Come Jan. 3, 1982, violinist Robert Mann will break ranks with the Juilliard String Quartet to perform in a trio in the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art’s prestigious Sonata Series. His accompanist on piano? Dudley (“10”) Moore, keyboard-trained at Oxford before lapsing into comedy. The two met in London in the early ’60s, and, reports Mann, “We’ve been playing chamber music together for years. We finally decided to come out of the closet.” Since Dudley’s finished chasing Bo, the audience for the recital will not be subjected to Bolero.
Few prospects make a publisher drool more—or open his checkbook wider—than another celebrity tell-all; witness the cash registers jangled by such disparate authors as Shelley Winters, Susan Strasberg and Britt Ekland. Small wonder, then, that when it became known that Glenn Ford and a ghostwriter were collaborating on his autobiography, one house bid a reported $500,000. Provided, of course, that Ford, 65, would dish up lowlights from his 35-year Hollywood career, especially muck on such pals as Sinatra, Garland and Hayworth. “If I can’t say nice things about my own friends,” fumes Ford, “I’m not about to say anything.” He might just have to stay mum. Interest seems to be waning, which is causing the actor to consider giving up the writerly life.
Can it really be almost nine years since the Plumbers were nabbed in the Watergate complex? Well, now that the nation again has a Republican President in a forgiving mood (Reagan recently pardoned two Nixon-era FBI biggies convicted for their excessive zeal), the Watergaters are expected to queue up to have their own records expunged. Lawyers for the felons plan to bring all the President’s men forward in the order of palatability—first Egil Krogh, now practicing law in Seattle; then Jeb Magruder, a divinity student in Princeton; and finally perhaps John Dean, a writer and lecturer-at-large. After that, the going gets tougher. Ironically, the White House counsel who will recommend—or not recommend—the pardons to Reagan is one who well knows the cast of characters: back in the early ’70s, Fred Fielding was assistant to John Dean.
A Shlockwork Orange
Until 1978 he was the obscenity-spewing leader of the infamous Sex Pistols. Now rocker Johnny Rotten is living in London, gigging with the slightly less threatening group Public Image Ltd. under his real name, John Lydon. But he still dyes his punk cut orange, so people still “react with shock and horror.” Because of the color? “No,” says Johnny, 25, “I think they’re surprised I’m still alive.”
•One of the priciest items at a recent auction fund raiser for the Detroit Symphony was a dinner with conductor Antal Dorati that fetched more than $1,000. The high bidder: punk rocker Patti Smith, who donned a white linen dress—a dramatic switch from her usual skintight jeans—for the meal at the ritzy Renaissance Club.
•New York Gov. Hugh Carey seems devoted to his new wife, Evangeline (Engie) Gouletas, despite her post-wedding revelation that she had been previously married thrice—once more than he had been led to believe. The tangled marital situation has given Washington wits a chance to dream up a bumptious bumper sticker: HONK IF YOU’VE EVER MARRIED ENGIE.
•Now that her husband’s weighed anchor, Betsy Cronkite jests, “Errol Flynn died on a 70-foot boat with a 17-year-old girl. Walter has always wanted to go that way, but he’s going to have to settle for a 17-footer with a 70-year-old.”