب سے اوپر of all of that, he was the paradoxically unique everyman who quickly found an audience regardless of the medium in which he worked.
He کہا something about being the luckiest son of a کتیا, کتيا alive. But luck won’t do آپ much good unless آپ got the talent, personality and motivation to take advantage of it. I was pretty lucky myself (and fairly talented) but, if I had spent less time hanging around waiting to be discovered and مزید time preparing myself for what I thought I wanted to do…… But, enough of that.
He talked about doing summer stock early on, how that was a great way to begin to learn the business. I had spent a few days in the summer of 1952, before I went into the army, visiting a friend who was at Group 20, Alison Ridley’s stock company in Avon Connecticut. I was fascinated سے طرف کی the whole environment, even met Fritz Weaver who eventually played the whiskey priest in the movie of my پسندیدہ author, Graham Greene’s THE POWER AND THE GLORY. All of which compounded my remembered disappointment at being disinvited to do TEAHOUSE in the summer of 1957.
I remember only a few occasions where we discussed his work. The first time was sometime in the mid-1960’s. I had recently seen him in UNDER THE YUM YUM TREE, a smarmy little film in which Jack played a despicable, only slightly funny lecher. Two years earlier another drinking buddy of mine, ٹمٹم, gig, لٹو Young, had appeared in the play on which the movie was based. I never saw ٹمٹم, gig, لٹو in the play but it wasn’t difficult to picture him in the part. He had that smug, off-handed manner and it was not at all a stretch to accept him as the lecher. But Jack was another story. I worked up my courage and offered him my opinion that he was too nice for the part and I had felt uncomfortable watching him in it. I had been reluctant to say anything, not wanting to threaten a relationship I valued, but he took no exception to my impertinence. He didn’t hesitate to admit that he felt uncomfortable making it and could understand my reaction. I read somewhere later that one of the reasons he had done the film in the first place was because his dead buddy Ernie Kovacs’ widow, Edie Adams, had also signed for the picture and his involvement would insure that she got the most out of it. There also had been reports that Jack had donned one of the gorilla suits in at least one of Ernie Kovacs’ Nairobi Trio sketches and I once asked him about it. His voice denied it, telling me he thought I knew better than to believe everything I heard, but the twinkle in his eye as he کہا it told me something else.
Another time we disagreed. It was about IRMA LA DOUCE. I had absolutely loved the Broadway musical with Clive Revill and had seen it several times. The whole structure of the show, with its narrator stepping out and guiding the audience, along with some magnificent musical numbers and a cast including a delicious Elizabeth مہر and a delightful Fred Gwynne (Herman Munster) really appealed to me. When I heard that they were doing the film with Jack Lemmon, I couldn’t wait to see it. When I discovered that the film was a non-musical adaptation of a bastardized plot, I was concerned and, when I finally saw it, I was very disappointed. On the other hand, Jack کہا it was one of his favorites, working with Billy Wilder and Shirley MacLaine.
It would be nice to be able to say that Jack Lemmon and I had a lot in common, but that would be at least presumptuous and at best ridiculous. However, I found out that we did share two پسندیدہ things, Christmas and crosswords. It was toward the end of December sometime in the late 1970’s یا early 1980’s when we ran into each other at Sardi’s. As we wished each other the blessings of the season, he remarked that earlier that دن he had seen the درخت in Rockefeller Center and that he always looked آگے to seeing it because Christmas was his پسندیدہ holiday. I told him about the 30 foot Christmas درخت in my living room in Ridgefield, CT (yeah, he thought I was an exaggerating son of a bitch, too) and I even carried a تصویر around with me for the اگلے few weeks on the chance I might run into him again.
Crossword puzzles; he loved to do them. I was مزید into the cryptic puzzles like the one in the Financial Times. On the other hand, he loved golf and fishing, two things I could do without. He also loved Seinfeld, another thing I could do without.
The only time I ever ran into him outside of New York was sometime in the late 1960’s in Trader Vic’s in Los Angeles. I was there with a client, discussing a project we were doing for his bank over a few early evening Navy Grogs, when I heard the bartender say, “Good evening, Mr. Lemmon.” I looked over, saw Jack and raised my glass and said, “It’s a long way from Sardi’s.”
He looked up, skipped a beat and کہا a noncommital “Hi ya, buddy.” Then I guess he connected the dots, smiled and walked around to where we were sitting.
“Whatever آپ do, don’t tell Vincent آپ saw me in another saloon. He’s such a jealous bastard,” he said, referring to Vincent Sardi, Jr."
The اگلے گھنٹہ went swimmingly and, after Jack left, I had a client to whom I could sell anything.
But, back to that last time at Sardi’s bar. As I کہا earlier, there was no ego to the man. His secret seemed to be that everyone could identify with him. But I never really could. There was too much that was special about him; too much that was unique. . He had once told me that if this acting thing ....hadn't worked out he probably would have become a teacher. Maybe that's the key to the man. Maybe he was a teacher after all.
I suspect many people learned from him. I know I did.
AFTERTHOUGHT
At the سب, سب سے اوپر of this piece, I used the Sardi's caricature of Jack Lemmon. However, the one I've always preferred is Al Hirschfeld's (below) which was also used on the cover of the Playbill for TRIBUTE.
“Oh my grief, I’ve lost him surely. I’ve lost the only Playboy of the Western World.”
* * * * * *
LEMMON MAY NOT HAVE HAD AN EGO.
However, there may be some who'd claim that I do not share that deficiency.
TEAHOUSE OF THE AUGUST MOON - Jack Deeney (1956)
Note: I have not yet figured out how to include on this site several تصاویر and caricatures which accompany the original article. This and other مضامین regarding Jack Lemmon's contemporaries can be found on a Google site MEMOIRS OF AN AMNESIAC, access to which will be provided upon request to jackdeeney@yahoo.com.