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"Now It Can be Told:"

Happy Birthday, Natalie Schafer, millionairess television wife of Gilligan's Island's Thurston P. Howell, tycoon. She presided over one of televisions happiest and most charming screen marriages--- and even if it was a fantasy, I think it was worth remembering, though it will never be successfully emulated. Of course, still being in re-runs to this very day, our memories can be refreshed at will.

Throughout her whole professional life, Natalie's actual birth date, November 5, 1900, was kept the darkest of secrets. Even her closest friends--- even her husband--- did not know the truth. Well, you know what they say: "A gentleman never asks--- and a lady never tells."

The Wiki article on her life states the matter with a certain flair:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Natalie_Schafer

"Schafer was legendarily discreet about her age... 1912 was generally given as her birth year for many years, which few believed, yet her actual year of birth (which was not discerned until after her death) of 1900 shocked even her intimate friends. She was also a breast cancer survivor, a fact she withheld from her fans and friends.

"Her investments, particularly in real estate, made her a multi-millionaire" (back when a million bucks was still a million bucks--- ed.). Differing sources state that most of this fortune was bequeathed to either her "Gilligan's Island" co-star Dawn Wells, or to care for her dogs (Wells has not commented). The Los Angeles Times reported that Schafer bequeathed two million dollars to the Motion Picture and Television Hospital; the money was used to renovate the Hospital's outpatient wing, which was renamed the "Natalie Schafer Wing."

"Natalie Schafer died of cancer in her Beverly Hills home, at the age of 90... her ashes were scattered into the Pacific Ocean, off San Pedro's Point Fermin Light."

I have steadfastly held to the idea that truth is manifestly stranger than fiction.

But as a direct consequence of Clef's post, I now know that one of the Gilligan's Island sequels was entitled "The Harlem Globetrotters on Gilligan's Island". As best I can tell, the movie's climax involves a basketball game between the Globetrotters and a team of robots that will somehow determine whether the villain achieves global domination.

You see my quandary. Must I abandon a core world-view? Perhaps the "stranger truth" in this episode is that a group of producers and writers (secondarily, I imagine) came up with this plot idea.

Or, maybe I'll just see how the day progresses. Chances are something will happen to ease my doubts, even though I don't have a gig tonight.

Hi there PW Friends,

I just looked at my calendar and realized I have 26 gigs in the month of December. So much for the Year of Health. Ah well, I am feeling great and have lots of energy. I just have to limit my Riesling intake and remember to exercise. This year is an odd one, because both Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve fall on Mondays, which means very full weekends leading up to the big holidays. Crazy! Anyway, I have a nice combination of concerts, shows, and background music jobs, so things will be interesting to say the least. I get to go back to Berlin twice, once to play three songs for the farewell party for the Canadian Ambassador to Germany, and the second time to present my Piano Girl program for the embassy crowd.

Mixed in with all of the other jobs is my annual musical for children—this is our fourth year in a row. We'll do six shows over the course of two days. The musical features six ridiculous fairies (I am one of them), a piano-playing tree named Alabaster Epiphany Quixotico Baum, and a giant rabbit named Hobo. I get to wear a Dolly Parton wig, a big puffy tulle skirt, and rubber boots. I am now officially the world's oldest fairy, I think, unless, of course you count Mrs. Howell, who wasn't really a fairy, but did know a few things about magic.

Okay, I meant to file a report about last week's gigs. I played three private parties in a row—Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. No weddings, but one corporate shindig (I had two assistants), one wedding anniversary, and one birthday party.

The corporate party went well, in spite of the assistants. I finally figured out that the young people who end up up with this job —let's face it, assistant to the pianist is a pretty lowly title—are interns or apprentices. The clipboard lady doesn't know what to do with the interns, so she hands them off to me. Then I spend the whole evening worrying about them. I swear, this one young woman spent about 10 minutes arranging the water glass on my little side table.

The birthday party on the next night did not get off to a good start. It was a surprise party. I was scheduled to be there at 6:30 for a 7:00 start. I forgot about the annual St. Martin's Day parade in a neighboring village and got stuck right smack in the middle of 150 very cute little kids carrying lanterns, singing songs, and following a woman dressed like St. Martin (half a coat) riding a white horse. I am somewhat ashamed of the things I yelled at these kids—road rage ain't pretty—but I was on a mission and I had a piano to get to. I made it just in time. But you know, one of the tricks to being late is to look like you're not. I threw my coat at the manager, took a couple of cleansing breaths, tried to smooth down my electricity frazzled hair, and entered the salon with, literally, seconds to spare. Okay, fine. The husband of the birthday lady asked me to play softly when she entered (no big HAPPY BIRTHDAY song until later). Okay, fine. I spotted a couple of teenage girls in the room, so I started with "River Flows in You" because teenage girls like this song. But one of them started frantically waving her arms at me, then raced across the room and said: "Don't play that song, it reminds my mother of her dead sister and she'll cry."

Well. It was too late. She was already crying. I did a fast segue into "The Girl from Ipanema," a song that never makes anyone cry.

The next thing that happened is that the owner of the castle hotel chain walked into the room—he and his wife were guests for this party. Okay, fine. But they were seated right next to the grand piano, so they were staring directly at me. And this was going to be a 6 course dinner.

Not so fine.

Speech. Which led to the HAPPY BIRTHDAY song. At this point—because of being late, making the birthday girl cry, and having the owner sitting there staring at me like I had a lettuce leaf on my head—I was a little rattled, and every one of you who plays gigs knows that HAPPY BIRTHDAY can be, uh, problematic. I have hit more klunkers playing HAPPY BIRTHDAY—it's just part of my gig history. It's so easy to get distracted and screw it up. If you don't believe me, go right to the piano this minute and play it. If you played it perfectly, then you're a better woman than I am. Note: my friend Emilee, who plays at the Plaza in NYC has to play HB about 80 times a week. She still has a slight panic attack every single time. So it's not just me.

No big train wrecks—I survived. But it was a very long night.

The wedding anniversary was a great party. I played for the dinner and a Creole jazz band followed me for dancing. There was also a magician and a "show waiter" who did obnoxious things like clear a table while wearing industrial rubber gloves and a gas mask, not something we often see in the castle. I kind of enjoyed watching him, especially when he sat right down at a table and stole someone's soup.

On another note: My son is a huge Gilligan's Island fan. He claims he got into international business school by using Thurston's vocabulary. And let's face it, back in 1976 I got my first piano job by dressing like Maryanne. And I married a bass-playing Professor. I actually met Ginger in the lobby of the Marriott and I reviewed her daughter's first book (we had the same agent at the time). So Greg, my core world view is that pretty much everything in life can somehow be connected to the insanity of that show.

I gotta go practice HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

I am SO GLAD you said that.



Cathy

There's something I forgot to mention about that corporate gig, which was not at my regular venue, but at a nearby castle that sports a 120 year old C. Bechstein square back grand in the lobby. The piano is gorgeous—it boasts beautiful carved legs and has an elegant satin ebony finish. Sadly, I also think it has original parts, or at least it hasn't been restored anytime in the last billion years. It is a beast to play. The technician has done as much as he can with it, but unless the hotel sinks 5,000 € into some solid repair work, there's not much more that can be done to revive the aging patient.

This is also the venue where there are four pianos but only three benches, two of which are frozen in a very high position, which is okay for the guys who work there (they are on the short side) but not so good for me because I'm sort of tall. Every time I play there, it's like Piano Bench Lotto. Will there be a bench? Will it be adjustable? Will I throw my back out after five hours of playing on a bench that's too high? I started taking my own bench to this place rather than take my chances, but I wasn't driving from home on the night of the last gig, so I had to take what I got.

I got the adjustable bench, but there was something very wrong with it. Every time I shifted my weight on the bench—something that happens a bunch of times during the course of one piece of music, the bench CRACKED. I mean, it was loud. I began to feel really fat, which I'm not, but a cracking bench under one's butt can lead one to think such thoughts. Then, and this is where it got really disconcerting, whenever I changed the sustain pedal, the entire instrument WIGGLED. Crack, wiggle, wiggle crack. I'm sad to say I have witnessed two grand pianos crashing onto marble floors (once in NYC at the Grand Hyatt, once in Haiti at a hotel that years later fell into the side of a mountain during the earthquake) and I was not anxious to see a third one go down, especially if my legs (featuring my brand new foot with titanium parts) were under it.

Obviously I got through the gig without a disaster, but the thought of a seven foot grand plummeting onto the granite and taking me along with it added a nice level of tension to the evening. Maybe I should have had the assistants standing by to catch it, just in case.

Hey, Frank Baxter and I are birthday twins! We were both born on November 26th. Not sure who is older. I will now go and play Happy Birthday and try not to screw it up. Frank, I'll leave the balcony doors open wide. The sound of the piano won't make it from Germany to Florida, but I hope the good vibes will!

Happy Birthday to both of you!

Thanks Robin, I heard you playing it :-)
I'm the older of the two of us, born 1951.
Happy Birthday Piano Girl!

Happy Birthday Robin and Frank!

I'll be your doppleganger today, Robin - I'll play Happy Birthday and screw it up, and yours will be perfect! NNTTM - it'll come naturally

Happy birthday to both of you -

Cathy

Thanks for the birthday greetings! I spent my birthday giving a creative writing workshop in Düsseldorf (there's a joke here somewhere . . .).

Last weekend I met one of my "brides of weddings past." She and her husband (five years later, they're still together) came into the castle with their 18 month-old daughter, the lovely Johanna. I remember nothing about their wedding, but I do remember they were a very nice couple. I'm hoping they hire me for their 10th anniversary party.

This is FAIRY WEEKEND—six performances of my musical for children, "Hobo und die Waldfeen." I'll check back in when I get to the other side of Fairyland. We now have a cast of eight—a piano-playing tree, a giant rabbit, five fairies, and a troll. There's a lot of singing, drums, piano, trumpet, flute, and violin. If nothing else, the kids who see this show will have a live music experience. They might also have nightmares about the piano-playing tree (he wears a Wizard of Oz tree suit that I ordered from Amazon in the USA several years ago), but I like the tree so I'm not changing a thing. He is a fine musician, and he does a great job of playing even though his hands look like branches.

This is the fourth year for this show. I may be getting too old for this, but as long as the fairy costume fits, I'm hanging in there. I'll be brushing glitter off my skin until well after the holidays.

Happy weekend to all of you, and to those of you playing holiday gigs, remember—it's never to soon to start figuring out how to play an ending to "Carol of the Bells." I'm still on a loop from last year.

My summers are spent on the other side of Fairyland. The Oakland Municipal Band performs on the bandstand which is just beyond the fence from Children's Fairyland in Lakeside Park. I do programs and sound and a bunch of other technical stuff which are necessary and usually unappreciated by the audience.

The bandstand dates to 1923, and the band has been playing in that area since 1912. Fairyland dates from the 1950s, and it was one of the inspirations for Disneyland. There are a lot of interesting things in Lakeside Park, which itself is the first wildlife refuge in the US, right in the heart of Oakland.

"The Other Side of Fairyland," just the title I have been looking for... speaking of birthdays and memoir. Or maybe, "The Underside" is what I'm looking for. But all the same, Happy Birthday, Robin, and many happy returns to you. Also Happy Birthday to your titanium foot; I believe you may qualify for two celebrations, two cakes, two champagnes, two bouquets of orchids, and two birthday gifts to indemnify you for the inconvenience. Believe it or not, I have been wondering when your birthday fell. Some of these days, I will record and send you my little piece, "Happy Birthday Pushing Forty." It was written--- let's just say--- "a few years" ago.

I have not been able to turn up much in the way of wedding arcana recently, except, perhaps (for yesterday, 11/28):

"1582 – In Stratford-upon-Avon, William Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway pay a £40 bond for their marriage license."

These days £40 (or €40, or $40 either) would not put placecards on the table. Then again, there is no mention of paying that professional nuisance, the wedding planner (a big saving in more ways than one), and in fact I'm pretty sure the clipboard did not come along for quite a many years later--- in fact, I'm wondering when metals technology advanced enough to create spring steel. No clip, no clipboard. Talk about The Law of Unintended Consequences!

Now BDB, I really did take to heart what you said about the value of event planners. But you can't expect me to give wedding planners a complete pass on Robin's birthday. We'll speak of them no more, only pausing to imagine the scene where Robin takes one aside and tells her, in a low voice, "I have a titanium foot, dear."

I have never been to Fairyland, with its many surprising wonders, having only seen it while passing on the freeway. It did, of course, come to public attention a few years back when the statue of Mother Goose--- or was it Humpty Dumpty--- was mopped by vandals from its perch above the front gate. I believe that surprised everyone, for many reasons. On the whole, I find your find your story both more illuminating and more interesting.

Mother Goose was surprisingly subversive, but more about that another time. Meanwhile, regarding those questionable engagements at the Other Castle with the broken bench and the rickety piano legs (which strikes me as really dangerous). We have written about this place elsewhere, in connection with another wedding customer and a demo CD designed to teach them a lesson; we will speak of them no more. I would suggest that you make the simple rule that future customers there must rent a decent and safe piano for you to play, with its own bench. One simple rule, which covers a multitude of sins (oh I do love that expression).

While I don't mind reading in the news, "Wedding Disrupted by Screams," I would not like it if they were yours.

When I was young enough to take an adult, still only admitted accompanied by a child, to Fairyland, we would have to enter through the Old Woman's Shoe. Kids could go in standing upright, but adults have to duck down. Alas, laws have changed, and the entry gate has been moved behind the shoe, probably for ADA compliance.

I have not been in there since my niece, now married, was a child. I hope her older cousin will bring my grandniece one of these days, so I can go again. We do wrangle with their personnel, because their theater is entirely too close to the bandstand.

Lake Merritt has been undergoing a lot of changes, most of them precipitated by a proposal to build a cathedral on the parking lot for the Oakland Auditorium, aka Henry J. Kaiser Convention Center, which alas, sits idle these days. In response, a group of citizens proposed a redesign of the roadways there, which was adopted by the voters, and that financed many other improvements around the lake. Facilities have been upgraded and improved all over. The project is at the final landscaping stage now. Completion should be in February, with a celebration in May, once the landscaping has taken root.

"...the kids who see this show... might also have nightmares about the piano-playing tree... I'll be brushing glitter off my skin until well after the holidays."

Only fair. Plenty of trees have nightmares about piano-playing kids.

Hey, if you want to take it on the road, it looks like we might have found a venue for you at Faerieland After Dark. Money, travel, a chance to meet people with a taste for the moderately bizarre. I used to know some of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, and I can tell you for a sure fact that if once you let a drag queen into your car, you will never, ever, be able to get all the glitter out afterward, short of melting down the car for scrap. That, and the sequins.

The pickings were a little slim today, but this is still a well-known one for Today in Wedding History:

November 30, 1940 – Lucille Ball marries Desi Arnaz in Greenwich, Connecticut. Did you know--- there is a life-size bronze of Lucy, seated on a bench (at what appears to be a bus stop) in Palm Springs, with her full skirt flying up in the wind. Nothing unseemly, just a touch cinematic.

I grew up only knowing Desi through his character on the I Love Lucy TV Show (which was that of a slightly goofy and eccentric Cuban musician).

Lately I've been advised he was in real life a very intelligent man generally, and quite a good musician. Perhaps still a little eccentric, though...

Desi was a great musician. He plays a small fictional role in my book, Rhythm.

At this point in my life, though, I feel more like Lucy. I am now on the Other Side of Fairyland, having survived six shows in two days. Lucky for me, the Woodland Animal part of the cast did not engage in any marital battles, not one of the fairies threw up, and everyone remembered their lines and showed up on time. Two of the fairies had bad colds (nothing like a fairy named Farteeno with a stuffed up nose), and the little boy who plays the Troll got a tad hyperactive by the time the last show rolled around. I had to jump into the audience and escort a screaming child out of the theatre (her idiot mother—who sat in the lobby drinking a latte— sent the child into the show unaccompanied). The little girl, who was three, freaked out when she saw the rubber fish (we perform a piece called the Stink Fish Tango). Can't blame her, the rubber fish is horrifying to some, really funny to others.

But aside from those small things, I think we did deliver a modicum of pleasure to many small children this weekend. And I for one am grateful they had a chance to hear live music. Our piano playing tree is fantastic and he holds everything together—no easy task considering the drummer and the violinist are each eight years old. I couldn't handle doing this more than one weekend a year, but I feel happy to have written and produced a show that feels like real theatre. No playbacks, no laser lights. Just real people acting like, well, fairies. There are lots of silly pictures here:

http://www.facebook.com/robin.meloy.goldsby

And now on to the next task: I'm packing away the wings and tutu and Thursday morning I leave for Berlin, where I will perform five concert pieces for the Canadian Ambassador to Germany. He is returning to Ottawa after many years of service over here. The concert pieces will be part of a farewell ceremony, which is bound to include many heartfelt speeches and tributes. He has requested that I play Heart of Gold, the Neil Young classic, which is hardly solo piano material, but I've sort of figured out a decent arrangement. So I'm going from fairies to Neil Young.

Report forthcoming.

Fairyland After Dark sounds like my kind of place.

Well, if it's got to be Neal Young, I think I'd rather go with, "It's Only Castles Burning." But it's hard to dust off the guest of honor's request. Tempting, to go with what our friend Greg's bandmate used to reply to requests: "Write it on a Twenty." I suppose it wouldn't do. I should steal that title for when I release a CD of covers--- I was going to title it, "You Never Know Where It's Been." But now that we have a PianoWorld Censor Board which deletes even moderately naughty words, and even thoughts sensed to be subversive and un- "family friendly," oh, you just never know if it's worth the trouble.

It seems to me that expecting everyone on this board to be "a friend of the family" is asking for a bit much.

I think I would rather go with a song about Neal Young, myself. Very late CSNY; you would have to scare up a few singers to put on the harmony, but it's very pretty; haunting, perhaps even inimitable.

"And the dreams of the cowboys will all blow away/
Like the dust on the desert/
On a hot, windy day/
I've tried so hard to tell you, in so many ways/
But I'm scared of the heartaches and scenes/
With the Cowboy of Dreams."

[Well, a quick tryover on the keyboard indicates it could be put over fairly well with piano accompaniment--- unusual chord voicing, I'll admit--- and solo lead voice. Not bad, for a post-golden-age number which the FM stations seem to have wholly overlooked.]

PS-
"...You'll like this, Clef. I had not one, but four assistants for the big evening... these ladies were following me around everywhere. They were really really nice, but I couldn't shake them... All I can say is that I never ever have an assistant when I actually need one. Such is life."

I haven't forgotten the story about the rainy night, the muddy cobblestone path, and the satin slippers. What you need is not assistants but some handsome fire-daddies--- properly buff and studly--- to get you into the hall using a 'chair-carry.' There's no chair, just their strong and muscular arms. And if I ran the zoo, dear Robin, you would have them.

Some of them contain titanium. You would have something to chat about on the way.

PPS
'Corcovado' is not bad in an emergency--- not that 'The Girl from Ipanemia' is, though it is both well-known and tricky to bring off. Gosh, anything from the original release of those Getz-Gilberto-Jobim sessions will settle an ugly crowd faster and better than turning a fire hose on them. Not for nothing did Astrud Gilberto rocket to international fame literally overnight.

Oooh... bad Judy Tenuta flashbacks...

Bring on the Fire Daddies with their titanium arms. I doubt I'll ever write another children's musical, but if I do, I'll work in some firefighters.

My husband is playing with Kurt Elling this week—two concerts in big halls featuring Kurt, the WDR Big Band, and a symphony orchestra. No Neil Young on that gig. I head to Berlin tomorrow. The concert/event is at the Ritz Carlton, and, lucky me, I get to stay there for a night. I'm hoping for a bench that doesn't creak and an in-tune piano with non-wobbly legs. Wish me luck.

Holiday wedding coming up on Saturday, and then my annual Concert in Candlelight on Sunday. The thing is, the concert salon is also the salon where the wedding dinner will be held. AND the breakfast the following morning. It will be somewhat problematic chasing the breakfast crowd out so that the technician can get in there and tune the piano. Let us not forget that this very instrument was pounded to death but a man in a tree costume just a few days ago. It's in pretty good shape, but still.

Oh, I'm listening to my daughter play the piano right now. I wonder if she takes requests.