Mel Brooks

I have been busy with life's other surprises, none involving my health. Except for the boring routine of dropping three different solutions into my left eye four times a day, it's all quickly done and no doubt necessary. My vision is so much improved that I've questioned whether my cable provider magically switched to hi-def transmission at the precise moment of the surgery. I wish you could see the Red Sox games on our hefty RCA floor model color tv. My husband's father purchased this highly collectible item in 1954, in the days when they built 'em to last.

I was going to tell you about several fun-filled meetings with Mel Brooks which occurred in the earliest days of my life in Greenwich Village. In 1958, I lived in a one-room basement apartment in a building which still exists. I know: I paid a brief nostalgia call to the address recently.

My neighbor, Charles Morgan Harris, a darling, starving illustrator, lived in an identical cramped unit beside mine. We learned quickly that we shared a love of jazz and our friendship lasted until his untimely death five years ago. Our small building contained six other tiny apartments, one of them the second-floor residence of an elderly, very patient lady named Mrs. Eleanor Biddlecomb. Perfect! Lacy, genteel, herself a cat lover.

Our digs faced an indoor courtyard, an area which softened street noises and provided my cat the opportunity to pay a Curiosity Call on neighbors who left windows open. The building which fronts West 15th Street also housed a woman who provided secretarial services. One of her clients was Mel Brooks.

On a balmy spring night, Charles and I were sitting in the couryard sipping our favorite beverages with Miles Davis sounds in the background. We recognized MB as he approached and pulled up a chair. Mr. Brooks was not as well-known as he is today, and should it be possible you know not of his accomplishments, please go here


Before long, Mel had us reeling with his jokes and hilarious takes on people and life in general. He was soon scheduled to appear on The Late Show Starring Johnny Carson, and he couldn't resist rehearsing his schtick for us: He would sit in the Number One Guest Chair and after a few minutes, Johnny would mention, feigning naive curiosity: "You like to sing, don't you Mel?" To which Mel would reply: "Well, yes ... and if I may ... I'd like to ... may I?" "Of course, please do", responds JC.

Mel: (To Skitch (Henderson, band leader): I'll sing "I've Got You Under My Skin" if that's okay ... just give me an arpeggio in C ... "

Mel begins to sing, and gets as far as " ... so deep in my heart, you're really a part of me", suddenly breaking off. "No, sorry Skitch, that key's too low ... could you take it up a half-step." Skitch complies. Mel stops in the same place. "Sorry, it's still a little too low ... another half-step please?" Mel stops at the same place again, and this time he's standing, presumably to make it easier to reach the low notes. The back-and-forth continues, taking Mel progressively into higher musical range. He's now standing ON the chair. Still no luck. Finally, Mel is standing on Johnny's desk, audience is screaming and JC looks appropriately bemused. Charles and I are now hysterical, holding our sides and gasping for air.

Before he left us, we asked about future projects. "Well, I can tell you now that I will one day produce a Broadway show called "Springtime For Hitler". We explode into tear-producing laughter: "Oh Mel! STOP ... we can't take it any more!

P.S. Please take special note next time you see it: In Mel's film "The Producers", there is a scene in which CPA Leo Bloom is carefully entering the names and amounts little old ladies have contributed to Max Bialystock's forthcoming project. One of the checks is signed "Mrs. Eleanor Biddlecomb".