Brogan: 'Meeting Doris!'

As the days stretch on into weeks and ultimately into months, we are all striving to find ways in which to keep ourselves occupied and busy. It's a wonderful time for new starts or for working on skills and talents that we might have allowed to gather dust over the years.

I am keeping busy by writing two new books, my murder mystery set inside White's Park during the beloved Peanut Carnival of 1962. Entitled, The Park, it will be a mix of nostalgia, humor and genuine terror.

My other project is a real labor of love. It's a story about the life and career of the legendary Doris Day entitled, More Than Freckles: The Amazing Life and Career of Doris Day.

It's not a gossipy or tell-all story. It's the story of a woman who became a superstar in multiple mediums, while never losing herself in the process. It is also the story of a lifetime of devotion to animals and how she spent decades working on their behalf. Along the way, she befriended a youngster from Concord, New Hampshire, first as a pen pal and later as a friend. For some reason, we hit it off and she contributed a great deal to my eventually understanding what life priorities should be.

The other day marked the one year anniversary since Doris Day's passing at the age of 97, last May. It therefore seems like the right time to recall our first meeting in June of 1973, after years of warm and funny letters and several surprise gifts.

In recalling that lovely Sunday in Beverly Hills, I found that I'd never told it better than when I wrote about it nearly ten years ago as part of my first book, Was That a Name I Dropped?

"Throughout the entire week there was always in my mind the knowledge that on Sunday I was going to finally meet Doris Day. I tried not to dwell on it too much feeling that I might jinx it but it always crept into my mind right before I went to sleep at night. It was a lot nicer than trying to keep a Night Terror at bay.

During the week I’d had several phone conversations with Mary Anne, Doris’ secretary as we made plans to get together on the day after the banquet.

Rather than attempt to navigate the bus lines of Los Angeles I decided to take a cab to Beverly Hills to meet Doris. It was a half hour trip and I chatted easily with the driver although I refrained from screaming out what I wanted to say, “I’m going to meet Doris Day!”

Dale had driven us through Beverly Hills several days earlier as we visited the home in Bel Air once owned by Jeanette and Gene Raymond. I had spotted Crescent Drive, the street Doris lived on as we had passed the Beverly Hills Hotel on Sunset.

The cab pulled up to the front of a home I instantly recognized from stories that had appeared in movie magazines. It was decidedly unpretentious by any standard but especially for Beverly Hills.

A single floor house, it might have looked more at home sitting in one of the neighborhoods someplace in New Hampshire. Except for the gate surrounding it, there was nothing to indicate that the person living there might be someone famous.

I paid the cabbie twenty-five dollars, telling him to keep the change and as I approached the gate suddenly lost my land legs and thought I was about to faint.

I hesitated for just a moment and then looked around me wanting to remember every single detail of this moment. I approached the buzzer which was mounted on the brick supporting the gate and pressed the button.

“Hello”, chirped a voice that was instantly recognizable.

“Hi. This is Paul Brogan and I’m here to see Miss Day”, I said clearly in a voice only slightly shaky and not wanting to let on that I knew it was her.

“Paul, how wonderful that you’re here. I’ll open the gate. Why don’t you come on up the walkway, please.”

As if by magic the gate swung open and I felt like Dorothy on the Yellow Brick Road heading to Oz.

I was only halfway up the walk when the front door burst open and out stepped Doris Day looking like a stray ray of sunshine that had suddenly shown itself.

I picked up my pace and she started toward me meeting me several feet from the front door and wrapping her arms around me.

“It is so super to finally meet you after all of these years.”

She looked amazing. At 51 she looked less than 30, her smooth and unlined face barely made-up, her hair perched on top of her head and her drop dead figure encased in light blue pants, a yellow jersey and a blue sweater than emphasized that she was indeed a woman.

For years the naysayers had made comments about Doris Day being filmed through linoleum or Vaseline or gauze and that in person she must look really bad. I had even prepared myself for the reality that she might not look as good as she did on television. She looked better.

She invited me to come into the house where I finally met Mary Anne who was more than a secretary. Mary Anne helped with the dogs, played chauffeur, ran errands, helped Katie the housekeeper and loved everything she did, which was instantly apparent.

Inside, the house was just as down to earth as the roles Doris often played in films. There was not an award or Gold Record in sight and the entire living room area looked out toward a beautiful swimming pool with water shimmering in the warm California sun.

We sat and talked for what seemed like hours but was probably closer to forty-five minutes.

Initially I gushed about her films and television shows and told her, “I’ve seen ‘With Six You Get Eggroll’ fifty-four times you know” to which she responded in a deadpan manner that I recognized from one of her films, “And you didn’t get diabetes?”

She was genuinely interested in my life in New Hampshire and recalled in detail having visited Concord, New Hampshire in 1958 while on her way with her husband Marty to film a comedy in Maine. The same Bob Stuart who directed me in high school plays had waited on Doris and Marty when they stopped for an ice cream at the Concord Dairy Bar.

Doris also had a longtime friend, Betty Abbott, who lived in Concord and was good friends with my folks. Doris and Betty had been on the radio together in Cincinnati back in the 40’s.

“I am famished”, Doris announced with the seriousness of a President issuing a Declaration of War. “How about going down to Nate N’ Als for a bite?”

My Jewish roots manifested itself at the sound of a real deli, something Concord did not have. I knew the reputation of Nate N’ Al’s from newspaper and magazine stories. I also knew that it was a popular hangout for Doris.

Doris decided to ride her bike to the restaurant, which was about ten minutes away while Mary Anne and I hopped in her car and talked a mile a minute as we drove to Beverly Drive. By the time we arrived I felt as though Mary Anne and I had been friends forever.

Nate N’ Al’s has a well-deserved reputation after providing exceptional food for over sixty years, since the mid 1940’s. The restaurant is not fancy but what they serve up from the kitchen is mouth watering.

The staff at the restaurant treat everyone as though they’re a longtime friend. There is no formality at all and once they really get to know you, they’ll seat you in the same place each time you come to dine as well as making sure that the same person serves you.

In 1990 I was having dinner there when Zsa Zsa Gabor and her husband walked through the door.

The hostess addressed them as “honey” and sweetie”, took them to their favorite booth and without any ado, plunked a plate of pickles and sauerkraut in front of them. Dressed in a stunning coat over a top with a plunging neckline and with jewels glittering from several locations, Zsa Zsa laughed with childlike delight.

When Doris strode into the restaurant the tourists immediately stopped eating in mid bite while the regulars who were used to seeing her there merely nodded greetings or smiled at the radiant woman in their presence.

We sat at Doris’ regular booth and for three hours, with multiple interruptions, talked about every subject under the sun.

Doris convinced me to try the Pastrami New Yorker which was a taste-tempting treat. In the hundreds of times that I have visited the restaurant since, I have always ordered the Pastrami New Yorker and it has never disappointed.

Whenever we were interrupted by someone seeking an autograph or wishing a photo, Doris was beyond gracious, asking the person their name in order to personalize the autograph and showing genuine gratitude and appreciation for the compliments she received.

After finishing our meal and heading back to the house Doris enthusiastically remarked “Paul, please come back again, anytime. It’s been such a joy to meet you and I hope we get to spend more time together.”

I asked Mary Anne whether or not she meant it and Mary Anne informed me that “Clara”, a nickname Mary Anne and others used for Doris, doesn’t say anything she doesn’t mean.

I called a taxi but could just as well have floated back to the Bryson so blissfully happy was I."