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12/09/2015 11:01 PMThinking about my previous column on veteran artists, and how veterans are often seen only as a product of their service, rather than the complete picture of who they are, I realized the same thing applies to our parents’ generation. We often look at the elderly only as elderly. We don’t always think about the colorful and interesting lives many of our parents have led. As adult children leading hurried lives, we don’t always make the time to listen to their stories. And sadly, the larger public doesn’t often hear their stories until they die, in an obituary.
My parents, Herb and Charlotte Jay, came to Branford five years ago where they are now living happily at The Hearth at Gardenside.
In a nutshell, my dad grew up poor in Brooklyn. He attended Cornell on the GI bill, and went on to a lucrative career in advertising in Manhattan. In between, he met my mother—also from Brooklyn—who built her own successful career as an interior designer after graduating from Parson’s School of Design.
So, I decided to interview my own dad, who is 91, and still has sharp long-term memory. This is a quite the switch from him interviewing (more like interrogating) me when I was in high school about where I’d been and why I was home so late.
Q. You were one of the Mad Men—the popular TV show about the advertising world circa 1960s. Do you think the show was an accurate depiction of the times?
A. Yes, as far as it went. We were more than Mad Men, we were Czars. In those days, unlike today, there were single sponsors for TV shows like The Lucky Strike Hit Parade, The Kraft Music Hour, etc. This meant one sponsor paid for the entire show and as a result had all the power. We could pick the stars we wanted and veto the stars we didn’t want. We could even pick the producers, musicians; make careers, all of that.
Q. Did the ad execs really drink as much as they did in the TV show?
A. Yes, mostly martinis—a lunch meeting was called a “three martini” lunch. And worse yet, two or three packs of cigarettes a day.
Q. Were the men always suited up?
A. Yes, it was like a uniform. You wore a dark suit, a white shirt, and the right tie. People would compliment each other’s ties. That’s where the term “power ties” came from, whatever that meant.
Q. Not to name drop, you knew an awful lot of famous people in show biz, sports, politics, religion: Joan Crawford, Carol Burnett, Dick Van Dyke, Dean Martin, Tony Bennett, Jimmy Durante, Peter, Paul & Mary, Joe Garagiola, Yogi Berra, Henri Matisse, Princess Anne, Pope John XXIII, Mamie Eisenhower...did I get everyone?
A. No. Others were Jose Ferrer and Rosemary Clooney, Bette Davis, Ezio Pinza, JFK (when he was a senator), Pat Boone, and this will kill you: Meyer Lansky and Frankie Costello.
Q. OK, I think I’ll stay away from your connections with the mob (just kidding), but you were good friends with Joan Crawford before her children’s scathing book, Mommy Dearest came out. Can you give us a snapshot of the person you knew?
A. She was a lot of fun. She was very pleasant. She told stories about her acting career, and how she and Bette Davis hated each other. She had some rather unique habits. She was a cleanliness freak. Before walking into her penthouse apartment, covered with white carpet, you had to take your shoes off. All her furniture was covered with clear plastic. Her closets were mathematically organized—row upon row of hats, dresses, and shoes. And each one had a numbering system. For example #38 meant the dress, the hat, the blouse, the shoes all went together both by style and color.
Q. I love the story about the carpet company, for which you were marketing director, commissioning Henri Matisse in the early 1950s—when he was doing his famous collages—to design the rug that hung on our living room wall.
A. The rug was very unique— a limited edition of 100, titled “Carnival in Florence.” It was displayed in museums and featured in art publications. When we initially turned the project over to our craftsmen, it was with strict contracted instructions. They decided it was too much trouble, so they altered the colors, nowhere near the colors Matisse wanted, and they even changed his signature (he only used his initials and they spelled it out). He was persuaded into doing another rug, the way it should have been, as long as we destroyed the wrong ones and paid him again, double for the new design. Two years later I sold the collages for a large profit.
Q. You met Pope John XXIII in the early 1960s. You presented him with a Barcalounger reclining chair—one of your advertising accounts. How did that happen?
A. During the Viet Nam War, I knew Cardinal Spellman and gave him a Barcalounger. He was very grateful for it. He wrote me saying, “It made me so relaxed after coming back from spending time with the troops in Viet Nam, can I suggest you present a chair to the Pope?’ which I did—a red leather one. And I received a beautiful thank you from the Vatican.
Q. I know you have more great stories, but we’re running out of space, so what’s the best piece of advice you can give us?
A. In 1970, the movie Love Story was a big hit, particularly the line: “Being in love means never having to say you’re sorry.” Having been married nearly 70 years that line is harmfully wrong. It should read, “Being in love means saying you’re sorry, even when you’re not!”
Q. Is there anything you’d like to add?
A. For me, money is isn’t a way of keeping score, buying more houses or yachts, etc. It’s only true value is security for you, yours, and to help those who are less fortunate.
Amy J. Barry is a Baby Boomer, who lives in Stony Creek with her husband and assorted pets. She writes features and reviews for Shore Publishing newspapers and is an expressive arts educator. Email her at aimwrite@snet.net or at www.aimwrite-ct.net.