Bart Greenberg spent four of his most satisfying professional years running special events at the Lincoln Triangle Barnes & Noble. Prior to that he was in charge of signing and performance events at Tower Records. In this column, Bart will share memories of the writers, actors, singers, broadcasters and celebrities—some amazing and even notorious— he encountered during this time.
By Bart Greenberg***I was working in our office at Barnes & Noble on my own one hot late June afternoon. No events that evening. Our schedule was lighter during the summer with fewer books being released and fewer shows opening. The phone rings. It’s one of the reps from a CD distributor I worked with now and then. Great guy with a very minor product list who mostly releases cowboy music and one-hit wonders from 
the 1950s. He asks if I have room in our July schedule for an event. I tell him sorry but the schedule is set and advertising dollars assigned. He says Carol Channing. After I pick up the phone I dropped, I say what? The Broadway icon, Lorelei Lee and Dolly Gallagher Levi (Tony winner), the movie’s Muzzy Van Buren (Oscar nomination). That Carol Channing? Yes, that Carol Channing. She’s recorded a new CD of mostly spirituals in honor of her daddy, the minister. At a public relations planning meeting, she announced that, between her appearances on “The Today Show” and “The View,” she wanted to do a store event. So he informed her he knows the perfect Manhattan location. Happily the date fits into our schedule. And in ten minutes we have this all set up.
My next call was to Richard Skipper. He’s a charming friend who is a great raconteur and performer, perhaps best known for his years as a remarkable Carol Channing tribute artist. When he was on stage the illusion was quite remarkable. He was also the only performer in his line who had received the approval of Carol herself and they had become great friends. So, when I asked him if he had plans for the evening chosen for the event, he said he expected to be spending it with Carol.
I asked how he felt about being on stage (he was a regular attendee at our programs) interviewing her. I got an immediate commitment from him. I felt their long friendship would bring ease to her. I had somehow gotten the impression that Carol was somewhat fragile and asked Richard if she would need help with the stairs up to the stage. He assured me, while laughing, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
My final call of the day was to Steven Sorrentino in the main office. We set up events at will, but he controlled the advertising budget, among other aspects. Steven was one of my biggest supporters and we shared similar tastes. But when I said I needed advertising for the following month, he laughed and said that was impossible. Everything had been apportioned. When I said it was for a living legend, he tried to guess who. When he ran out of guesses, I said “Carol Channing,” he paused and then said, “that’s a living legend.” He also said he’d find the money. High on adrenaline, I headed home.
A few days later I got a strange call from someone with whom I’d never dealt with before—or after. There was push-back involving Richard in the event, having somehow gotten the idea that he was planning to do the interview dressed as Carol. I was horrified at the idea, assuring the caller that neither I nor Richard would ever consider such an idea. Later, when I related this conversation to him, Richard thought it would be in terrible taste. Happily, the whole thing was never brought up again.
We had mapped out the event. Carol was not to sing and was not bringing her accompanist along. She would be interviewed by Richard about the CD and then her new husband, Harry Kullijian, would join them to promote their new charity foundation to encourage music education in schools. Steven came through with advertising in the New York Times and a huge banner in the store. Word of mouth was spreading. The star was doing press for her album and appeared on “The View.” My mother, who lived in a seniors’ building in Cincinnati, always watched the local news at noon on ABC. Turning on her television a bit early she caught the end of the appearance when Carol mentioned her upcoming appearance at B&N. To my Jewish mother’s ears, the diva had announced she was rendezvousing with her son, and she dined out on that at the community supper that night.
But I had actually encountered Carol once before. When I was attending Catholic University in Washington D.C., she came to town with one of the tours of Hello, Dolly! Now, she had a long history with Catholic U. and especially the remarkable Father Hartke who founded the theater department. Father embodied the phrase “living legend,” with a mix of charm, enthusiasm and full-steam-ahead determination. In the early 1950s, when the department was facing financial shortfalls, he went off to Broadway to lure one of the bright young stars of the day to come and do a benefit performance to save the school. It was Carol Channing in Pygmalion. I kid you not. (He would later pull the same trick with Helen Hayes and Princess Grace Kelly.)
Carol agreed to come and have a Q&A with the theater graduate students. And Carol the smart experienced show biz vet did arrive—not Carol the kewpie doll. We had a fascinating hour with her as she discussed auditioning, why some shows work and some don’t, and other show business (with an accent on the second word) topics. And when Father had to slip off to move his
car (parking around the University was notoriously difficult) Carol confided to us that the first time she met him he was the most gorgeous of men, still possessing his Notre Dame football build and a mass of curly blond hair. It was a delightful afternoon.
Fast forward. The day of the event arrived—an incredibly hot day. Customers were lined up outside the front door of the store when we were ready to open in the morning. It takes a legend. Carol, Harry and entourage arrived mid-afternoon, including Harry’s daughter, who was a sweet lady taking on all the details for her father and step-mother. Richard had tipped me off that Carol’s favorite flower was the sunflower, so we had a lovely display on the stage. She was thrilled and couldn’t believe we had taken the time to arrange for them. Richard had also alerted me to the fact that Carol used hearing aids in both ears, cleverly hidden by her wig. However,
he hadn’t mentioned that Harry was even deafer. I had to wonder what their conversations at home were like. When Harry heard my name, he thought it was “Park.” He thought that was terribly appropriate since we were only a few blocks from Central Park. After a few attempts at correcting him, I gave up and he left the store convinced that I had somehow been named for the Big Backyard of New York City.
Other than that kink, we all got along famously. Meanwhile, the line kept forming and extending in the store. We had a rule for such crowds that those who purchased the tied-in product had first priority to be seated in the room (there were attendees who tried to get around this requirement by buying the CD and then returning it after the event; but we quickly grew wise and went through the line being “helpful” by unwrapping the cellophane for them. There was no doubt we were going far beyond capacity. We started bringing in the crowd, filling up the room row by row. Most of the people (many familiar faces) were totally cooperative and in a happy mood. Before long the event space (capacity at around 150) was full and there were many more folks outside the room. We left the doors open so they could hear, but cordoned off the door.
And then the Karens arrived.
Of course we didn’t call them “Karens” at that time, and considering that the store manager’s name was Karen we probably wouldn’t have used it anyway. But these were Karens indeed—long Island matrons of a certain age, with carefully coiffured hair, wearing pearls, tailored suits and sensible shoes. One of our security guards came to ask me to speak to them. The event was to begin in 15 minutes and they had just arrived. They didn’t understand why they couldn’t just w
alk into the room, despite the fact that there were perhaps 75 people standing around outside the room. They scoffed when I suggested they purchase the CD and would have a chance to meet Carol after the interview (they had no interest in buying the CD). I pointed out that people had arrived when the store opened in the morning. They dismissed them as “stupid” and I couldn’t resist pointing out that they were the people sitting in the room. The admitted that they hadn’t called the store but insisted we should take reservations. Finally, realizing that I wasn’t going to give in to them, they demanded to speak to someone in charge—but not me since it was obvious I didn’t like people! I suggested they could speak to the manager-on-duty (which changed from day to day) at the information desk on the first floor. They stormed off—happily never to return or be heard from again.
Sidenote: Please don’t believe I have a prejudice against Long Island matrons, but while I was working at Tower Records I had an encounter with another version of these ladies, but one who was very different. This particular young matron into the store with her pearls and her hat and her very pretty outfit, probably on her way to lunch with friends. With warmth and confusion, she approached me and asked if I knew who Muddy Waters was. I acknowledged I did and she said, “Oh good, because I don’t.” Her young son’s teacher had played a track of his in school, and for inexplicable reasons he had deeply attuned to the voice of a Delta-connected African-American blues singer. I quickly located a “best of” CD for her, and she was very warm in her thanks.
And so the event began. I had the great pleasure of welcoming Carol to the stage by saying “Well, Hello Carol!” Cheesy as hell, I confess, but I couldn’t resist and the audience seemed to love it. Despite the agreement among all that Carol would not perform, when Richard asked about one of the songs on the album, the star sang a few lines from it. With a second question, she was singing a verse from her seat. And with a third, she was on her feet, belting out the tune a cappella, arms waving, feet planted wide and the audience was going crazy. You can’t keep a star down. It was one of those magical moments in the room where it all happened
Then Carol came to our desk and signed CDs. Even with us trying to keep the line moving, she clearly loved chatting with her fans. And despite her age and the very long day, and it becoming clear her energy was flagging a bit, she continued signing CDs for those who had stood outside the room. Some 300 signatures later, Carol, Harry and entourage departed, with thanks offered to all who worked the event. And I collapsed with a big smile on my face.
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