Hello, I Must be Going Read online

  Praise for Hello, I Must Be Going

  “I am so grateful to Charlotte Chandler’s Hello, I Must Be Going for helping me to understand why I always laughed so hard at Groucho Marx before I could even understand what he was saying.”

  —Mstislav Rostropovich

  “The person I most wanted to meet in my life was Groucho Marx, and reading Hello, I Must Be Going, I have.”

  —Federico Fellini

  “Here at last is the book we have all been waiting for, the real inside story of the legendary Groucho. Witty, provocative, highly readable.”

  —Sidney Sheldon

  “Charlotte Chandler writes about Groucho Marx with great humor and love. Sei molto brava! Grazie e buona fortuna, Hello, I Must Be Going!”

  —Luciano Pavarotti

  “If Groucho Marx amused you, Charlotte Chandler’s extraordinary book, Hello, I Must Be Going, will delight you.”

  —George Cukor

  “Hello, I Must Be Going makes me feel the love I felt in Groucho’s house.”

  —Marvin Hamlisch

  “Charlotte Chandler’s Hello, I Must Be Going is a must-read.”

  —Liz Smith

  “Charlotte Chandler’s book, Hello, I Must Be Going, brings back to us one of our favorite people.”

  —Betty Comden and Adolph Green

  “Why aren’t you doing a book like this about me?”

  —Fritz Lang

  “An exceptional book about the most odious man we adore.”

  —René Clair

  “This book made me laugh all over, all over again.”

  —King Vidor

  “I’m glad for Groucho that he ‘never kissed an ugly girl,’ but this book should be read by more than just beauties.”

  —Jacques Tati

  “It was lovely to be able to say hello again to my dear old friend Groucho in Charlotte Chandler’s enchanting Hello, I Must Be Going. She brings him back into our lives so vividly that when Groucho finally says ‘I must be going,’ I was sorry to have to close the book.”

  —Maureen O’Sullivan

  “Charlotte Chandler has plunged into her subject as deeply as any biographer could.”

  —The New York Times

  ALSO BY CHARLOTTE CHANDLER

  Ingrid: Ingrid Bergman, A Personal Biography

  The Girl Who Walked Home Alone: Bette Davis, A Personal Biography

  It’s Only a Movie: Alfred Hitchcock, A Personal Biography

  Nobody’s Perfect: Billy Wilder, A Personal Biography

  I, Fellini

  The Ultimate Seduction

  Simon & Schuster

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  Copyright © 1978 by Doubleday & Company

  Copyright renewed © 2006 by Doubleday & Company

  Introduction copyright © 1992 by Bill Cosby

  Preface copyright © 2007 by Charlotte Chandler

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Simon & Schuster Paperbacks Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  Title used by permission of Warner Bros. From the song “Hooray for Captain Spaulding” (Bert Kalmer-Harry Ruby), © 1936 Warner Bros. Inc.

  Copyright Renewed

  All rights reserved

  SIMON & SCHUSTER and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:

  Chandler, Charlotte.

  Hello, I must be going: Groucho and his friends: with a new introduction by Bill Cosby/by Charlotte Chandler.

  p. cm.

  Originally published: Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1978.

  1. Marx, Groucho, 1891–1977. 2. Comedians—United States—Biography. I. Title.

  PN2287.M53C5

  792.6'028'092—dc20

  [B] 92–18030

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-6521-5

  ISBN-10: 1-4165-6521-3

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  Acknowledgments

  With Special Appreciation

  Woody Allen, Bob Bender, Bill Cosby, Elliott Gould, Zeppo Marx, Ken McCormick, David Rosenthal, and Sidney Sheldon.

  With Appreciation

  Michael Accordino, Lauren Bacall, Jack Benny, Marcella Berger, George Burns, Charles William Bush, Betty Comden, Wyatt Cooper, Bud Cort, George Cukor, Ron Delsener, Nelson Doubleday, Jane Elias, Julius Epstein, Érté, Erin Fleming, Joe Franklin, Steve Friedeman, Max Gordon, Bert Granet, Adolph Green, Marvin Hamlisch, Karolina Harris, George Jessel, Nunnally Johnson, Grace Kahn, Bronislaw Kaper, Ted Kheel, Norman Krasna, Ted Landry, Jack Lemmon, Johanna Li, Goddard Lieberson, Andy Marx, Eden Marx, Gummo Marx, Walter Matthau, Mike Nichols, Jack Nicholson, Nat Perrin, Robert Pirosh, Morrie Ryskind, John Sargent, George Seaton, Mary Sheldon, King Vidor, Herman G. Weinberg, Arthur Whitelaw, Billy Wilder, and Tom Wilhite.

  The Theatre Collection of the New York Public Library at Lincoln Center.

  To Groucho

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Introduction

  Titles Page

  “Hello, I must be going”

  GROUCHO AND OLD AGE

  “I’m too rich to eat bread”

  LIFE AT GROUCHO ’S HOUSE

  “He never kissed an ugly girl”

  THE WOMEN IN GROUCHO’S LIFE

  “If I didn’t have Erin, I’d have old furniture”

  THE WOMAN IN GROUCHO’S LIFE

  “The Lord Alps those that Alps themselves”

  GROUCHO AND RELIGION

  “We’re four of the three musketeers”

  THE MARX FAMILY

  “Is it sad or high kickin’?”

  GROUCHO IN SHOW BUSINESS AFTER EIGHTY

  “I’ve got the key to my front door”

  GROUCHO REVISITS NEW YORK

  “I wouldn’t be 78 again for anything in the world”

  GROUCHO’S EIGHTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY PARTY

  “I look like George Washington with a mustache”

  GROUCHO ON GROUCHO

  “I keep the ones I want”

  GROUCHO AND HIS FRIENDS

  Backward

  Postlogue: “Never say goodbye, say auf Wiedersehen”

  Chronology

  “If it gets a laugh, leave it in”

  RARE MARX BROTHERS FILM SCENE

  Photographic Insert

  June 21, 2007

  Dear Reader,

  Hello, I Must Be Going began when someone gave me the home telephone number of Groucho Marx. When I was in Beverly Hills, I called the number.

  Groucho answered the phone. I only found out later how lucky I was. After I knew him, I learned that he never answered his own telephone. He always had someone there who could answer it for him. He didn’t like to speak on the phone because he couldn’t see the reaction of the other person. This went back to his days in vaudeville when he and his brothers tried out their material and watched the reactions on the faces of their audiences. His philosophy was, “If it gets a laugh, leave it in.”

  I had called Groucho because I wanted to do an interview with him. When I told him why I was calling, he said, “Life magazine just offered me $25,000 to do an interview, and I told them I wouldn’t do it with them for $35,000, and I wouldn’t do it with you for $50,000! Where are you calling from?”

  I told him that I was using a phone at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, which wasn’t far from Groucho’s house.

  He said, “Why don’t you come over, and I’ll tell you No in person.”

  I went right over0..

  Grouc
ho showed me his collection of Marxabilia. That’s what he called all of his Marx Brothers souvenirs of a lifetime in show business—photographs, programs, scripts, letters, and a number of embroidered pillows sent to him by fans.

  He asked me to stay to dinner, not for dinner.

  After dinner, he said to me, “Why aren’t you writing?”

  That’s when I knew I was doing the interview that would become Hello, I Must Be Going.

  When Groucho asked me if I would like to write a book about him, I hesitated—about five seconds. Hello, I Must Be Going was my first book, and Groucho said it would change my life. He was right.

  All best wishes,

  Introduction by Bill Cosby

  Charlotte has asked me to say something for this new edition of Hello, I Must Be Going, and if I were Groucho Marx, I could say, “Something,” and let it go at that. But I’m not Groucho, so I have to be less explicit. Therefore, let me tell you several “somethings” about Groucho which are not already included in this fat, erudite book.

  The first television encounter Groucho and I had was when he hosted The Tonight Show. I was a hot new comedian, and he asked for me on the show when he was substituting for Johnny. The night I did the show, before going on, he called me into Johnny’s office. This was in New York. He was changing clothes, and he just had his shorts on. I stood there thinking, “I’m looking at the great Groucho Marx in his underwear.”

  We went on. It wasn’t a great meeting of the minds, because at that time I was really interested in telling my stories, and I didn’t want to trade quips with him. But after the show, I regrouped. I told myself, “If I work with him again, I will not serve as the funny person. I will serve as the catalyst for his punch lines.” And it worked, each and every time after that, because he was the boss.

  In 1974, when I had my own show, I asked for Groucho, who was then well into his eighties. Of course, the thought of the producers was, “Isn’t he too old and will he be able to read or remember his lines?” There was a very negative feeling about bringing someone on who had, in fact, slipped that far chronologically—and maybe mentally. All of the questions of whether he could do it or not came out, and I kept saying, “But this is television, and we have plenty of tape, and you guys have the scissors. I’m sure that with a man like this, if we do nothing more than sit and talk, Groucho cannot help but throw a line here and there, and I feel that I can feed him enough. If anything goes badly, I can always get back to pretty girls, which will wake him up and light him up.”

  Groucho went out, according to his rest schedule, and we did the show.

  Now, there are certain priorities that people have. Let’s say if a big, big star wanted to do my show, people would get excited, but here’s what he or she wants: They want food flown in from Mexico, and they have to be out by ten-thirty. Everyone would say, “Yeah, fine. We’ll get food from Mexico, and we’ll get them out by ten-thirty.” Then they’re coming back at one-thirty, and can give you ten minutes, so you’ll have everything ready for the ten minutes. The star’s manager comes ahead and the next thing is, Can you get a private dressing room for him, too? You give the manager a TV set along with the star’s TV set, and all these things you go out of your way to do.

  Now here’s Groucho, and all that’s asked is that when he gets tired, let him rest. People are going, “You know, it’s a lot of time, and we don’t know, and…”

  “Let’s do it, please.”

  And we did it—and had a ball! He wanted to go and go and go. What that show did for him—you could see the juices, you could see it exciting him. Now, when you’re in that condition, physically, to get excited burns as much energy as to be totally depressed. So, he would perform for a while, and then he would get physically tired, and he’d have to go off and rest. Well, that was all right for me, because that’s exactly what he was supposed to do. That’s what you’re supposed to do at that age. Whatever your body dictates, that’s what you have to do. I spent an awful lot of time with my grandfather, and for some reason, I have a feeling for and a respect for elderly people.

  For the television show, we played it until he got tired. We did some of the lines over. We had a lot of fun, which for some reason is not part of the performance, because they cut it out. It’s strange how people want to make comedy so slick. That’s the part that ruins everything. Because, you see, his moment of waiting and realizing what’s happening is just as much skill within comic timing as if he had said it quickly. The impatience of the people around me was just not welcomed by me at all.

  Television has a great fear of silence. Silence means there’s no money being made. Just because you’re not speaking doesn’t mean you’re not thinking. Maybe you should bring along some kerosene and a match.

  “What’s that for?”

  “It’s just in case I become dreadfully boring, I can always set myself on fire.”

  So, we came off of it with a lovely, lovely show. His lines were funny. Sometimes I’d say something, and you’d see him think, and you’d see him still thinking, still thinking. Then, boom! the line would come, and the people would laugh, and love it. No, it wasn’t as fast as Buddy Hackett or Don Rickles. But you could see in his eyes that they were working, the IBM cards were being flipped around, and they may not have been in the condition that they once were in. Maybe a little dog-eared, and some of them may even have been in the wrong alphabetical order. But you could see him flipping through those cards, and then that line would come.

  If you gave him time to think about it and get it rolling, those lines would come out. You had to have patience, but it wasn’t overbearing. There’s nothing that put you in the ranks of Job. It was a matter of knowing that you were going to get it and taking your time.

  Groucho and I ad-libbed a lot. I feel ad-libbing is relying on everything that you can think of in order to come up with humor, on your feet, not knowing when or where. That to me is ad-libbing. That’s working without a net. You know, the role of the catcher is not an easy one, because you have to look and see what you can catch. But to stand there and think it up, and then put it out, is the most difficult part.

  Groucho thought funny, and ad-libbing is thinking funny. It doesn’t make any difference whether you’ve had this particular line and you’ve used it before. When and if the line comes, you don’t know when it’s coming, and then you use it, you are ad-libbing. You have to be on top of it. You have to play the moment. And that’s what Groucho was absolutely brilliant with when we did the show together. I purposely switched things around for him so that he would have to think in a fresh way.

  I always felt that it was my role, whenever we were together, in a way to be the most effective straight man ever. If I could feed something ridiculous or give him something he could think five or six punch lines on, I was perfectly happy to do it. Because it’s absolutely true that’s what happens when you do that. He continued to think, and it was mental exercise.

  When he appeared on my show, I was just very, very proud of what he had done, although Charlotte tells me Groucho wasn’t happy with his performance. But, you see, what happens is, with a show like that, producers have their own idea of what they want to do. I think that what might have set him back was not necessarily his performance, but the other things around him that made it look like window dressing.

  I think that what Grouch may not have been tickled about was the way he sounded. That’s something that anybody who’s human feels—the older we get, the more we don’t particularly like the way we sound. Especially when the voice begins to sound weak. We really don’t like that. Time does have a way of taking a peak period away from you, a peak look, and you really know time has done its job. There is a bit of sadness there, about what time does. It does take away, and it happens with everyone. But if it were the other way around, and things just got better and better, I don’t know if that would be good, either. Because, then, some people might just become a pain in the ass.

  As far as I’m concerned,
when you have someone like Groucho Marx come out and perform, that’s really all you need. The greatest show would have been just Groucho and me. But a producer can’t really see that far, and they’re afraid of something like that. There are so many sketches that could have been done with just the two of us sitting, and run the tape forever—and then splice it together. Many times a great line comes out of a few minutes of very serious talk.

  It was during that period when Groucho could still come out, and he would come out for friends of his, or he’d come out for an event—any of the two that’d get his juices going. Once he came to the house I was renting from Martin Landau. My mother was there; my wife, Camille, was there; Eubie Blake was there with a Mr. Browning; and Erin Fleming, of course. Browning was at the time eighty-three, Eubie was something like ninety-two, and Groucho was eighty-four.

  We all had dinner, and the table chit-chat was fair. There was no trading of lines, no trading of stories, or anything. I carried the table as far as the conversation was concerned, and Grouch threw in a few lines here and there, and Eubie might have told one or two stories, and Browning would say something. But I don’t think anybody was really paying attention to anybody in particular. And it wasn’t because the food was that good. I think it might have been just that there were three strangers there.

  We moved into the living room. There was a piano there. Eubie sat at the piano, and Groucho took a seat on the sofa, with Erin. Browning, who was a tenor, got up and sang some of Eubie’s Broadway songs. Well, after a while, they got into these “hot” numbers, you know, like “I’m Just Wild About Harry.” Everybody’s smiling and enjoying, and I can’t describe the sound Groucho was giving off, but to him, it was singing.