I Chased Her for Three Years Until She Caught Me – And Speedway to Sunshine Was Published in 1984
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By Seth H. Bramson
As we noted in my last column, I met the truly great love of my life in 1973, while I was managing Lloyd’s of the Maison Grande, unquestionably and absolutely the most magnificent restaurant this town, even with all the nouveau dreck and Americanized continental phony Italian places opening, has ever seen. From there the late, great Lloyd Apple and I took over Bernard’s in the Carriage House and then I went to Decorator’s Row to become manager of the so-beloved Piccadilly Hearth. From there I went to New York to become GM of the famous New York Gaslight Club. All of that time, of course, the collecting continued unabated as did the chasing of a stunningly beautiful woman.
I know that our readers have seen (or at least heard of) gorgeous blondes walking into restaurants or clubs with every male eye in the place turning and staring at them. It wasn’t that way with Myrna. Not exactly. We would walk into a dining spot but no one would turn to look….until we were seated. And then, slowly but surely, as if drawn by a magnet, every male eye in the place would turn to stare.
No flash, no blonde hair overwhelming the rest of the picture. Indeed, that wasn’t it. What “it” was was that this stunningly elegant beauty, was so gloriously beautiful and so incredibly vivacious that I would sit there and smile as every male in the place from eight to 80 could not seem to take their eyes off of her and here I was, thinking to myself how fortunate I was to be with Myrna. She had been married twice before and on several occasions during our three years together pre-marriage I brought up the idea of permanency, but she would say to me, “no, everything is fine…let’s leave it as it is.” Having no choice, I did!
In March of ’76, with my Mom about to enter Mt. Sinai Hospital for her last days fighting the lung cancer which would kill her on March 20th, I had to leave to take the New York job. And what did Myrna do? She went down to Mt. Sinai twice a day until Mom passed. What an exquisite woman.
We had direct dial at that time but no cell phones so we had to pay for every call, hence only spoke every other day or so. Myrna and I wanted to be together so when she finished school in early June she and my then-stepdaughter-to-be now daughter, Saralyn, came up to spend the summer. Of course, they stayed with me in my efficiency at 101 West 57th Street and Myrna took Sara all over the city. I went to work every day except Sundays and holidays, walking the four and a half blocks to the Gaslight Club, which was at 124 E. 56th Street. And it was on those walks that I became cordial (to greet) Woody Allen and Joe DiMaggio on a daily basis.
For those of you who are not aware (as usual, another story for another time) the idea and concept of the Playboy Club came from the Gaslight Club (there were Gaslight Clubs in New York, Chicago, Chicago O’hare Airport in the Airport Hilton and Washington, D. C.) and besides the marvelous atmosphere and the wonderful “Speakeasy,” the main attraction was the Gaslight Girls, all beautiful and talented women, many of whom, including Gwen Verdon, would go on to the movies and Broadway. When I was interviewed for the job, two signs made me realize and recognize that that club was the place for me and that the GM’s job was the perfect job for me at the time.
The sign over the bar in the Theodora Room read “Work is the Curse of the Drinking Classes” while the sign in the men’s room on that floor was possibly the greatest that I have ever seen. The urinal in that bathroom was actually an old (and quite large) cast iron bathtub which was kept filled with ice. The sign over the bathtub/urinal (yes, it did drain into a pipe!) read “These Ice Cubes are Hardly Ever Used in Our Drinks!” Oh lordy, the first time I saw that sign I was convulsed with laughter and I knew then and there that I had to have that job!
Myrna and Sara were with me all summer and when Myrna would come to the Club to join me for lunch or dinner, the Gaslight Girls would not only make a fuss over her but would tell her that she was so beautiful that she should become a Gaslight Girl. (It was several years later, when we were married and I was running Playboy Club Miami, that the Bunnies would do the same thing, asking Myrna why she wasn’t a Bunny!) At any rate, at the end of the summer of ’76, Myrna and Sara headed back to Miami with Myrna going over to Tampa to accept a fellowship sponsored by Sears at the University of South Florida titled “There is no such thing as a free Lunch.”
By that time mid-September had rolled around and although I didn’t yet know it, my life was going to change abruptly very shortly. As noted, we spoke every other day or so and on that fateful September day, Myrna called me and I will share the conversation with you, knowing how excited you are becoming and how anxious you are to hear “the rest of the story.”
I answered the phone with my usual “Fine, and you?” and what I heard from the other end of the phone was Myrna’s voice not saying “hello” or asking me how I was that day, but, instead, stating matter of factly “I’ve decided.” “You’ve decided what?” I queried her. “I’ve decided we’re getting married.” Well, folks, you can imagine! I was 32 years old at the time and suddenly the unthinkable was staring me in the face. I began to realize that the jig might be up, so I started back pedaling, trying to buy time. (After all, here I was, a bachelor in the Big Apple, going to antique and memorabilia shows almost every weekend, going to the Sixth Avenue [at 26th Street] antique show every Sunday, visiting my friend, the late Herbie, regularly at the Carnegie, and, really having the time of my life). “Look,” I said, “whenever I’ve brought it up in the past you’ve told me that we should just let things be, so let’s do this (remember, this was September of ’76): let’s think about it carefully and we’ll talk about it again in February.” The answer was short and succinct: “If you don’t want to marry me, then don’t call me the next time you’re in Miami Beach.”
Now folks, do you think any woman is going to talk to ME that way? Are you kidding me?!! Do you know what I said to her? I said, “What day do you want to get married on?” and that, dear readers, was how I found out that I was getting married!
Next column, a great friendship with Henny Youngman and Alan King develops and Myrna and Seth tie the knot on November 27th, 1976, almost three years to the day after we met for the first time and I think it is important, given the situation regarding a certain lowlife in Washington, D. C., to add this: Married for almost 42 years, it hasn’t always been easy, but I will tell you one thing: Unlike that philandering putz in the White House, we have never taken away each other’s dignity. And we never will.
Be—and stay—well, all, and to our readers of the Jewish faith, have a very happy and safe New Year, l’shanah tovah.
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