At Wit’s End: My Life in Show Biz–Woe Biz

By Lydia Hope Wilen / New York City

Paul Newman

AT WIT'S END

Light-years ago before earning a living as a writer, I had (mostly) temporary jobs (mostly) working for extremely high-profile Show Biz luminaries.  Why?  I was a great assistant, able to anticipate my employers’ (almost) every need.  And I could be trusted to never divulge to anyone their behind-the-scenes private truths, dirty little secrets, skeletons in the closet, guilty pleasures.  That description is much juicier than anything that went on…most of the time.

Now that the people I worked for are in Hollywood Heaven, their secrets are still safe with me.  Did you just say, “Aww”?  However…did I just get back your attention?  Okay, TMZ, eat your heart out! I will now divulge a few heretofore untold entertainment industry revelations with me as the leading lady. (I never promised I wouldn’t tell on me.)

A New Man in My Life

Every day as director Stanley Kubrick’s assistant on preproduction of his cosmic epic, 2001: A Space Odyssey was an interesting adventure.  One day stands out more than others. Stanley moved to New York’s Upper East Side and converted his Upper West Side apartment into a suite of offices.  Since the rooms were used for him and his production team who were here from England, I didn’t have an office.  I had a desk next to the door inside the apartment.

On this one day, as I was working at my desk, the doorbell rang. (Actually, it chimed.) The door was always kept closed by the lock near the doorknob and by the door chain.  I unlocked the doorknob lock, and keeping the chain in place, I opened the door as much as the chain would allow . . . about four inches . . . enough to see the piercing blue eyes of Paul Newman.  PAUL NEWMAN!

He said, “I’m Paul Newman” (as if he had to tell me) “and I’m here to see Stanley Kubrick.”  (Oh really?  I thought you were here to see me.)  Okay, so letting him in meant I had to close the door in order to slide the chain out of its slot and allow me to open the door so that he could enter.  The question that went through my mind was, what can I do in those chain-sliding seconds to make myself ravishing?  We all know the answer to that…NOTHING!

When he came in, he apologetically said, “I’m a little early for my appointment.”  I told him, “The early bird…” Oh God, why did I say that? “I’ll tell Stanley you’re here.”

While the superstar was meeting with my boss, I wanted to call everyone I ever knew and say, “Paul Newman is here and I’m going to be face to face with him soon.”  Really face-to-face since he was 5’10,” and in those days, I wore high heels to work and was 5’9”-ish.

Truth be told, when Paul (by then, we were on a first-name basis) left, Stanley did not walk him out and I was too in love, I mean, too in awe to say anything. He lifted his hand, as if to say “thanks, gorgeous” and he walked out the door and out of my life.

In my dreams I yell out, “If you ever put your name on salad dressing, I’ll buy it!”

Stanley Kubrick and his team left for England.  I turned down Kubrick’s offer to take me with him as his assistant.  I declined his offer (the best decision I ever made–talk to me in person and I’ll tell you the many reasons why).  Instead, I gratefully stayed on in the Central Park West apartment until the end of 1965, when shooting Odyssey began at Shepperton Studios in Surrey.

Eleanor Perry

Scent of a Woman

Soon after, I became assistant to director Frank Perry, for the filming of Last Summer and Diary of a Mad Housewife.  Frank’s wife, screenwriter Eleanor Perry who wrote the scripts for those films, called on me for minor assisting and during those times, I had the honor of becoming her friend.  She was a kind, thoughtful, generous and a truly wonderful woman.

My office was the size of a small walk-in closet with horrible bright yellow walls. Studies and color experts suggest that bright yellow may cause overstimulation and agitation in babies. Even though I wasn’t a baby, the walls did cause some overstimulating agitation.  On one of those days, Eleanor came by.   

This sweet, lovely person unknowingly assaulted me with her perfume.  I was sure she spilled it on herself.  It was overwhelming.  I thought my head would explode.  And all I could say was, “Oh, your perfume!”  She left soon after, and not a minute too soon.

Two days later, when I showed up for work, on my desk was a small Bergdorf Goodman-wrapped package.  A present from Eleanor.  Yup! A bottle of that stinky perfume.

Billy Friedkin

The Bubbe Blend

And then I was assistant to The French Connection director Billy Friedkin who was in New York City for preproduction of The Exorcist. I was called on to keep Billy company and to attend to his non-film-business needs.  No! I know how that sounds. It was nothing like that.  Here’s a typical example:  One day, Friedkin was feeling a little under the weather and became whiney.  “I need a pick-me-up.  Get me something I can snack on.”

We were housed in an Upper West Side brownstone, down the block from a cigarette/lotto store.  Not much of a snack selection. There were, however, packages of raisins and packages of almonds.  It took me back to my Brooklyn roots, where my grandmother always had a bowl of raisins mixed with almonds.  Anytime anyone was hungry, they’d take a handful, dust them off and eat them. I never questioned the combination because I grew up hearing the Barry Sisters sing the Yiddish lullaby, “Rozhinkes mit Mandlen” (raisins with almonds).

When I got back to the brownstone, I found a soup bowl, dumped the raisins and almonds in it, mixing them together and I gave it to Billy.  It just hit the spot.  Well, yeah, he was Jewish.  Maybe it brought back memories of where he was born.  You know, the old country…Chicago, Illinois.

James Mason and the author

Move Over, Robitussin

This goes back to when I was a teenage apprentice at the Ivoryton Summer Stock Playhouse in Connecticut.  Since my parents couldn’t afford to pay my tuition, I was put on scholarship.  That meant I had to do everything the paying apprentices didn’t know how to do or didn’t want to do.  You know, like clean the bathrooms.

The Playhouse had the star system.  Each week a new star, cast and play arrived, some with costumes that were creased.  And so, I spent a lot of time in the dank cavelike basement pressing clothes on a rickety ironing board.  By the time the cast of Mid-Romance, arrived, along with multi-layered, historical costumes for the period play, I had developed a rather harsh and unattractive bronchial cough.

On Saturday, after the matinee and before the final performance, the star of the play, James (be still my heart) Mason, came down to the dungeon–er–basement to see if I could permanently attach the band on his hat.  While I was making the minor repair, I started a humiliating hacking fit.  Instead of running for cover, James (m’man) Mason told me to meet him at the bar across the street and he’ll get me something for that cough. I did and he did.  He ordered a Hot Toddy–a concoction made up of whiskey, honey and lemon juice for me.  He and the bartender could have been arrested for serving alcohol to a minor. The legal drinking age then was 21 and I was a teenager.  Instead of bringing charges, I followed his instructions and drank it all down.  He then told me to sleep it off and say goodbye to the cough.

We apprentices were staying at a nearby hotel.  The section of the hotel that housed us, was less than ideal.  My room was on a slant. Before passing out, I gave back some of the Hot Toddy which rolled down from the top of the room’s slant to the bottom.  When I woke up the next morning, I had a hangover from hell: a headache, stomach pain, muscle aches, sensitivity to light and severe thirst.  But you know what?  No cough.

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Lydia Hope Wilen began her professional career as a comedy writer on Personality, a celebrity-driven game show.  Her greatest gig was her extremely successful collaboration with her late sister Joany as nonfiction bestselling authors (18 books), which led to the sisters becoming  popular TV personalities. They continued as journalists (NY Daily News Sunday full-page feature, Celebrity Surveys for Cosmopolitan Magazine, cover stories for Parade Magazine) and got the opportunity to write and talent coordinate a Nickelodeon series hosted by Leonard Nimoy. The Wilens had an unusually versatile writing range from Reading Rainbow episodes, to off-color comedy skits for Dr. Ruth Westheimer’s TV show, Sexually Speaking, plus three optioned screenplays. And that's just for starters . . .