Bart Greenberg spent four of his most satisfying professional years running special events at the Lincoln Triangle Barnes & Noble. Preceding that he had spent several years at Tower Records where he first learned how to be in charge of signings and performances. Throughout this time, he met a very wide range of celebrities (writers, actors, singers, broadcasters, etc.). In the coming months he will share memories of some of the amazing—and notorious—people he encountered.
By Bart Greenberg***All three of the following stories took place while I was working at Tower Records (the Lincoln Center location) as the supervisor/buyer for the Cast Recording/Pop Vocalist Department. They are all very odd because… well, you’ll see.
Story #1: First of all, I need to explain that I have never met Rosie O’Donnell. I was a regular viewer of her talk show, mostly because of all the Broadway musical numbers she featured and her strong support for theater. I admired her for that. My late first husband, Jimmy, never missed her program and sat there with a VCR tape (yes, this was a long time ago) ready to record any theatrical highlights offered up. At the time of this story, Rosie lived in a luxury apartment house above the store. She often came in late in the evening when I wasn’t there, and was not exactly popular with the staff thanks to her attitude.
I was told, one night she came in and was in high spirits and in a friendly manner; she’d arrived directly from Carnegie Hall and a Linda Eder concert. She purchased several copies of the latter’s new album and wished all a good night. I can only assume that during the night she fell or had a brain frizzle or some other occurrence, accounting for her selective amnesia the next morning. The next day on her show, while she and music director John McDaniel chatted about their weekend activities, she spoke about what a wonderful performance she had attended and then, she said, to her shock and amazement, when she stopped off at Tower Records “THEY DIDN’T HAVE A SINGLE COPY OF HER CD!”
I knew nothing of this as I was working thaT morning, but the exchange was confirmed by Jimmy. Also unknown to me was that morning, Linda Eder’s manager, who had been tipped off to watch the program, hit the roof and immediately called the head of the company, Russ Solomon in California—presumably waking him up considering the time difference. Russ, called the regional manager to yell at him about the situation. The regional manager (who resembled a very tall Viking warrior) called the store manager to demand an explanation. Then the assistant manager, who had never liked me for reasons its best not to speculate upon, came charging up to the department to demand why we had no Linda Eder CDs in stock—and I’m not sure if he even knew who Linda Eder was. 
Obviously, being in the dark about any of this, I had no idea what was going on. I did point out that if he stretched out his hand (currently resting on the register counter), he would encounter several different copies of the artist’s work. He was understandably also confused and so tried to cover up with a bit of bluster about our needing more copies (there were more than enough in various spots in the department) and stalked away.
In contrast, I want to make it clear that none of what occurred had anything to do with Linda Eder, a lovely woman who had previously stopped by the store with her ex-husband Frank Wildhorn (he was nice too). Two more gracious celebrities you couldn’t wish for.
And if anyone happens to have Rosie’s phone number…
Story #2: Back in the day, all major new CDs were released on Tuesday morning. Why? I don’t know, but it was an industry standard. And It wasn’t unusual to have five or six major vocalist offering up fresh titles, as well as several theater-related titles. As buyer, I had to be in extra early to accept the boxes brought up by the receiving department and get the CDs out in various locations ready for those shoppers who wanted and be the first on their block to have a specific title. One 
morning, one of the items was a new recording by one of the great American pop/jazz singers, Tony Bennett. As soon as I saw them, I put the CDs on the infamous register counter, opened our “play” copy and started piping Bennett through the department sound system. Then I went back to displaying the other releases of the day (I seem to remember there was also a Rosemary Clooney CD that morning and one by Ann Hampton Callaway, who soon would become very important to me (but that’s another story).
While I’m blissfully arranging displays of the new releases in the now-opened store, and I’ve gotten most of the CDs in appropriate places, up comes the same assistant manager once more eager to attack.” Where’s the new Tony Bennett CD?” he blustered. Me: well, it’s there and there and playing in the overhead. Him: Was it there and there when the store opened? Me: No, at that time it was on the register and on the overhead.
Then I learned that Tony Bennett’s manager (his son), the first person in the store that morning, skulked around the department and then departed. And immediately 
he called California who called the… yes, same chain of command. Now, wouldn’t you think that he might have approached the person putting out the CDs first? I wasn’t hard to miss. Maybe I was just too low on the retail chain to be addressed. (Kind of like the opera diva who, while traveling in a limousine, called her manager to call the driver to turn down the air conditioning.) I pointed this out to my nemesis who grumbled something about I should have come in earlier as he stomped away, ignoring that the receiving department rarely had the recordings up to the floor sooner.
I can tell you that Tony Bennett himself is an incredibly nice man and a gentleman who wears his fame very lightly. I’ve met him twice. Once in my early days at Tower. I had finished ringing up a customer and glanced up. Leaning against one of the columns near the register bank was Mr. Bennett. I nudged my co-worker George who had mentioned knowing him, and the singer walked over to us with a mix of comfort and confidence that was instantly mesmerizing. George introduced us and before I could react, he stuck out his hand to shake mine and said, “Hello, I’m Tony.” Yeah, I was kind of
smitten.
A few years later, I was working in the basement I was paged to come back to the checkout. It was a Saturday evening and very busy. As I rounded the corner on the second floor I could see a long line at the register and a very harried looking cashier. The register had jammed, as it did every so often, and she had no idea what to do. She quickly moved aside and I tackled the unreasonable machine, carefully avoiding the eyes of the first person waiting to check out so I didn’t get involved in a conversation, simply saying “I’m sorry. We’ll have this going in a moment.” The gentleman said, “that’s no problem.” As soon as I heard that voice, I recognized it. Raising my head, I was looking into the smiling face of Tony Bennett. Unfortunately for him, several people behind him also recognized that voice and it quickly turned into a mini-meet-and-greet, which he was so gracious about and which also allowed me time to do the necessary repairs. Pure class.
Story #3: One morning in December, I was alone in the department and anyone who has worked retail knows that “the holiday season” is always challenging, getting worse and worse as Christmas approaches. I was busy to say the least, ring
ing up sales, offering information about products, answering the phone and dealing with increasingly cranky customers. And then I got the phone call.
A very cheery male voice with a charming Southern accent, which I find damn sexy, explained that he was shopping for his girlfriend who adores country western music—which he knows very little about. He asked for suggestions. My knowledge of the genre is pretty limited, but since it was located on our floor beyond the jazz department, we were responsible. In a desire to provide information, and get off the phone, I suggested that he come into the store where he could discuss things with our country expert. The fact that we didn’t really have a country expert didn’t deter me. Unfortunately, it didn’t deter the caller either, who remained on the line.
But he wanted to know which male singer wore cowboy hats. I wanted to suggest they all did, especially the ones with receding hairlines. But I did pull up a name or two. Like Alan Jackson, whom I knew about because I thought he was sexy. Then I put him on hold while I dealt with a present 
shopper. I hoped he might be gone when I took him off hold, but there he was, as cheery as ever. He asked me who sang a specific song. I think it was “Achy Breaky Heart,” and I was able to dig out Billy Cyrus (yep, because I thought he was sexy too). As he gently but relentlessly carried on, I had to put him on hold a few more times. Okay, maybe one of those times, there wasn’t really a customer, but a guy needs a break.
Finally, after a half hour of this, he said “actually my name is Jeff Foxworthy and you’ve been on my radio show. We just wanted to see if a New Yorker working in a music store knew anything about country western music.” For those who don’t recall, he was a stand-up comedian with an on-going routine “You Know You’re a Redneck If…” That led him to a self-named sitcom. I actually enjoyed the show. And yes, I thought he was sexy. On the day of his phone call, I very much wanted to tell him what I thought of his childish prank and his wasting my time—in rather explicit words. But, I was trapped, being a representative of Tower Records on a public forum. And so I smiled with gritted my teeth and pretended to be amused. But I didn’t think he was sexy anymore.
NEXT COLUMN: My Lucky Charm, Julie Wilson
