Radio-TV mirror (July-Dec 1954)

Record Details:

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.. If I Knew You Were There" {Continued from page 37) Reaching their apartment house at 7:30 P.M., he phoned from the lobby. Ruth had told him she would come right down when he called. Unexpectedly, she changed this to: "You'll have to come up. I'm not quite ready." At their floor, Vicki dashed out ahead. As he entered the foyer, she called, "Oh, Daddy, come here quick. There's the funniest thing on television!" Roundine the corner, Berle saw — not "the funniest thing on television" — but some of its funniest men, all shouting "Surprise!" and "Happy Birthday!" What's more, they were playing it straight. That group of comedians who cus*o~narily match wits and practical jokes at Lindy's had showed up without a single gag gift. Instead, through their presence and presents, they were letting Milton know they regarded him as a nice guy and a good friend. Jan Murray gave him pajamas; Jack Carter, sports shirts; Jack Leonard, cuff links; Phil Silvers, after-shave lotion. Opening these and similar gifts from the fifteen other guests Ruth had invited, Berle, the seasoned performer who has remained unshakable through many a studio crisis, came close to breaking up. Berle, the man of a million jokes, could only say: "I've never had a surprise party before. In fact, I never had such a birthday party." "Not even when you were a kid?" someone asked. "When I was a kid?" said Berle incredulously. "When I was a kid, I was too busy fighting with the drummer ever to have a boyhood." Enjoying his first surprise party at the age of forty-six is but one of the new experiences which have come to Milton Berle in this, his year of greatest changes. While, in the main, these are personal changes brought about by two women, his friends say they also color his professional life. Outward changes were first to be noticed, the boys along brightlighted Broadway will tell you. Almost as soon as Milton started going with Ruth Cosgrove, he tidied himself up. He had his hair cut when it needed cutting. He dieted and lost thirty pounds. Slimmed down, he looked handsomer, younger. He bought new clothes, paying careful attention to the tailoring of his newly-conservative suits. And, most noticeable of all, he began to relax. Ihen his changed attitude was reflected in his relations with his staff and cast. Working with Berle grew easier. He began placing more confidence in other people's talents. Although still the hard-driving perfectionist at rehearsals, he no longer felt compelled to write every song, place every spotlight, set each dance number. Next came a change in his off-camera interests. No longer was he seen at Lindy's famous Broadway restaurant until three o'clock every morning. He even gave up the conspicuous "Berle table" at which he customarily held court. He moved to a sidelines seat, and occupied even that less frequently. He began dining at home at least four nights a week. No one really expected Berle to change so much. But, long before the 1953-54 season ended, it became obvious that — married to his Ruth — Milton Berle had begun to find contentment. With a woman he loved, and through her thoughtful, affectionate consideration for him, Milton Berle was, for the first time, beginning to settle down, to enjoy those small pleasures of everyday living which non -professional people take for granted, but which, for a star, often remain the most elusive of luxuries. With contentment within his reach, sud denly this also became, paradoxically, the year of his greatest grief. His mother died. Knowing how close they had been, how she had been with him every step of his climb to fame, people then expected Berle, who had always lived in superlatives, to lose himself in a sea of grief. Again he surprised them. Although his sorrow is deep, he has been able to cope calmly with his loss. He finds an outlet for his grief through expressing his appreciation of his mother's influence. "That's Ruth's doing," he candidly explains. "I used to call her Root, because with her I've put down roots. Now, it's Rocky. When my mother died, my wife turned into my Rock of Gibraltar. I'm a lucky man. Lucky to have to such women who are strong, dependable, solid." Milton Berle wanted to tell his audience friends about both women, and he was in a reflective mood that afternoon when this reporter arrived at his office. "Let's make this the last appointment of the day," he had suggested. "Then we can talk seriously, without haste or interruption." for Berle, who can spin six simultaneous projects in the air as dazzlingly as a juggler tosses his hoops, this was a departure. So also were his relaxed manner and the leisurely way he spoke first of his plans for the new season. He wanted, he said, to be sure credit for the shows went both to his cast and to his staff of writers and technical people. "They're the best in the business," he stated proudly. At that point, one phone call came through. Obviously, it was Ruth and for a few minutes they spoke of personal matters. Then he volunteered, "I'm doing an interview. What about? Well, I guess I'll get around to talking about the two women in my life." For a moment, he listened, then turned and said, "Ruth says to tell you it's three women. You mustn't omit Vicki." As he hung up, he said proudly, "That's Ruth for you. She always makes sure things are accurate. You know, of course, that she was a real good motion-picture press agent. In fact, she's a real good writer. She was on the staffs of some magazines, too, and I think she could hold her own on any magazine in the country. Besides that, she's a real good person. My mother was crazy about her." He picked up the framed and lighted color photo which stood on top of the television set and moved it to his desk. "And that's my mother. The woman who has had more to do with my career than I have." The portrait showed a face which held both strength and laughter. The resemblance between mother and son was sharp. Both had the same well-defined cheek bones. Both had a broad brow and determined chin. There was the same twinkle in the eyes. "You'll notice she's wearing her ermine cape," he pointed out. "Mother loved furs and I felt I owed them to her. You know about how, to make my first costume, I chopped up her muff. It had seen its best days, but it still was the only fur she had." Fondly, he retold the familiar story. It had happened on Halloween, in 1914. Milton, then six years old, had decked himself out in his father's suit and a derby hat. He had pasted on a mustache cut from his mother's precious muff. Swinging a cane, he was imitating Charlie Chaplin and swaggering down their Bronx street with all the neighborhood kids at his heels. Their parade caught the attention of a theater manager who was passing by. 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