Batter up

I've always been an omelette kind of guy. But when push comes to shove, I'll have to admit I enjoy the occasional flapjack.

When I was growing up, my parents used to take me to the International House of Pancakes. That's what it said right on the sign. This was before the texting-friendly abbreviation IHOP cut it down to size.

They were easy restaurants to recognize, what with their powder-blue A-frame buildings. They had bottomless coffee pots (which meant nothing to me then or now), and all kinds of different flavored syrups on the tables, even though maple was the one that was always empty.

My best memory of IHOP - I'll call it that for expediency - wasn't the Half-Dollar pancakes, the sticky tabletops or the orange aprons the waitresses wore. It's the time I had breakfast there with Tommy Smothers.

Bet you didn't see that coming.

I'd met Tommy at a release party for Groucho's album, An Evening With Groucho. It was a star-studded release party in Beverly Hills, and my friend David Weitz and I were hired to dress as Groucho and work the room (if you're wondering how I met Groucho, you can read about it here).

At that party, I'd also met and spoken to Tommy Smothers. He was in fact the nicest person there. Fast forward months later. I walked into the IHOP on Fairfax just north of Wilshire, and sitting at a table by himself was Tommy Smothers. I debated for a second about bothering him. But then I realized this situation would never present itself again, so I went for it.

I introduced myself to him, and reminded him we'd met at the Groucho album release. Tommy invited me to sit and have breakfast with him.

I ordered, and we talked about the party, the Smothers Brothers and the state of comedy and television. It was an extraordinary morning. When the check came, he insisted on paying for my breakfast.

In the years since, I've been lucky enough to see the Smothers Brothers perform at both a private function, as well as the Cerritos Theater of Performing Arts. Sadly, since they're now retired, I won't have the chance again.

Since he joined Twitter, I've actually had a few exchanges with Dick Smothers. I asked Dick one time why Tommy wasn't online, and he told me Tommy is too busy with their vineyard and other things.

Whatever he's up to, I hope he's happy and healthy. I'll never forget my breakfast with him.

I'm not really sure who their mom liked best. But in my book, they're both great.

Hello I must be going

I don't usually drop names. Don't get me wrong, I could. I could drop a lot of them ok? I was born and raised in L.A. I'm a Hollywood brat. I know people.

And my people know people.

But because of a film I saw, I am going to drop one: Groucho Marx.

From the minute I first saw Night At The Opera I was hooked on the Marx Bros. It won't come as a surprise to anyone who knows me that the brother I related to most was Groucho. Cynical, sarcastic, biting, brilliant, a ladies man.

When I was growing up, the Marx Bros. films were having a resurgence. There were festivals, retrospects, screenings of long lost footage. My friend David Weitz and I used to slather on the black moustache and eyebrows, slip into the cut away tuxedo jackets and impersonate Groucho at the festivals they used to have at the Universal Amphitheater, back when it was a real amphitheater (look it up). There was also a theater on La Cienega and Waring Avenue called the Ciné Cienega that played Marx Bros. films all the time. David and I would show up there too.

One day, we had the bright idea that we wanted to meet Groucho. So we got in my car - a 1965 Plymouth Fury, the first and last American car I'll ever own (don't get me started) - and drove up to Sunset Blvd. Back then, there was a guy on every corner selling "Maps To The Stars Homes". We bought one and found out where Groucho's house was in Trousdale Estates.

As I write about it now, I realize it reads kind of stalker-esque. It wasn't. Well, maybe it was. But a different time you know?

There used to be a costume shop on Melrose next to Paramount Studios. David and I decided to buy an old cutaway coat like Groucho wore in the movies and give it to him as a gift. It never occurred to us he probably had several of them gathering dust already.

The first attempt didn't go well. We drove up to Trousdale Estates, sat in the car awhile, then finally found the courage to knock on Groucho's door.

His assistant and companion Erin Fleming answered.

We told her we were huge Marx Bros. fans, and we had a gift for Groucho. She thought it was sweet.

From behind her, we heard an elderly but recognizable voice say, "Who is it?" Erin said, "It's two of your fans and they want to give you a gift." To which Groucho replied, "Tell them to go away and never darken my doorway again."

Not exactly the welcome we expected.

Erin told us to come back the next day when Groucho would be in a better mood, and she'd get us in to meet him. So we did. And she did.

David and I wound up having lunch with Groucho. We talked about everything from the movies, to the Israeli athletes who'd been killed by terrorists, to Sandy Koufax. The real life Groucho spoke slower and softer than the one in the movies, but the brilliant mind was working just as fast.

Many times after that first meeting, Erin invited me up to the house. She even had me watch Groucho a few times when she'd have to go out.

When another Groucho fan, Steve Stoliar, organized the Committee to Re-release Animal Crackers (CRAC) - a Marx Bros. film that hadn't been seen in thirty years - and staged a protest at UCLA, Groucho wrote a note excusing me from my theater class to be there (Groucho included a copy of the letter in his book The Grouchophile). And when Universal finally re-released it, Erin had the studio hire David and I to impersonate him at the premiere.

She also had us impersonate him and greet arriving celebrities at a live performance she'd convinced him to do, An Evening with Groucho at the Dorothy Chandler Pavillion (I still remember David opening the car door for George Burns. As Burns was getting out he said, "That's very nice of you." David said, "Certainly. Age before beauty." Burns said, "You're not kidding."). Thanks to Erin, we were also at the pre-release party for the soundtrack of the show at the Bistro in Beverly Hills (star-studded affair. Nicest celebrity: Tommy Smothers. Biggest jerk: Carroll O'Connor). She also had us front and center in the audience, in full costume, when Groucho appeared on the Merv Griffin show.

To say the least it was a heady time.

After Groucho died, I lost touch with Erin. I know she went through hard times, with accusations of being a golddigger and abusive to Groucho.

These accusations came from Groucho's son Arthur, who although an author and playwright, primarily made a career of being Groucho's son.

The many times I saw them together, at the house and at studio events, I never saw any indication that any of Arthur's accusations about Erin were true.

Nevertheless, Arthur sued Erin for all the money Groucho had paid her, and the house he'd bought her, and eventually bankrupted her with attorney fees and debt. Sadly she wound up committing suicide years after Groucho was gone.

I'm blessed to have had the chance to meet one of my heroes. It could never happen today, certainly not the way it did then.

Although if anyone has Springsteen's address, I have this guitar I'd like to give him.