Jackie O Kid Sister Treads The Boards In The Footsteps Of Kate Hepburn
Chicago Sun TimesJune 22, 1967
On the catwalk in start of the Ivanhoe Theatre, the watchers were watching the watchers watched. Current were six television cameras and the lights and announcers to operate to them, a couple of dozen book compel, and a large flatten of childish person girls and convergence ladies. Current were no standardize lines to record these people into the professionally and the virtuously bizarre, and so they seeped back and forth straight each far afield like the up to date, first the cameramen and next the convergence ladies being thrown up upon the hold back.
According to a photographer's count of the celebrities, Marshall Korshak had arrived in a Ashen Cab and that was that so far. But the watch continued.
"Not a sign of Mayor Daley," a lady thought bitterly. "You would think for once in his life he may possibly show up on time."
"He ain't coming, lady," thought a cop.
"He's coming with Gov. Kerner," the lady answered emotionally. "To the same extent do you mean he isn't coming?"
"I think you mean the ballgame, lady," thought the cop.
A Cadillac limousine pulled up to the hold back and a boyish grin climbed out. "It's Stanley Paul!" thought a photographer. "See you later, Stanley."
"Who is Stanley Paul?" thought the cop.
Now it was the lady's turn. "Don't you let the cat out of the bag go, you stupe?" she thought. "He leads the band at the Hypodermic Rank."
"Scrutinize your language, lady," thought the cop.
But the lady wasn't listening, being an big old Rolls-Royce was pulling up to the hold back with a thrust in a Soil War I habitual.
"It's the Wrigleys!" thought all of the society people and Cubs fans. The TV cameramen jostled each far afield to get in start of the childish person girls, and the announcers thought, "Gallant sunset, Mrs. Wrigley," but Mrs. Wrigley did not say at all. She smiled as if to end that the negligible you may possibly do was smirk, and next she went inside with the far afield Wrigleys being she, at negligible, did not show to stand on the hold back and dally for the Wrigleys to alight.
The watchers turned back to the hold back with a sigh. Now came a glittery Pontiac, or perhaps a Buick, and dropped off a young man with a fuzz and a good-looking woman.
"That's the artist who did the paintings in the display," thought the man from Newsweek.
"Don't put me on," thought the chronicler. "You let the cat out of the bag who that is? That's good old Bobby Shaw, who tends the bar at the Bulls."
Reality to tell, he was apiece the artist and the bartender, but no one view that out being just next it became translucent from the hold back that existing was a imposing uproar taking place in the display. All the TV lights were on and the strobe flicker units were flashing and whatever thing was leaving on, but what?
"Gallant member of the aristocracy, inside we are out in the street," an newscaster moaned. "Who's in the lobby?"
Each was cut off on the hold back, cut off from the display by perhaps a hundred childish person girls. Somebody jumped into the air to see.
"It's only Virginia Kay," he thought.
But if you short of straight the swarm and into the display, you may possibly see that existing was qualities excessively existing, too, a small nature, rationally trying to cover up himself -- Truman! By some means Truman Capote had gotten support of Virginia Kay's consumed dig, and perhaps he had started to talk to her or whatever thing, but what he was function now was using her as a human security against the wall of television cameras emotive toward him, a source of revenue loss to the press. He was about 4 feet 11 inches tall, and in his gold-rimmed glasses, you may possibly laid up see him.
"Realize to Chicago," a television chronicler thought brightly.
"Thank you," thought Truman Capote, and for the instant that was all he thought. His state sounded like a tape record of a shortwave distribute of Wooded Allen profession for help.
Pure men in tuxedos walked straight the display announcing that the performance was to begin in three proceedings, and anyone gave up waiting on your own and went inside to dally, except the lady and the cop.
"The mayor is incessantly the happen to come," she explained. "To the same extent was I just telling you?"
"Maybe he's previous to inside," thought the cop. "You ever think of that?"
Appearing in, the house lights dimmed, rallied, sun-bleached, and Princess Lee Bouvier Radziwill, Jacqueline Kennedy's sister, walked rapidly down the catwalk and onto the stage in the median of the room. This was her stage introduction, in "The Philadelphia Information." Current was a doughty of give enthusiastic approval to. A few lines of throwaway communication so the ladies in the audience may possibly tangent to each far afield about her put on, her facade, her curls. And next go happened for a wet behind the ears act, except the play, so anyone may possibly break into. But at 9:37 p.m. healthy the first act was over, and anyone went out into the display to show complementary go at seeing anyone excessively.
"She has a very absolutely facade," thought Mrs. Betty Hallbert of Winnetka. "Too far-off curls, but a very absolutely facade. Did you ever see such a hairdo? Everyone in the ladies' room is talking about it, let me tell you."
"I think she's function fighting fit for an opener," thought Jerome S. Weiss, who is on the authority of governors of Sarah Siddons. "We had trouble hearing her at first, but not in the past she warmed up. Typically, she was a inconsequential nervous to begin with."
"Ability, good, beautiful," thought Les and Anticipate Miller of Chicago. He is a landscaper. "Level her curls."
Mighty straight the swarm without far-off detect being industrious, Prince Stanislaw (Accumulation) Radziwill parched on a cigarette in a get up and kept back freezing.
"How's she function, Prince?" thought a chronicler.
"I think they're function very well, don't you?" he thought.
"A young Katharine Hepburn, that's what she is," breathed a lady in a fair gown.
"Do you think so?" he thought.
"How did whatever thing go today?" thought complementary lady.
"Now was not so bad," the prince thought. "Now was better than yesterday."
"To the same extent about yesterday?" the lady was saying, but the prince was staring at a member of the Ivanhoe club who was moral in a Beefeater habitual.
"To the same extent is that?" he asked, pointing his cigarette get up.
"That's a Beefeater," the lady thought. "They show them inside, too, you let the cat out of the bag. Ha ha. Shoulder you looked utter at all the individualistic rooms they show inside, Your Highness?"
"No," thought the prince, "I show not yet had the elation."
Finished the in the same way as act, a stir went utter the room. Mister Kenneth, the New York society hairdresser who came to do Lee Radziwill's curls, had stood by the stage entry all straight the first act in a bleak top.
For the second act, he had changed to silvery.
To the same extent the play was over, everyone clustered utter Truman Capote in the display to ascertain what had happened.
"I contemplation she was great, just great," Capote confided. "In words of one syllable find again that this inconsequential girl has never been on a stage ahead in her life. Wasn't she terrific? She's a great and self-sacrificing woman."
Later it was time to go put away for the press conference. Capote led the way down the stair, trailed by the Newsweek man, who thought, "I'm John Culhane from Newsweek."
"Oh, yes," thought Capote. "You were out in Kansas, right? Al and Marie liked you a lot. They were telling me about you."
"Al and Marie are people in his book," one press representative held to complementary press representative.
"Al and Marie who?" thought the second press representative.
"You let the cat out of the bag," thought the first press representative, "good old Al and Marie."Capote arrived at the vile of the stair and began to mosey into the lighted subject, where John Ericson, Princess Radziwill's co-star, was being interviewed by the television compel.
"You asked me how it was acting with Lee Bouvier?" Ericson thought. "I can only say, as they say in Spain, she was a great bull."
Capote was stationary by a disorder relations man, who held, "We're function John first, and next bringing out Lee."
"Decent, of series, of series," Capote thought. "This is their night."
He leaned against Princess Radziwill's binding room entry and knocked, shave-and-a-haircut. It opened, and the prince ushered him in. It impenetrable. A legend ran instantaneously down the stairs: Debbie Reynolds, in town for the premiere of "Split up, American Give somebody no option but to," had arrived at the arena. She was her way down the stair, or whatever thing. To the same extent have to she do?
Princess Radziwill came of the binding room, posed for still photographs, unseen everyone who called her "Lee" or "Princess," and thought, in response to questions from community addressing her as Misplace Bouvier, "I enjoyed for myself very much. I don't let the cat out of the bag how the audience felt. I didn't prefer Chicago. Chicago chose me. Of series I was nervous, but that's natural, isn't it? It may possibly show been a better performance in the past supervisor follow, but on the wet behind the ears, I was pleased."
She went back into her binding room. On the stair, existing was still no sign of Debbie Reynolds. The television lights went out, and anyone went back upstairs, and existing was Misplace Reynolds, signing autographs in the display. At her side was Sydney Guilaroff, hairdresser to Elizabeth Taylor, Shirley MacLaine and Misplace Reynolds, who had flown in from Londonto do Debbie's curls.
As Misplace Reynolds and Guilaroff stirred toward the room where the cast party was to be absorbed, Guilaroff view himself facade to facade with Mister Kenneth. The two hairdressers did double takes, smiled, shook hands, traded slaps on the back, and Guilaroff thought, "Decent, you really get utter, don't you, you old devil? Heh, heh."
"Yep," thought Mister Kenneth.
Misplace Reynolds stirred toward the cast party room, view the corridor blocked, and sank into a run.
"Shoulder you ever seen so many cameras in your life?" she thought. "This beats the opening of 'A Accepted of a Natives."
In the room where the cast party was being absorbed, people powdered in abandoned stupefaction, holding meatballs aloft on toothpicks. Nonstop them all marched Prince Radziwill, positively as a battleship, his cigarette get up suburb the way.
"Let's find Lee," he thought. "Everyplace is she?"
"How did whatever thing go today?" a lady asked him.
"Now was not so bad," the prince thought. "Now was better than yesterday."
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'Princess Lee Radziwill has an near, smoky behold with Farley Granger in the TV presentation ofLaura which was filmed in London. Sister of Mrs. Jacqueline Kennedy, the Princess will be making her television introduction with her maiden name, Lee Bouvier.'
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