The Magnificent Elmer (12 page)

Lyricist Don Black remembered working with Elmer on the score for the original
True Grit
, including the Oscar-nominated title song; and the Broadway musical
Merlin
. Don observed that Elmer “had enough energy to light a small town,” and concluded, “I shall miss his wit, his boyish bounce, even his turtleneck sweaters.”

Director Martin Scorsese talked about how Elmer had “bridged the gap between the old and the new Hollywoods.” And lyricist Marilyn Bergman mused that “when I heard Elmer had died, I thought, ‘That doesn’t sound like him.’”

Before the evening ended, Elmer had been described as the greatest composer in the history of motion pictures, a man of brilliance, versatility, and crowning talent. Elmer was always a man of grace and modesty who felt that most things, including music, profited by understatement. I recalled one occasion when he was presented with an award in such extravagant terms that he visibly blanched. When Elmer finally ascended to the podium, he said, “I want to thank you for that wonderful introduction. I only wish my parents were alive to hear it. My father would have enjoyed it and my mother would have believed it.”

The ninety-five minute tribute concluded with a montage of film clips from twenty-five of Elmer’s movies. Then we said goodbye to the man who had changed the face of movie music.

***

I was not invited to speak at the memorial service. I wasn’t hurt and I didn’t feel excluded. I was just a former wife. You start letting the former wives talk, and the next thing you know everybody will want to say something. You have to draw the line somewhere. And it’s given me a little time to gather my thoughts. So here is what I would have said:

The words that the name Elmer Bernstein bring to mind are words that equally describe his music—flair, gaiety, gusto, brilliance, warmth, joy. Whatever Elmer did in his life and in his work, he did with all his mind and spirit. He had the kind of talent that, if you made movies, you wanted to make him a part of them. He was the sort of mentor everyone needed to guide them; the sort of teacher you wanted to learn from; the sort of advocate you wanted in your corner. A lot of the people who Elmer loved and guided and mentored and fought for are here today. I have a suspicion that they came not so much to mourn his passing. It was more likely to mourn their loss.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
WHY IS THIS WOMAN LAUGHING?

“Eighty percent of married men cheat in America, and the rest cheat in Europe.”

—Jackie Mason

So let’s sum it up.

I am glad that I met and married Elmer Bernstein, and I will tell you why. It is better to have loved and lost than never to have lost at all. Marrying Elmer let me walk on a lot of red carpets, to see my husband honored in many cultural capitals, it let me enjoy the performance of his work by large orchestras, and gave me the pleasure of seeing his music bring to life some very good motion pictures. It let me meet a lot of smart, funny, famous people, for though it embarrasses me to admit it, some of the best times I have had in my life have been spent in the lap of the gods.

The problems of our marriage were foreseeable. When my father met Elmer he gave me fair warning. “You want to marry a musician?” The wandering ways of music makers are well known in our society. They are not all Lawrence Welks.

After Elmer and I broke up, life did not end. It never does, much as we fear it will. My suggestion to women who find themselves as I did, in a troubled marriage, is: Relax, don’t let yourself become a victim, don’t be obsessed with the situation. My advice to my clients when I practiced family law was to learn self-esteem, take control of the situation, be the hammer, not the anvil.

Men must be trained and endured. And when the situation is beyond endurance, get out! Go!

So I went on to another marriage with a man I loved and respected; and when he died, to my present husband. I passed the bar and practiced law, honorably, I hope. And I watched my sons mature and meet wonderful women and raise wonderful children.

Some unimpeachable source such as Confucius or Mohammad said that every man should have two pockets in his coat. In one pocket he should keep a scrap of paper that bears the message: “I am
nothing
, a grain of sand on God’s desert.” But there should be a
second
pocket in his garment. And in that one should be a piece of paper that bears a very different message. It should read: “The whole earth was created for me. For I am the center of the universe.”

So whenever I get bad news, I always think: “Disregard previous message. All will be well.”

One more bit of advice for my kids and their kids. Try to put more into life than you take out of it—try to seek work that engages your passion—and keep your friends close but your enemies closer. (No, that was Don Corleone.)

But the most precious piece of advice I could give them, they will decide for themselves, as each generation insists on doing. “There are no perfect mates, and there are no perfect marriages. If you are looking for a perfect man, chances are that when you find him, he will be looking for a perfect woman. If you are perfect, relax.”

So, I would like to thank Elmer for making me the temporary partner to his fame and talent, the Galatea to his Pygmalion, and the woman he loved.

AUTHOR’S NOTE AND
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

In writing this memoir of my life with Elmer, I was convinced that soon as I had it all nicely set down, all paragraphed and punctuated and neatly divided into chapters, I would be able to move on. But I can see that in this, as in much else, I was mistaken. All our years remain a permanent part of us, particularly the years when we are young.

Teddy Roosevelt’s daughter once observed that there are three stages in life—you’re young, you’re middle-aged, and then you’re wonderful. So now that I’m wonderful, I feel empowered to study my marriage with wisdom and insight.

My memory has been augmented by the memories of some surviving friends. They talked to me about those golden days and helped me remember.

The talker-in-chief was my darling Gerry. He continued to prod me with questions about my life with Elmer, not all of them rude. Together we excavated events of which I seemingly had no memory.

Gerry also polished my halting prose. I wrote the words and Gerry wrote the music. He has been the most patient in-house editor a woman could have, as well as my perfect partner in life.

***

In many ways, this is not so much a memoir as an exorcism. In it I have tiptoed through the mine field of memory. I love the smell of napalm in the morning. And if I have returned from the battlefield of recollection without a lot of wisdom, at least it has brought the roses to my cheeks.

Of course, my life surged every time the theater darkened, the screen lit up, the main-title music swelled, and the words MUSIC BY ELMER BERNSTEIN faded up in its constant variety of fonts.

***

On the other hand, to any woman in her eighties who thinks she has a book in her, I would advise that that’s an excellent place for it.

Think about it. Most of your best sources are no longer around; dialogue is impossible; names are fading fast. How often have I said, “You know that guy in the hat… and the shoes…” and it’s thirty minutes before anyone realized I’m talking about the Pope.

Which is prefatory to one final author’s note. Before you send me an email pointing out that the Dodgers didn’t move to Los Angeles until two years after the release of
The Man with the Golden Arm
, take pity on a senior citizen.

My dear old friend Bob Shiller, who created
I Love Lucy
and has the royalties to prove it, could’ve been speaking of my memory as well as his, when he said, “My short-term memory is poor, but my long-term memory is good. But I may have that backwards… I’m not sure if I told you that.”

***

Now back to my acknowledgments. Here are a few others who deserve my gratitude.

As the reader may have observed, I am a sort of paranoid in reverse. I suspect people are out there plotting to make me happy. Chief among these conspirators are my sons Greg and Peter, who I thank for their support.

I also thank Hillel Black, that grey eminence of publishing who emailed me promptly after reading my manuscript to say, “I loved you, I loved Elmer, and I loved the book. Funniest thing I’ve read since the original manuscript of M*A*S*H.”

Eric Weissmann, my attorney and friend, is surely entitled to much gratitude for his help and encouragement throughout the entire process.

Dalia Mansouri of Beverly Hills Secretarial Services, who continued to type and retype the manuscript of
The Magnificent Elmer
, provided the truth of the reflection that books are never finished, they are abandoned.

Then there is Anna Olswanger, my marvelous literary agent. I want to thank Anna for her marketing skill, her good judgment, her editorial guidance. We love you, Anna!

Then there is Arthur Klebanoff of Rosetta Books, who embraced the book so immediately and unconditionally. One of Arthur’s oldest friends and bosses was Pat Moynihan, sage of the Senate. When John Kennedy was killed, columnist Mary McGrory said, “God, Pat, we’ll never laugh again!” And Pat Moynihan said, “Heavens, Mary, of
course
we’ll laugh again. We’ll just never be
young
again.” Thank you, Arthur, for making
me
young again.

***

The bulk of my gratitude is, of course, for Elmer who should have been this book’s author, not merely its subject. For years he talked about writing a memoir. He took notes and he planned. But there was always another movie to write. And then it became a running joke. And I tried to motivate him by threatening to write it myself. And I began my investigation. I would say, “Elmer, which was your favorite score?… Who was your favorite director?…” And he would laugh. And later that night I would say, “Okay, be mulish. But tell me what Sinatra said.” And Elmer would say, “Finish your wine and come to bed.” And I would say, “Please, Elmer, I have to get it right for the memoir!” And he would say, “Pearl, if you ever happen to write a memoir it will turn out to be the history of a girl from Philadelphia with an occasional reference to her composer husband.”

Well, now I have written the goddamned memoir, and I wish I knew where to send it so he could see how he misjudged me. He would see it’s all about the composer. For three big reasons: (1) he was my most beloved friend, (2) he was one hell of a composer, and (3) who would publish the memoir of an unknown girl from Philadelphia?

APPENDIX
THE ELMER OEUVRE

From the 1950s

Saturday’s Hero,
1951

Boots Malone,
1952

Sudden Fear,
1952

Battles of Chief Pontiac,
1953

Cat Women of the Moon,
1953

Dieppe Raid,
1953

Never Wave at a WAC,
1953

Robot Monster,
1953

Make Haste to Live,
1954

Miss Robin Crusoe,
1954

Silent Raiders,
1954

The Bar Sinister,
1955

The Eternal Sea,
1955

The Man with the Golden Arm,
1955

Storm Fear,
1955

The View from Pompey’s Head,
1955

The Ten Commandments,
1956

Drango,
1957

Fear Strikes Out,
1957

Men in War,
1957

The Sweet Smell of Success,
1957

The Tin Star,
1957

Anna Lucasta,
1958

The Buccaneer,
1958

Desire Under the Elms,
1958

God’s Little Acre,
1958

Kings Go Forth,
1958

Saddle the Wind,
1958

Some Came Running,
1958

The Miracle,
1959

From the 1960s

From the Terrace,
1960

The Magnificent Seven,
1960

The Rat Race,
1960

The Story on Page One,
1960

By Love Possessed,
1961

The Comancheros,
1961

Summer and Smoke,
1961

The Young Doctors,
1961

Birdman of Alcatraz,
1962

A Girl Named Tamiko,
1962

To Kill a Mockingbird,
1962

Walk on the Wild Side,
1962

The Caretakers,
1963

The Great Escape,
1963

Hud,
1963

Kings of the Sun,
1963

Rampage,
1963

Baby the Rain Must Fall,
1964

The Carpetbaggers,
1964

Love with the Proper Stranger,
1964

The World of Henry Orient,
1964

The Hallelujah Trail,
1965

The Reward,
1965

Seven Women,
1965

The Sons of Katie Elder,
1965

Cast a Giant Shadow,
1966

Hawaii,
1966

Return of the Seven,
1966

Thoroughly Modern Millie,
1967

The Bridge at Remagen,
1968

I Love You, Alice B. Toklas!,
1968

The Scalphunters,
1968

Guns of the Magnificent Seven,
1969

The Gypsy Moths,
1969

The Midas Run,
1969

Where’s Jack?,
1969

From the 1970s