A star of the stage and in real life
We’re all individuals, some more than others. And few quite like Carol Channing, who died Tuesday. Those wigs, those eyes, those teeth, the scarlet lips!
As a former Times theater critic, I recall instances in the late 1970s and early ’80s when, no matter how ritzy the eating establishment, Channing came to the interview with her own food and water. Never mind that she asked for ice from the nearest waiter and never questioned how her water might get contaminated once the ice melted. But that was Channing. She picked her battles.
And she knew how. Behind that kooky facade was a whip-smart lady who knew more than she let on and would do anything to astonish. She had me gaping when, in answer to my question about her showbiz beginnings, Channing recited a poem in ancient Gallic French about Vercingetorix, a Gaul general who nearly defeated the Romans before he died in 46 BC. Her performance turned the heads in that sedate Music Center lunchroom.
Our second encounter happened when I was invited to a luncheon with her and some top Times editors. It was not exactly a routine invitation for a secondstring theater critic. It seems that Channing had read a piece of mine the previous Sunday. It was a rumination about going to see my daughter, an acting student at the Juilliard School, perform on stage, and this critic-mother’s dilemma about what to say. What if I didn’t like what I saw? The moment I walked in the room, Channing’s eyes lighted up and she exulted about how much she had enjoyed the piece. It put me at ease.
Channing regularly sent a card at holiday time. Some of it was PR of course, but sitting under my coffee table — it was too big to sit on it — was a gorgeous book of Al Hirschfeld cartoons that arrived one Christmas with a simple “to Sylvie” inscription.
I followed her adventures after her separation from her first husband, Charles Lowe, who had controlled her career. After they parted company — she accused him of physical abuse and financial mismanagement, both of which he denied — she was able to give rein to her better angels. It’s a shame she could not have done it sooner.
Her later efforts on stage — including a show with Rita Moreno and another with Mary Martin — were not memorable. She had a bigger-than-life talent that had been crammed into a clown persona for too long. What might she have given us if left to her own devices? Only heaven knows.