Trouble among ‘Thieves’
When Thieves, the new Broadway-bound play of Herb (A Thousand Clowns) Gardner, ran into heavy weather in its Boston tryout, both the director, Michael Bennett, and the star, Valerie Harper of TV’s Mary Tyler Moore Show, bailed out. In, as director of the drama about marital difficulties, went actor Charles (The Heartbreak Kid) Grodin. The new leading lady, chosen, according to the official word, “because she was familiar with the play and liked it,” was Mario Thomas, star of TV’s old That Girl and new Free to Be…You and Me—and Herb Gardner’s longtime ladylove.
Noms de Plume
He was an adventurer, Everest climber, foreign correspondent, best-selling historian, devoted husband and father of five. This spring the versatile writer will have the unique experience of being published twice, simultaneously: as James Morris, author of the reissued Venice, and as Jan Morris, newly liberated authoress of Conundrum, in which is told, with stylish restraint, the harrowing, poignant personal experience of transsexualism, or turning from a man into a woman. “Ms…. just the thing for the likes of me,” Morris, 48, sums up cheerfully in an affecting volume which will surely outsell Venice and, very likely, most every other book off the presses this year.
Hold That Tiger
Director Sam Peckinpah (p. 35) wasn’t the only guest guilty of indiscretions at the James Cagney tribute in Hollywood. Jack Lemmon reeled to a mike for some endless remarks and was advised by a heckler (Peckinpah himself) to “get the hell off the stage and shut up.” After finally lurching back to his table, Lemmon was doused with a drink by his disgusted wife, Felicia Farr, and wound up with his throbbing head cradled by producer Richard Quine. The breach of decorum by Lemmon, up for an Oscar for Save the Tiger, was not lost on the banquet hall full of gasping Academy members.
A Tale of Two Sisters
“Lee’s the talented one in the family,” Jacqueline Onassis has always maintained of her younger sister, Lee Radziwill, 41. Like Jackie, Lee, too, has had a star-crossed life. Now separated from her second husband, Polish Prince Stanislas Radziwill, she makes her home in Manhattan, he in London. They still share custody of their two children, but little else. Lee has tried acting (Laura—panned), preparing a TV commentary on her childhood (shelved) and writing a brief remembrance of things past for Ladies’ Home Journal (bland). Now she has landed a reputed $250,000 to write a book-length memoir. “I won’t talk much about my sister,” Lee notes, however. “After all, she’s so much older than I [four years], and we have lived very different lives.”
When the sons of Chicago’s Mayor Richard Daley, William Daley, 25, and John Patrick Daley, 27, took their state insurance license exams, the former answered 55% of the questions correctly and the latter only 35%. Yet they were officially given passing scores, which entitled John to write a $2.9 million policy covering city facilities and O’Hare International Airport. When queried about the situation Mayor Daley told the press, “If I’m going to be condemned for helping my kids, they can kiss my ass.” Illinois Governor Dan Walker, responding to His Honor’s yowls of “a plot,” dryly said, “As a father of seven I am very concerned about Mayor Daley. I respect him as a father; however, I have a duty to the people.” While the governor awaits a grand jury finding, it has been suggested that the two Daley boys take the exam again.
On the surface, that dynamic duo of Washington Post investigative reporters, Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, seem to be as snug as two bugs in a telephone as they wind up their forthcoming Watergate book, All the President’s Men. Their publisher, Simon & Schuster, has already peddled movie rights for $450,000 to Robert Redford (who intends to play the role of Woodward), and a lucrative Book-of-the-Month Club selection is also assured. But money isn’t love, and in fact, Woodward is at sword’s point with his partner, claiming that Bernstein is making unilateral changes in the manuscript and alienating their New York publishers. Could it be that “Woodstein,” as Washington wags call the pair, will wither away like Batman & Robin?