Newsletter December 2019

We got a few days of pissing rain in California, finally! Which reminds me . . .
 
Paris (as were all big cities) in the 1800s was filthy, foul and polluted with horse dung, raw sewage from chamber pots, and the occasional animal carcass (flies and maggots galore). Men regularly urinated wherever they felt like it (reminds me of Italy today, where businessmen regularly pull over to the side of the freeway and let it pour!).  
 
The prefect (whose job it was to maintain law and order) of Paris made the first pissoir, or public urinal. They were erected (pardon the pun) with or without screens and some being even fully enclosed, which afforded a lot of privacy, for, well . . . other things.  All these new, convneinent structures were for men only. Naturally, no one thought to build anything for women, who wearing voluminous crinolines at the time would have been hard pressed to enter any small public area. These pissotières were thought to keep the men from urinating on streets and buildings (in fact, trees in the Palais- Royal gardens were dying from so much pee). These, almost cubicles, became clandestine destinations for homosexuals to engaged in activities that at the time were illegal. The most popular ones were located near the Champs-Elysées gardens (I have no idea why).
 
There is a story about a female lavatory attendant who would rent out a cubicle for hooking up. This was over 100 years later in the 1980s. Supposedly (and I’ve read several different articles claiming to have the “last one”), today there is only one left, outside La Santé Prison. The prison was completed in 1867 and has been used as a prison since Marie A’s head went rolling.

We took a three-night respite in Palm Springs to celebrate our anniversary. It rained, it was cold, it was fabulous. Reminds me I owe you a tidbit about Lita Baron, Mickey Cohen’s girlfriend whose dress I bought and fits like a glove! Well, a tight glove right now.  

Lita was a Spanish-born (real name Isabel Castro) beauty who immigrated to the United States at age 5 (1928). She would sing with Xavier Cugat’s orchestra. Making her way to Hollywood, as one does, she began acting in films and married actor Rory Calhoun in 1948 in Santa Barbara. Calhoun was a handful, having numerous affairs, one with Betty Grable, whom he stared with in “How to Marry a Millionaire.” Calhoun had been a juvenile delinquent – love that phrase – dropping out of school and landing in San Quentin after armed robbery, stealing a car, busting out of a detention center and other youthful indiscretions. It was actor Alan Ladd who introduced him to his agent Henry Wilson (Rock Hudson’s agent and burlesque star Lili St. Cyr’s representation for films. Need more proof of sex degrees of separation from burlesque?) Anyhow Calhoun was a handsome man, a star and a terrible husband. Lita divorced him after 20 years.

I can’t find much information on Mickey and Lita’s relationship. She was 5’11 he was 5’5. (fun fact: For a time, comedian George Burns escorted her around). They possibly began dating around 1975 and at least long enough for him to buy her a swell mink coat. I think I tried it on.

She died in Palm Springs in 2015.

So, another quick girls trip to Palm Springs where we had to try the Pink Flamingo Drink at the JW Marriott. Of course, we only ate about ¼ of it between three of us. Its got strawberry icecream, cream, whip cream, cotton candy, 3 ounces of vodka, cookies, homemade donuts and its surprisingly delicious!

We lost another one. There are so few of the burlesque men and women that I interviewed for “Behind the Burly Q” that are still alive. This month Lillian Brown aka Lilly Ann Rose passed away. I met and interviewed her in her home in Florida. She had a trunk full of photos that she had locked away and as she said, forgot about it for something like 20-30 years. Her troubled, mentally-ill mother was in burlesque as was an aunt. She started when she was 14ish sneaking into a theatre in Boston where her mother wasn’t working (she worked down the road). She ended up being a secretary to legendary tassel-twirler Sally Keith (she’s a story in herself, but you can buy the book and watch the movie). She told many hilarious, poignant stories. Her mother went missing, her family had a notorious criminal for a friend, she was accidentally nude on stage, shaved her “fur cap” and she was arrested. She was so kind, so funny, so smart, she went on to raise four children, was a writer and loved talking about burlesque. And she became my friend.