Great story! Of course I read it before in Andy's book, but time has rendered my mental RAM increasingly porous these days, and although I recalled echoes, it was pretty much like reading it anew.
I ran into Bernie at his Beverly Hills mansion back in the early '80s while doing a tech scout for a commercial we were preparing to shoot in a huge room there, which was filled with what appeared to be ancient, museum-quality statues, busts, and immense urns atop pedestals. It was morning, and as we made our notes, a door opened and out came a yawning Theodore Bikel, hair askew, draped in a blue robe, having just awakened. Outside on the walkway, a young girl -- maybe 10 or 11 years old -- pranced around in a pink ballerina's tutu under the watchful eye of Bernie. She must have been his daughter, but who knows.
Nothing ominous or of import happened: it was an odd moment in a crazy business, in a very strange city.
Marvelous reflection ...
What a great essay. Unbelievable.
Great story! Of course I read it before in Andy's book, but time has rendered my mental RAM increasingly porous these days, and although I recalled echoes, it was pretty much like reading it anew.
I ran into Bernie at his Beverly Hills mansion back in the early '80s while doing a tech scout for a commercial we were preparing to shoot in a huge room there, which was filled with what appeared to be ancient, museum-quality statues, busts, and immense urns atop pedestals. It was morning, and as we made our notes, a door opened and out came a yawning Theodore Bikel, hair askew, draped in a blue robe, having just awakened. Outside on the walkway, a young girl -- maybe 10 or 11 years old -- pranced around in a pink ballerina's tutu under the watchful eye of Bernie. She must have been his daughter, but who knows.
Nothing ominous or of import happened: it was an odd moment in a crazy business, in a very strange city.