Lee Marvin Once Took a Swing at Don Rickles Outside the Famed Rainbow Room
The Oscar-winning actor and decorated WWII Marine flamboyantly painted the town red at post "Paint Your Wagon" premiere party 65 stories above 5th Avenue
“Paint Your Wagon,” a 1969 Paramount Western Musical motion picture, starring Lee Marvin, Clint Eastwood, Jean Seberg, Harve Presnell and Ray Walston was originally a Broadway musical comedy written by Alan Jay Lerner with music and lyrics by Mr. Lerner and Frederick Lowe.
Directed by 7-time Tony Award Winner, Joshua Logan, it was filmed on location in Baker City, Oregon. The production budget grew from $10 million to $20 million due to difficulties building the Gold Rush-era camp, creative disagreements, appreciable alcohol consumption and questionable behavior on the part of a leading cast member.
The advertising, publicity and promotion department was charged with and consumed by the task of building a commanding marketing campaign to protect that investment and to open the film at a time when movie musicals were going out of fashion.
The film opened nationally on Thursday October 15, 1959, and its World Premiere event was held at Lowe’s State Theatre on Broadway and 44th Street in Manhattan.
Jim Brown's Javelin Throw Left the Crowd Speechless
Lee Marvin had committed to attend the New York City premiere, carry out a publicity schedule and I was selected to pick him up at his hotel and escort him and his party to Lowe’s State Theatre by 7:30 pm.
My title, at the time was national advertising director. This assignment normally would go to member of the publicity department, however, I was told that the thinking behind this decision was that I was a little older than the publicists and that I had served on “active duty “ for over two years in the U.S. Army, from 1961-63.
Marvin enlisted at 18 and saw savage and brutal action as a member of the 4th Marine Division in the South Pacific during WWII. A scout/sniper, he participated in 21 landings and was very seriously wounded in the Battle of Saipan in 1944. His body still carried fragments of shrapnel. His decorations include, Purple Heart, Navy Commendation with V Device, Combat Action Ribbon, Presidential Unit Citation, American and Asiatic-Pacific Campaign Medals and WWII Victory Medal.
I was familiar with the dangerous and bloody amphibious “island hopping” operations in the Pacific War through my father’s youngest brother who was a U.S. Navy/Coastguard Pilot /Coxswain commanding the four-man crew of an LCVP (Landing Craft , Vehicle and Personnel). Tarawa, Kwajelein and Peleliu were among those Pacific island actions he fought in.
Lee Marvin knew, all too well, of the terror of those fiercely defended open beaches and fortified enemy strongholds.
I met with Lee and his agent, Meyer Mishkin, the day before the premiere. He was tall and with his premature silver hair, twinkling blue eyes and gravelly bass voice. He was indeed a formidable presence. He wanted to know all about me. After our half hour together, we shook hands, he winked and smiled, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lieutenant.”
Dressed in rented tuxedo, I left the Paramount Tower Building at 1501 Broadway and 44th St. in a black Cadillac limousine and arrived at the Regency Hotel at 540 Park Avenue around 6:35 pm. An assistant concierge accompanied me up to Marvin’s suite of rooms. I knocked and Lee opened the door with a merry twinkle in his eyes, “C’mon in, Charlie! You‘re in charge and you just tell me when you want me to round up this bunch of yahoos, to move out!”
He was dressed in a custom tailored Spanish Bolero formal tuxedo with flared trouser cuffs and knotted white silk cravat. He looked every inch an Oscar winning film star.
He earned his Best Actor Academy Award for his duel role performance as Kid Shelleen and Tim Strawn in the 1965 comedy western, “Cat Ballou,” co -starring Jane Fonda. In a recent interview she praised his gifts as an actor and his kind concern for all the behind-the-scenes people who work so hard on a movie set.
He introduced me to his parents and other family members enjoying cocktails, when all of a sudden a buxom young woman attired only in a slip and high heels bounced into the sitting salon. Lee quickly ushered her away with firm instructions to finish getting herself together. The lady was Lee’s girlfriend, Michele Triola.
At 7:10 pm I told Lee that we needed to leave. He hustled every one out the door and he, Michele and I came down to the Regency lobby and hurried toward the waiting limousine. They climbed into the back seat and I sat upfront next to the driver. As we started down Broadway Lee amiably asked, “Have you got a bar picked out, Charlie?”
Did I hear right? Totally puzzled I turned around and asked, “What do you mean, a bar?”
“The picture has an intermission, doesn’t it?” he reasoned. “That’s when you and I are going out for a drink.”
“How can we be going out for a drink,” I debated, “and not be seen leaving the theatre at intermission?”
“Easy Charles, you will know where I’ll be sitting, and just before intermission while the house is still dark, find me, tap me on the shoulder and we’ll go downstairs for a drink. Have you got a bar picked out near the theatre?”
When we arrived at Lowe’s State and Lee got of the limo, the crowds of excited movie fans in bleachers on Father Duffy Square and on both sides of Broadway went wild. Folks cheered and some innocently saluted him with the popular anti-Vietnam War two-fingered peace sign. He waved, smiled broadly while straightening his tux jacket and smartly shooting his shirt cuffs forward, “Yeah, I wish you peace too.” he quietly muttered.
I asked the driver to have the limo as close to the theatre’s front entrance as possible around 10:45 pm. There would be a crush of folks leaving at that time and I wanted a quick, easy exit for Lee and Michele. He assured me that he had it under control. NYC limo drivers are a special urban breed all their own and I trusted him completely.
I followed as Lee and Michele were escorted to their seats. He looked at me, patted my arm, winked and smiled.
The feature presentation of “Paint Your Wagon “ went on at approximately 8:10 pm. The film’s running time was 2 hours and 44 minutes. The “Intermission” was 20 minutes long. I found Lee about 10 minutes before the intermission and tapped his shoulder. He immediately stood up, quickly moved in front of three or four people, and we hurried out of the balcony doors, raced down the carpeted stairs to the ground floor and out a side door that opened onto 44th Street.
“It’s just down the block,” answering Lee’s inquiry as we ran.
“Where’s the bar, Charles?”
Within seconds we were in the wood paneled comfort of the Blue Ribbon restaurant at 145 West 44th Street.
Evoking old Bavaria, it had been a Times Square landmark since 1914 and a favorite of the legendary male operatic stars of the day. Blue Ribbon’s good food and good beer were recognized in all of the city’s five boroughs.
The instant we came in the door, the locals sitting at the small bar to the right did triple takes, spilling beer and schnapps down their shirt fronts, struggling with the notion that “Liberty Valance” aka “The Dirty Dozen’s” Major John Reiser had suddenly materialized in their homey midst.
“Hiya fellas, what’ll you have to drink?” asked Lee, after he confessed to indeed being Lee Marvin. “Bartender, give’em another round, he cheerfully commanded. Lee ordered two drinks and one for me.
“I shouldn’t be doing this”, I shouted over the bar buzz. “C’mon Charlie, were having fun!”, he cheered.
Yes, I was having fun, out on the town with television M Squad’s, Lt. Ballinger, and “The Professionals” cynical leader Henry “Rico” Farden.
While Lee was happily engaged answering questions from our new drinking buddies, I began to worry about getting him back to Lowe’s State in time for the second act, what my superiors might say if they knew I was out “cocktailing” with the film’s star and mostly who was going to pick up the bar tab.
“Lee, we have got to get back and and I can’t pay for this adventure,” I confessed. He winked and smiled, “Charles, have no fear, you’re in my outfit, pal. This was my idea and my treat,” he guaranteed, handing the bemused barkeep his credit card.
We excited on the double, waving goodbye to eight mystified New Yorkers who had been dazzled and charmed by one of the most popular, magnetic screen actors of an era. The consummate cinematic “tough guy”, whose effortless cool was perceptible on screen or off, was undeniably exhilarating company.
We turned right, hurried up the short block, pushed open the side door of Lowe’s State , bounded up the stairs and managed to have Lee returned to his seat, next to Michele Triola , just as the house lights were dimming. Phew!
As the film’s end credits played, Lee, Michele and I descended the main staircase, out the front lobby doors onto Broadway where our limo driver was waiting, as promised.
We arrived at the already thriving post premiere party, at the St. Regis Hotel roof ballroom. Lee and Michele joined Joshua Logan, Alan Jay Lerner and other celebrity guests at a reserved table. I took a seat at a Paramount executives table nearby, letting Lee know where I was.
Shortly after midnight I noticed that Lee and Michele were getting up from their table. He looked in my direction and motioned for me to come over. He appeared a little unsteady and the effect of whatever and how much of whatever he had been drinking, was beginning to show.
He said , “Charlie, we are ready to leave and we’re goin’ to the Rainbow Room.”
“The Rainbow Room in Rockefeller Center, Now?” I questioned.
“Yep, It’ll be fun.”
Fifteen minutes later, down 5th Avenue from 55th street to 51st Street and the express elevators that whooshed us up to the 65th floor of Rockefeller Plaza and the world famous, Rainbow Room.
Since its opening in 1934, the Rainbow Room was a lodestone for high society, the elite and celebrated. It boasted exquisite dining, dancing, a glamourous cocktail lounge, live entertainment and unparalleled sweeping views of New York City.
Somehow the maitre ‘d recognized movie star , Lee Marvin, and we were guided to a table near the dance floor and stage. Lee ordered drinks. I discreetly pushed mine aside.
The entertainment that evening was, Don Rickles, one of the most popular night club headliners of all time. It didn’t take long for the undisputed master of “insult comedy” to spot Lee and the verbal assault rattled forth like the deadly chatter of a .50-caliber machine gun. Lee and Don were Hollywood acquaintances, however, a lot of the sharp rata-ta-tat was about Marvin being a heavy drinker and his widely publicized alcoholic capers.
Lee continued to drink and I sensed that Rickles’ barbs were beginning to sting and nettle him.
The bill was magically paid. As we were leaving the marbled lobby entrance of the Rainbow Room, toward the elevator bank, Lee saw Rickles. He had come out to greet some friends and walked toward Lee to say hello. When he approached Lee, the terribly tipsy former Marine, took a wild, unbalanced swing at the comedian and fell down.
People began to gather and gawk. I was completely startled and concerned for Lee. A waiter and the maitre ‘d helped me pick him up and maneuver him into the next elevator car. Michele and I supported him on the speedy descent to 51st and terra firma.
It was 2:30 am and thankfully our trustworthy driver was nearby and took us back to the Regency Hotel. The doorman helped our driver and me get Lee out of the limo and into the lobby.
I said goodnight to Lee and Michele. Although deeply in his cups he managed a wink and uttered an almost indistinct, “Charlie, I’ll see you later, pal.” The driver took me home.
I would occasionally see Lee Marvin at a hotel affair or some industry event in Los Angeles, New York or Beverly Hills over the next few years. He would always smile and say, “Hello, Charlie” and wink, perchance recalling the lively echo of that Manhattan melodrama years before.
I am confident that he lived with definite post traumatic stress syndrome because of his WWII experiences. He was an admitted alcoholic and an ingrained smoker, however he was never late on a movie set and always knew his lines.
I don’t think I saw Lee Marvin in person after 1979.
In December of 1990, my family and I were living in Rye, N.Y., and I had left Orion Pictures the previous September. I decided to take my family to Washington, D. C., between Christmas and New Year.
Conceivably an unusual holiday destination, but I wanted to visit D.C., an important place in my childhood. I was first exposed to our Nation’s Capital, as a sixth-grade School Safety Patrol representative, to a National Safety Council Conference there.
On our first morning of sight seeing we took a cab to Arlington National Cemetery. I also wanted to visit the JFK gravesite, among others. Our cab driver was a sunny, instructive African-American, who recommended that we should see the new grave marker for former World Heavy Weight Champion, boxing legend, Joe Louis. He said it was just below The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.
I was keenly aware of of his triumphs in the ring, during my youth, because of my father’s interest in the sport and his deep admiration for Louis.
Upon entering Arlington we went directly to The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and watched the solemn, moving, Changing of the Guard. Remembering the driver’s description, we found Joe Louis’ grave. A four-foot high, lavender gray marble marker features a bronze bas-relief of Louis in a fighting stance, above the inscription, “The Brown Bomber”.
As I moved forward to get a better look, I stepped to my right. When I glanced down, my foot was resting next to a a plain small regulation granite grave marker with a cross, bearing the lettering, “Lee Marvin, PFC, U.S. Marine Corps, World War II, Feb.1924 - Aug.26, 1987.”
I was momentarily stunned and voiceless. I surely somehow must have known that he had died. Perhaps I was aware of his passing, when some great tribulation of the day, during my Orion Pictures sojourn, compelled me to dismiss it from my mind.
But, there he was. In my bewilderment, I shivered slightly and then I smiled. I remembered his playful smile, his wink, his fearless brilliance on the movie screen and of all the sparkling Blue Ribbon, Rainbow Room moments of an evening 21 years earlier. Now 54 years ago, as of the time of this entry.
In memoriam and in reflection, I am honored and proud to have been in Pfc. Lee Marvin’s outfit, if just for a night.
Charles Glenn is the former worldwide head of marketing for Paramount, Universal, and Orion Pictures. He is a member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences and the Screen Actors Guild.
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