Dean and Me_ A Love Story - Jerry Lewis [96]
I shook his hand, as any gentleman would. “All the way from New York and so early!” I said. “How can I help you?”
He looked a little embarrassed. “Well, first I need you to know I don’t like having to do this,” he told me. “I mean, you’ve given me and my family years of laughs and great times, so this isn’t exactly how I imagined I would meet up with you.”
It was evident he was struggling, and I tried to make him comfortable: “Won’t you come in?” I asked.
“No, no. I’d rather stay right here and say what I gotta say and go.”
I found this strange, but I chose to see how it played out. “Okay, shoot,” I said.
Bad choice of words!
Bobby cleared his throat. “Jerry, Julie Podell of the Copacabana Club said he wants you to know that he expects you to free up your schedule and play the Copa for him no later than September 21—the first day of autumn, next month.”
I hadn’t expected this. “Wait a minute,” I began.
The man drew himself up and looked me in the eye. “No, you wait a minute,” he said. “Podell says you will play the Copa or he will disrupt this nice family you have, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?” He cleared his throat again. “Those were his words. I’m just the messenger.”
I was stunned. “He said what?”
“Jerry, don’t make me repeat it. You heard what I said. Now, have your people call Julie and get it resolved.” And he slapped his palms together like someone rubbing off dirt.
My mouth was hanging open. I was staggered—and furious. “I hear you” was all I could say.
Without another word, Bobby nodded, stepped off the front porch, and got into a waiting limo. The big black car pulled through my gate and vanished into the quiet streets of Bel Air.
As I closed the door, I thought, Okay—now’s the time. I’ve heard for a decade: Anytime we can do something for you, will you please let us know? So I did.
I called Chicago. More specifically, I called Tony Accardo, who had been the boss of bosses in the Windy City ever since Al Capone had gone away for good. As a young man, Tony had earned the nickname “Joe Batters” for his skill with a baseball bat, and let’s just say there were no baseballs involved. Reputation aside, I knew him as a kindly, quiet (but still imposing) man who lived in the most enormous mansion I had ever seen, complete with indoor pool, not one but two bowling alleys, elevators, pipe organ, and gold-plated bathroom fixtures. Dean and I once visited him there in the early fifties, because Mr. Accardo wanted his son and daughter to meet us (it was an invitation we couldn’t refuse), and he’d had a warm spot for both of us ever since.
“It’s good to hear from you, Jerry,” Tony said after I mentioned my recent visitor. “I’m sorry it had to be this way.” He then asked me to tell him exactly what the messenger had said. That was easy: I remembered it word for word. Mr. Accardo was silent for a couple of seconds. Then he said, “Forget about it!”
“But according to Podell—”
Joe Batters repeated what he’d just said, only more firmly: “Forget about it! Now, get on with your life!”
I thanked him sincerely and hung up—but couldn’t help still feeling uneasy about the whole thing... until a couple of days later, when I got a call from a very connected friend in Chicago.
“Hey, long time, buddy,” I said.
“Yeah, long time. Listen—I was told to touch base with you and let you know that the little problem in New York is solved, and you should have a good rest at home with your lovely family.”
“Thank you,” I said. “And please extend my thanks to The Man.”
He said he would, and that was that.
P.S.: I never played the Copa without my partner!
Back in July, as things were winding to a close with us, Dean turned down the lead in Warner Brothers’ movie version of The Pajama Game. We didn’t speak about it—we weren’t speaking about anything at the time—but here’s what I believe was on his (and MCA’s) mind: Warner’s was offering him a big role opposite a big star, Doris Day, and I think Dean was tired of