When I was an agent at APA in New York, we represented Rosemary Clooney. One night, she was playing the Westbury Music Fair out on the Island. It was a command performance for the New York office - we used to call it “servicing” the client. Five of us piled into the Lincoln Town Car with plates that read APAAGNT and headed out through the Queens Midtown Tunnel. I had never met Rosie (as she was known) until I walked into her dressing room. I found her to be charming and open. She had a nephew, George, who was a struggling actor and who was represented by our West Coast office. No one knew from George, then.
Rosie was seated on a couch. She wore a caftan; she had a commanding presence (get the picture), and was holding court in a manner befitting showbiz royalty. She told a story about Irving Berlin who, at the time of the story was about 96. At the time, the youngest person in the Berlin Office on 6th Ave was a secretary who had been with Irving for forever. She was 84. The story was that Steven Speilberg had called the office inquiring about rights to a particular tune he wanted for a movie. He was told Mr. Berlin with get back to him. Time passes. Nothing. Speilberg calls again. Again he’s told Mr. Berlin will get back to him. And again, nothing. Finally Spielberg calls and tells the secretary, just name a price and I’ll pay it. I want that tune. He is politely told the following: “Mr. Berlin is reserving that piece for a future project.”
Rim shot.
Coda:
Irving Berlin died at the age of 101…
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