I was about seven years old when Daddy started to play at Ciro’s Nightclub in West
Hollywood on Sunset Boulevard (1941). On summer afternoons, since school was out, I
would beg to go with him to rehearsals. The nightclubs along what became known as
Sunset Strip—such as Ciro’s, Mocambo, the Trocadero and the Coconut Grove—became
familiar territory to me. Each was frequented by the biggest stars in the movie industry
(e.g., Bette Davis, Arthur Murray, Carole Landis, Jackie Coogan, Joan Crawford, Cesar
Romero, Ginger Rogers, Frank Sinatra and his wife Nancy, Clark Gable and his wife
Carole Lombard, and even Capt. Ronald Reagan and his wife Jane Wyman).
At Ciro’s, which had a stunning Baroque interior with pale green walls draped in
heavy silk and wall booths upholstered in equally heavy silk that was dyed as rose-red as
the ceiling paint, I would watch the Jack Cole dancers perform. All the chairs would be
stacked upside down on the tabletops to enable workers to vacuum the carpet. Daddy
would take me to a table right next to the stage, and I’d munch on a candy bar while
eagerly watching and listening, enthralled by the great sounds and fast, drum-beat
dancing.
Daddy told me, when I was old enough to care, that Ciro’s was absolutely packed
from wall to wall every night with those lucky enough to get a reserved table so they
could listen to famous performers, like Liberace, Sammy Davis, Jr., Peggy Lee, Dean
Martin and Jerry Lewis, and even Sophie Tucker and Maurice Chevalier (whom I can
never forget for his role in Gigi). Daddy also took Mommy and me to the recording
studio to see Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz when they first started their radio show. I sat
with Mommy for the live performance of Kate Smith and Rudy Vallee, too, but I didn’t
know who they were at the time. I only knew it was special because of the smile on
Mommy’s face throughout the performances. I was always told to lie about my age if
anyone asked about it, because young children were not allowed in the studio during live
productions. Since Daddy was short, no one ever questioned my wide-eyed response. I
was, essentially, a chip of the old block. It was critically important to listen quietly, and
to clap politely after each performance. Of course, the adults in charge didn’t know I was
considered a perfect child who knew the meaning of the word “quiet” in the strictest
sense of the word. I would watch with great delight as the sound effects engineer worked
44
A DIVINE ACCIDENT
his magic with a paddle, bell and sticks.
We moved from our first Los Angeles apartment on Romaine Street to a larger one on
Arnaz Drive, also in Los Angeles. This time, my father was earning more money so he
bought the building, and we had an upstairs and a downstairs. Sandra and I still shared a
bedroom. Auntie Martha, Uncle Sol and my cousin Stephen lived in one of the
apartments, as did two other tenants.
As a side note, Arnaz Drive was named after a 19th century landholder, Don Jose de
Arnaz, and not Desi Arnaz, the husband of Lucille Ball. Although many of the almost
50,000 streets in Los Angeles County are named for noteworthy people as a way of
remembering history, these people are,
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