© 2014 by Steven Dornbusch

Background

It must have been 1992…I was barely a grip when my not-so-well-established studio-and-equipment-for-hire bosses asked me (their sole some-time employee) to join them in a freebie evening. “It should be good for us…” were the words left on my answering machine. I roll my eyes and say “Sure” to shooting talking heads outside a Century City Oscars party hosted jointly by Swifty Lazar and Diane Ladd (and her poetry organization). The only grip / juicer, I handled 2 little key lights plus a halo. That left me lots of free time to roam (and scarf the buffet). I doubted a party hosted in 1992 by Swifty Lazar (d. 1993) would bring in any big fish. I was right. But also very wrong. The typical couple in attendance were caricatures: a guy with a leased red Ferrari dating a whorish gal with unnatural tits. FOBs, up-and-comers, loudmouth show-off nobodies. The other attendees were talented forgotten stars, long left off every other Oscars party guest list.

Oscar has a Party

Inside, I met a very polite but harried Diane Ladd who, sensing I was crew (i was, just not her crew), relayed some instructions to me. I was a big fan of her ex, Bruce Dern, not to mention their lovely young daughter Laura Dern (neither in attendance). I graciously complied, then went to a desolate balcony area (grips love heights) where an elegant young African-American lady, (voice actress) Iona Morris, was standing along side a bent-over somewhat shrunken man, her Father, Greg Morris, the two looking quietly down on attendees. We three enjoyed lightly dishing on the diners below. All the while, I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that this  prematurely aged man (brain tumor) next to me was the gorgeous stud from Mission Impossible I watched growing up. As I returned to work at the front door, a short-statured elderly African-American man was readied for interview. His eyes sparkled. My cameraman boss lowered his tripod to the height of a spry, still-handsome half of the outrageously talented Nicholas Brothers. I told Fayard Nicholas it only took a few minutes (no Youtube back then) of Swing Era Nicholas Brothers acrobatics to be “totally blown away.” Turns out the highest dancers ever were also the shortest limbed. Go figure! A grinning Fayard shook my hand long and hard. Before anyone cries “Uncle Tom”, check out how Howard and Fayard Nicholas refused studio boss’s insistence they ditch the tux & tails outfits for Swanee River plantation slave garb (It must have cost the Brothers dearly). My bosses didn’t know either Nicholas. Nobody did (except Swifty). Next break (I had a lot of them), I caught the cool breeze by the side door. A finely dressed white-haired women –complete with light-colored fur wrap– sat in a wheelchair, alone, in near darkness. So as not to scare her, I introduced myself to…Peggy Lee! I had just met the only white woman I knew who could sing Blues (other than Janis Joplin). Ms. Lee’s driver / escort had left to park. When he returned, we three chatted a bit before Peggy Lee entered the hall on cue to the DJ’s announcement. Ignoramuses couldn’t he bothered to lower their utensils long enough to provide so much as polite applause. I did what I could with my own applause. It’s one thing not to know Fayard Nicholas, but Peggy Lee? No shortage of yahoos. Though regal in style, Peggy Lee belonged to everyone. Less than three hours after arrival, we packed our gear and returned to our little slice of Hollywood, in Glendale. Neither my bosses’ nor my career benefited from this evening. But what an evening! 

© 2014 by Steven Dornbusch