When asked by a publisher to put together a list of people whom Paul had known in his life, he composed this response. As time goes on, he’ll share vignettes about some of his experiences with these people. (If any of them particularly interests you, say the word and I’ll gladly indulge myself in a little stroll down my own personal Memory Lane. - P.M.)
“As a sixteen-year-old piano student at Morningside Height’s Juilliard School in New York I lived diagonally across Claremont Avenue in the International House, where a young troubadour who lived just around the corner on Riverside Drive and had just begun attracting attention on his weekly fifteen-minute radio program used to come around on Sunday afternoons with what he carefully called his git-tar and entertain anybody in the lobby with the cornerstones of the repertoire that made him famous first as The Wayfaring Stranger and then as Burl Ives.
In the same casual coincidental manner, I have come into personal contact over the decades with a lengthy list of people who either became personal friends before fame had befallen them or after it already had. To cite only one further coincidental example, when I returned to New York three years later as a brand-new nineteen-year-old Bachelor of Music as defined by the University of Texas, a little-known playwright then in California, who went by the antic name Tennessee Williams, did me a generous and important favor, even though he and I would not meet personally until a number of months later.
Over the decades since then, in more or less similar manner, my catalogue of friends, acquaintances, and fleeting but memorable personal contacts has come to include - among others - these:
John Adams, Ernst Joseph Aufricht, Georges Auric;
Joan Baez, Luciano Berio, Leonard Bernstein, Marc Blitzstein, Herbert Blomstedt, Arna Bontemps, Pierre Boulez, Margaret Bourke-White, Paul Bowles, Brassaï, Alfred Brendel, Benjamin Britten, Louise Brooks, Raymond Burr;
John Cage, Robert Capa, Truman Capote, Elliott Carter, Pablo Casals, John Cheever, Van Cliburn, Aaron Copland, Henry Cowell;
Edison Denisov, David Diamond, Hedley Donovan;
John Henry Faulk, Kathleen Ferrier, Jacques Février, Horton Foote, Pierre Fournier, Paula Fox, Götz Friedrich, Christopher Fry;
Muriel Gardiner, Ann and Gordon Getty, Günter Grass, Robert Graves;
Peter Hall, Patricia Highsmith, Chester Himes, Bob Hope;
Eugene Istomin, Charles Ives;
Margo Jones;
William Kapell, Herbert von Karajan, Kiril Kondrashin, Nikita Khrushchov;
John Latouche, Evelyn Lear, Lotte Lenya, Ivy and Tanya Litvinov, Witold Lutoslawski;
Kurt Masur, Zubin Mehta, Yehudi Menuhin, W. S. Merwin, Darius Milhaud, Gjon Mili, Agnes de Mille, Jessica Mitford, Dimitri Mitropoulos;
John Jacob Niles, Luigi Nono;
Flannery O’Connor, Carl Orff;
Dorothy Parker, Peter Pears, Krzysztof Penderecki, George Perle;
Thomas Quasthoff;
Regina Resnik, Sviatoslav Richter, Lynn Riggs, Jerome Robbins, Ned Rorem, Mstislav Rostropovich;
Aksel Schiötz, Ronald Searle, Pete Seeger, Rudolf Serkin, Isaac Stern, Thomas Stewart, Karlheinz Stockhausen, Igor Stravinsky;
Maggie Teyte, Alice B. Toklas;
Carl Van Vechten;
Evelyn Waugh, and Frank Lloyd Wright.”









Where did you get that funny hat?
we like your hat,
Jan and Breda.
What a list of acquaintances! Please do indulge in your recollections of Leonard Bernstein and Dorothy Parker. I could go on. There are so many. But I won’t be greedy. I should tell you I came to your blog via Mike Richter’s site. Thanks.
Garth
Thanks for looking in, Garth. Any pal of Mike Richter’s can count on a cordial welcome here. I could almost write a book about both Lenny and Dorothy (the reasons she liked me included the fact that I never called her Dotty - the nickname that caught on during her years of extravagantly paid travail in Hollywood and which she told me she’d loathed from the very beginning), so if I do rise to your bait I’ll really have to watch myself and keep a governor on. During the 1940s both Lenny (absolutely everybody called him Lenny) and I lived on West 10th Street in Manhattan’s Greenwich Village, he in a 5th-floor walk-up “floor through” at No. 32 in the chic block between 5th and 6th Avenues, I at No. 184 over among the comparative peones west of 7th Avenue. (Felicia Montealegre, eventually Mrs. Bernstein, lived just a few blocks equidistant from both of us down at 69 Washington Place, where we occasionally met over Sunday brunch, more than once playing Mozart four-hand sonatas on her upright while waiting for the scrambled eggs.) Dorothy I met a few years later, between her two equally ill-starred marriages to Alan Campbell. She met me as a 20-something aspiring concert pianist, took a spontaneous shine to me, and gave me an open invitation to drop in for a drink any time I happened to come into the neighborhood of the New Weston Hotel on Madison Avenue at 48th or so, primarily a residential hotel favored by people in radio, the theater, and a new racket just really getting started called television - so understandably I exerted myself to arrange my afternoons to include that neighborhood as often as possible without wearing out my welcome. As I’ve already noted here, I feel a real obligation to set something down about my Dorothy Parker, for every other recollection of her ever to come to my attention has depicted her as pretty much the opposite of the person I had the exceptionally rare good fortune to know. At this particular moment I have other (German-American) fish to fry, but please feel free to nag me should you - or anyone else - feel so inclined, okay?
Nikita Khrushchov?
Might you persuade Paul to elaborate?
(But good grief! With all the fascinating names listed above I can see this easily getting out of hand …)