. . . Like to be closeted with for a weekend in an upstairs suite? Remember, there are plenty to choose from:
MEN—Harold Ross • Robert Benchley • Franklin P. Adams • Aleck Woollcott • Heywood Broun • various Marx Brothers • Alfred Lunt • Charles McArthur • Robert Sherwood • Geo. S. Kaufman • Marc Connelly
WOMEN—Dorothy Parker • Helen Hayes • Edna Ferber • Lynn Fontanne • Neysa McMein • Peggy Wood • Jane Grant • Tallulah Bankhead (uh-oh, there goes the class curve)
Me, I’d fall, like Mrs. Parker, for the unattainable Mr. Benchley (such a devilish glint in his tiny little eyes!), but would wind up in bed with that scamp Charlie McArthur (not Charlie McCarthy—that’s another story altogether!).
Gad-ZOOKS, what a gallery of grotesques! I’m not envious of the SDMB women and gay men one bit…although that Harpo had muscles of steel.
I’d take Neysa McMein, even though I can’t pronounce it and will be dreadfully embarrassed when I shout out her name during orgasm. She was one hot tamale, and had all the male Algonquinians chasing her, and some real men, too.
Dorothy Parker. If I could pass the wit test with colors that flew high and long enough to get her interested in me as more than a conversational acquaintance…
Slity Tove must take a pass (his beloved Tovarich wouldn’t like it) but I will note that George kauffman was field-tested for all you female dopers by Mary Astor, with a sterling recommendation that was read aloud at her divorce trial. It became one of the more ribald catch-phrases of the 1920’s, and I won’t try to quote it verbatim for fear of mangling it. Does anyone else have it word-for-word?
I’d pick songwriter Irving Berlin – one of the satellite members not mentioned by Eve – but an accepted drop-in nonetheless. (Yes, Eve, I know Big Al wrote his bio.)
Of course my interset does not run to the erotic as your OP suggests. (I only go in for the ladies, don’t you know?) I merely want to witness one of his insomnia-driven composing spells at his clunky old transposing pianer. God, would that be an event to share with the grandkids, or what?!?
Yup, I’d like to have a nice weekend’s chat with Mrs. Parker myself, but if I’ve gotta “boink” 'em (as the youngsters so delicately put it), I’m agree that:
Perhaps you’d let me get to know James Thurber better–was he ever a drop-in?–he wrote a biography/memoir of Harold Ross which I remember reading.
OK, I’m interpreting “in a closet” in two different ways.
Firstly: Mr. Benchly. Anyone who would stick with my Dottie in all her times of troubles as a close, though platonic, friend, AND who was as sharp and funny as Robert was, deserves closeted status.
Secondly: Scott Fitzgerald hung out with those kids. And he was a hottie. As cliched as it sounds, * Gatsby * is one of my favorite books of all time.
Thirdly: (alternate interpretation) Dorothy Parker has always felt like a kindred spirit. I have read every biography printed about her, read all of her poetry and short stories, even diagnosed her for one project (my opinion? Borderline Personality Disorder,) Every bit of information about her I can find is quickly absorbed. So to be able to spend a weekend with my kindred spirit, who has taught me so much about how NOT to live my life, and how to deal with my somewhat caustic sense of humor would be a dream come true. Plus, we could gossip about all the fellas, and bitch about what an asshole Ernest Hemingway was. ::sigh:: Just going to Chumley’s for the Dopefest and seeing Dottie’s picture and knowing that she had been in that speakeasy was a thrill. I’m a dork, I know.
I’ve always felt that there’s more to the act than just the act, and I know with Dorothy, there would be some excellent conversation during the other times.
And when it came time to say goodbye, I’d leave her with…
I know embarrassingly little about the Algonquin Round Table, but Eve, weren’t Gertrude Stein and Aliced B. Toklas prominent members of it? Why did you leave them out?
I’m in for Ms. Bankhead. Loved her in “Lifeboat” and who can resist the temptations of a woman who once gave Eleanor Roosevelt an audience while sitting on the toilet? Besides, she could, as she put it, “Purr like a pussycat, or growl like a cougar, depending upon the needs of the situation.”
Another great story often shared by Dick Cavett (who I can only take so much of, but he’s full of great little bits of this stuff): Chico Marx, who had quite the reputation as a ladies man, met Ms. Bankhead, whose reputation proceeded her. Upon their meeting he reportedly said soemething to the effect of “I hear you’re quite some broad. Well, I guess I’ll just have to fuck you and find out.” Ms. Bankhead, not missing a beat, responded by saying “And so you shall, you charming man.”
