Me and The Marx Brothers

[Mouschter]

Me and the Marx Brothers
When I was a kid there were no Blockbusters, no Netflix, no DVD's in the mail from Amazon. Still I fell in love with Minnie's boys the Marx Brothers early on through clips and seeing Groucho on the Tonite Show with Johnny Carson. Always a Beatlemaniac, I always felt the Marx Brothers were to the Beatles as the Three Stooges were to the Rolling Stones. John was Groucho of course, witty and cynical. Paul was Chico, he was the chick magnet and played the piano the best of all the lads. Just check out Ringo's physical comedy in their first two films and you can see hangdog Mr Starkey as Harpo. George the quiet one fits right in as straight man Zeppo. This is not entirely my idea, a lot of the critical raves for "A Hard Day's Night" point out the similarities between the two foursomes.
But I never saw a complete classic flick till the mid 70's,when the Studio One on Hillsborough Street, in Raleigh, transformed from a XXX cinema during the day to a late night Marx Brothers paradise on the weekends. This was 1974-78 where a smoky Just Say Yes atmosphere permeated the packed house, folks groaned and booed when the romantic leads began to croon, laughed continuously so that you oftened missed a punchline, and finally settled into a sublime stillness when Harpo played his harp. They showed all the major ones, from the primitive early Paramount talkies, the middle golden era through the inferior late MGM period. The surreal anarchy of "Duck Soup" became my favorite (It even had an anti-war message) though I do have a soft spot for the more disciplined "A Night At The Opera". We were all part of a Marxist revival and renaissance that was taking place on campuses and film festivals all over the country.
Later on down the road in the 80's I had a band with my buddies Rob Whitley (on keyboards), Frank Austin (on bass), myself on guitar, and a new drummer we had picked up named George Bitar. A girl named Donna Barnes somehow asked us to play her wedding at the Capital City Club ( Good grief! We had only had one gig with a drummer) the management evidently liked us and from there we landed the Capital City Club Halloween party, one of Raleigh's more tonier establishments. It was then that I got the bright idea to dress as the Marx Brothers. Myself as Groucho (with tux, greasepaint, and safari hat). Frank was a perfect Harpo ( I even lent him my girlfriend to chase through the crowd between songs). Rob was a great Chico ( replete with Alpine hat and green jacket, and he played piano for God's sake!) All drummer George had to do was don a blue blazer and tie and voila: Zeppo! We opened with "Hooray For Captain Spaulding" and the hijinks began...Of course no one brought a camera. After the show, as my date and I headed home (she was a pumpkin I recall) we passed an unknown Halloween party at a huge house off campus and I talked her into crashing it, something I have never done before or since. I still had on the Groucho greasepaint; the costume was entirely too good to waste...
By the 90's the band had broken up as bands are wont to do, and I began an eight year run as sports organist for the Durham Bulls, while tending bar at the Rathskeller on Hillsborough St just a few doors down from the old cinema where I had first watched Groucho, Chico, Harpo and sometimes Zeppo cavort so many years ago. The old Studio One had become a McDonalds (still with a marquee, and a decorated interior with a faux movie style with Hollywood caricatures including Groucho) By the end of my tenure at the Rat it had closed and simply been boarded up.
Almost fifteen years after I had masqueraded as Groucho with my band, I decided it was my destiny to become Harpo for Halloween 1999. The rumpled top hat, the trench coat, curly wig, and of course the horn. I was to tend and close the Rathskeller bar that night (following up with an after party at my crib later) in costume. I decided to listen to my inner Method Actor and proceeded to stay in character the whole night through. That's right brothers and sisters, not a word was spoken by yours truly the entire shift. There was a lot of honking and pointing, and I had a list of salad dressings on the interior lining of my coat (lemon-tahini, blue cheese etc). On this very busy night I remember there was only one idiot who wouldn't play along, so I got someone else to wait on him...
Later the action moved to the soiree at my micro three bedroom bachelor pad, complete with poker room. What a moment in time. On this last Halloween of the millennium, one couple came as Edina and Patsy from "Absolutely Fabulous", another came as Jack Skellington and the creepy chick from "The Nightmare before Christmas". One very attractive waitress came as Rollergirl from "Boogie Nights". She even wore the skates in my bursting at the seams apartment. Finally, one of our chefs came as golfer Payne Stewart, who had died tragically at 42 in a plane crash almost a week earlier. Apparently at a loss of what to be all month long for the holiday, he had found his inspiration in the morning's headlines.... He carried a putter, sporting the Ivy cap, the knickerbockers, and fake blood splattered all over his sweater and face. It sounds absolutely horrifying, but the dude pulled it off with panache.
As the party degenerated in the wee hours into the inevitable poker game, I continued the silent treatment as Harpo. I am a little hazy on how I managed that or whether I won or lost. As daylight dawned, my last guest stumbled down my back stairs. I took stock of my twelve hour stint as Harpo, a veritable marathon of muteness! As I removed the wig I turned to my new pet kitten, gazed into his soulful eyes, and began to speak....
Sometime during this era I obtained something very special and tangible concerning my favorite comedy team. For years I had been buying second hand Marx Brothers books and memoirs from Brian at the Readers Corner on Hillsborough St (Harpo's autobiography was entitled "Harpo Speaks", naturally) One day, Brian came into the bar and said he had something for me. And did he ever. In his hand he had a Playbill from the January 1926 Broadway production of "The Cocoanuts", their second of three shows on the Great White Way before they went to Hollywood. I am not a memorabilia or autograph kind of fan usually, it is the movies and the music that affect me. During my career in baseball I obtained a number of signed balls (Derek Jeter, Ernie Banks, Bobby Thompson, and Josh Hamilton) but always passed them on to pals. It was always the handshakes and stories that mattered to me. But this Playbill with its musty smell , slick art deco ads, and tiny cast listings has remained special to me over the years.
Fast forward to the end of 2009. My years as a professional musician are long over and the Rathskeller has been out of business for nearly eight years. I admit I don't have a complete DVD collection yet of the boys, and rarely read the dozen or so books on my bookshelf. I tried to turn my nephews on to the flicks when they were younger, they liked Harpo but griped about the black and white...Recently I saw a complete hour long episode of Groucho on the "Dick Cavett Show" in the early 70's. He and Cavett had such a strong connection that spanned generations...and he still belted out "Lydia the Tattooed Lady" like a pro.
Last night I entered another phase of my journey when I had the inimitable pleasure of experiencing Frank Ferrante in "An Evening With Groucho" thirty miles away on a small stage in Holly Springs. Hailed by the New York Times as "the greatest living interpreter of Groucho Marx's material", I had obtained a front row seat (I am built for comfort and not for speed and like to stretch my legs). For a quarter of a century, Ferrante has brought the Marx Brothers from Broadway to small towns in an almost Vaudevillian yearly schedule. And now here I sat, catching his act for the first time. On the stage stood a tremendous grand piano, a Victorian settee couch, coat rack with safari hat and stethoscope, and an end table with antique upright phone and a pile of old books. Musical director and pianist Jim Furmston proceeded to dazzle with an entree of Marxian melodies. The joy embodied in the brothers individual songs, the peppy soundtracks, and the obligatory ballads had always contrasted with the bleakness of the Depression years. And finally came Ferrante, as himself, wearing a black baseball cap. He set down at a small makeup table, applied the greasepaint, tousled his hair, grabbed a cigar and the energy never stopped for the next ninety minutes. In between exquisite musical numbers, wonderfully rendered anecdotes, classic gags, the maestro proceeded to play the crowd like a Stradivarius. Plunging into the crowd he was a whirlwind, castigating a couple on their first date, cross examining a young family, and of course lecherously focusing on several attractive ladies. Then, he turned his attentions and his eyebrows...towards me.
I am not sure if he caught me yawning or not but the exchange went something like this:
Groucho (pointing at me) : My God, Ladies and Gentlemen this man is asleep! What's your name sir?
Me: Uh, Mike
Groucho: Well I'm going to fix you! (Pointing at an usher) Get this man a cup of coffee! He can barely keep his eyes open!
Usher (to me) : Do you want cream and sugar?
Groucho: Are you kidding me make it black!!
The usher leaves and Groucho continues on a different spiel. But five minutes later he halts mid joke and points right at me:
Groucho: Hey Mike, how's the coma going??
Finally the usher returns handing the styrofoam cup to Groucho, who hands the cup to me. I hold up the dollar bill I had surreptitiously removed from my wallet earlier. Groucho snaps up the dollar, sticking it in his lapel pocket, pointing his finger at the usher:
Groucho: Oh no you don't. I'm the one who set up this deal!
I sat sipping my coffee for the next ten minutes, when suddenly the antique phone rang. Groucho answers bringing the phone over to me:
Groucho: Hey Mike, its for you! It's your' wake up call!
During the intermission I sat reading my 1926 Cocoanuts Playbill, and exhibited it to my fascinated neighbors in the seats behind and beside me. The final act flew by, Ferrante brought a kid onstage and turned him into Groucho. But the highlight for me was a performance of a Dr. Hackenbush song that never made it into "A Day At The Races". Simply incredible...At the curtain calls and the standing ovation I watched transfixed as Groucho pulled my dollar bill out of his lapel pocket and handed it to his piano player as they exited stage right.
Rushing to the lobby I was one of the first in line at the table to see Ferrante (still in costume) and his musical partner. Thrusting my 1926 Playbill at him, I said,"I don't want you to write on this..." Amazed, he tenderly thumbed through it....I have a degree in History and have often wondered what I would do with a Time Machine at my disposal. Would I witness the Crucifixion, or solve the Lost Colony mystery, or perhaps ascertain what truly happened in Lizzie Borden's sitting room? Perhaps, but if I was in a lighter mood, I would try to bag a premium seat for the premier of "I'll Say She Is", the Marx Brothers' debut on Broadway and the only one of the three shows not to be filmed. It is here that the boys exploded from Vaudeville to the consciousness of the world. As this living Groucho handed the frail Playbill back to me , I said,"You know, you ought to put "I'll Say She Is" together someday." He smiled and nodded. Frank Ferrante understood.....Finally I blurted, "And thanks for insulting me!", drawing a hearty laugh from the bottlenecked crowd behind me. As I walked away I read what he had autographed on the nights program:

To Mike-a fellow Marxist, Frank Ferrante "Groucho"

And so thus it goes...The different decades in my life each with their magic Marx moments. I have rocked out as Groucho onstage, belting out a Beatles cover, and taken a very bizarre personal journey as Harpo. I have never tackled Chico, but he was there with me in my heart every time I sat down at a piano at a party to impress the gals, or every time I played "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" on the organ for thousands of Bulls fans at the ballpark. As I go through this vale of tears, those four rascals from a New York City tenement bring a lifelong joy to my spirit. So I say to everybody, "God Bless the Marx Brothers", along with Tiny Tim and all the ships at sea, for that matter!

[Kat]

Hi! Welcome!

Interesting item here. I was wondering what prompted this essay of remembrances... I see it was your "An Evening With Groucho!"

Do you have a Blog? Or was this written spontaneously here?

My sister had highly recommended the book to me, Love, Groucho, 2 years ago, which I just picked up last night for the first time, and tonight find your post here!
I must say, she was extremely impressed with the letters to his daughter.

[doug65oh]

Welcome to our little corner of the zoo, Mike! Not long ago I ran upon something that might interest you at http://www.museum.tv/. They have a digital archive stuffed to the brim with old television and radio programs, and one of these gems is a complete Person to Person program from the middle 1950s featuring not only Groucho and Harpo Marx, but also Groucho’s young daughter Melinda. You need a username and password to watch or listen to materials there, but access is free (as is the username and password.) There are 11 different programs listed in which Groucho appears or is referenced. It’s a great place but for the fact that you can’t say the secret word and win $100.

And now let us all join hands and sing that old - wait, wait, hold on just a minute...Usher, that man down front, see if he has a ticket. If he doesn't, have O'Brien the cop there write him one, then throw him out. You know the policy...

Now then we were about to...ah yes, here we are Let us all join hands and sing that old inspirational tune. Maestro, if you please:

Hooray for Captain Spaulding,
The African Explorer.
Did someone call me Schnorer?
Hooray hooray hooray!

[Mouschter]

Hey Kat! I am flattered you replied to this as I have been perusing you here for years...No blog yet but some folks are pushing me in that direction. I wrote this seperately from "Stay to Tea" and submitted it for the small but I think important reference to our gal Lizbeth...Along with the Titanic, the Beatles, the Manson case, and of course the Marxes she has been a lifelong obsession since I read a dogeared copy of Radin at age 8 or so. Maybe because I started with him, Bridget has always been on my radar screen as an accessory. A B&B visit in 2002 was one of my life's highlights. As you can see, from Lizzie to the Beatles, and Manson to Groucho I try to balance the darkness with the light. I will try to post more to the forum. Up til now I am afraid I have been like the eunuch in the harem: I watch what goes on every day but never do I participate!
And thank you too doug65oh for the tip on the archive. I have only seen the intro to the Edward R Murrow interview in Marx documentaries and will be sure to check it out. By the way, when I sang "Hooray for Captain Spaulding" on stage so long ago I substituted the"did someone call me Schnorrer?" line with "is this Sodom or Gomorraah?". I know this may be considered sacriledge, but it felt well....funnier. I thought Groucho would have understood.
Thanks again to you both for your kind words. I am still in a Marxian glow this week. Yesterday I dusted off the old acoustic guitar and started working on "Everyone Says I Love You" from Horsefeathers. I think I will return now and work on the second verse....

[Kat]

Thank you for the compliment of reading me.

If you are not yet a published author- you at least should have a Blog! Your friends are right!~