Even baddies love their ma
LAST week, I reprised my annual Mother’s Day heartbreak about the person I loved more than any and whom Alzheimer’s took from me. It generated a bushel of replies.
One was from a p.r. type. In olden days he’d been like crabgrass — everywhere. People he barely knew, well knew, almost knew, said he knew. Once, he took Gary Cooper’s daughter to meet Claudette Colbert, next took Patricia Neal to an Elizabeth Taylor event.
Barry Landau was a mixer. 1993 he organized a VIP train to Bill Clinton’s inaugural. Personally invited friends to Dubya Bush ’s inauguration. Labeled “presidential historian,” he did talk shows during Reagan’s funeral. Always wanted souvenirs if you had a White House visit.
I knew him. Needing money, he sold me his mother’s emerald earrings for $3,500. Writing a column you meet highs and lows. Big stars. Lowlifes. An end product is Get the Story. Living three blocks away, he once came over and, without asking, opened my fridge to help himself.
Then — arrested for stealing presidential memorabilia, he did seven years in jail. We’ve not spoken in 10 years. Now released, living in another state, he had an old number and, because of my Mother’s Day column, called. To cry. To say he loved his mom and how he misses her.
I plan no future chats. But, with all our documentaries and with all the new movies reliving old tales, I’m just telling filmmakers — there’s a story Out There.
And whoever plays his mother I’ll let wear my emerald earrings.