MUM. Among the many blessings I owe my mother, Margaret “Mum” Wessell, two stand out in particular.
First, she taught me to appreciate truly beautiful women because she was possessed of such striking physical beauty herself. An outward beauty that was reinforced by her spiritual beauty, that was most expressed through her eyes, her gentle voice and her soothing touch. Fortunately, by her inspiring me, I was able to court and win the hand of my own wife, Ann, who had those same attributes that I had noticed in my mother.
Second, she insisted on teaching me how to dance at a very early age. Although I resisted as long as I could, I finally gave in and mastered the intricacies of the basic box step. My mother did not want me to be a wallflower at school dances, which in the 1930s commenced in fourth grade. She also wanted me to know there was more to life than the books I omnivorously read and the daily boxing lessons I received from my father.
The dancing lessons saved the day on many occasions, one in particular in 1948 when I was chosen to escort Shirley Temple to a number of dinner parties. We hit it off o.k., but I was trembling when she suggested we dance. However, “Mum’s” box step saved the day. Thank you, “Mum”. Love, Harry.
MILLER MOVIE. On a cold and windy night in 1960, I received a telephone call late in the evening at my home from Walter Ramage, manager of the Mapes Hotel. At the time I was handling public relations for the hotel. He asked if I could come down immediately for a very important mission.
I hastily drove the few blocks to the hotel and hooked up with Ramage, who was waiting in the lobby dressed in an overcoat and hat. I asked him, “What’s up?” he said, “Follow me.” We moved quickly outside and down the alley alongside the Truckee River towards the Holiday Hotel.
Upon entering the Holiday we encountered a couple of gentlemen standing in the lobby with several pieces of luggage. Walter quickly asked me to grab two of the bags, and he assisted the two men in gathering up the rest of their belongings. We then hot-footed it back up the alley to the Mapes. Once there, we checked the two individuals in and repaired to the Coach Room Lounge for a well-earned round of cocktails.
While enjoying our drinks, I learned the two were advance men for a motion picture company that was scheduled to film in Reno during the summer. One of the individuals was a bald-headed, urbane gentleman whose name was C.O. “Doc” Erickson and the other was a shorter, crew-cut, pugilist-looking fellow named Tommy Shaw.
The picture was to be entitled The Misfits, penned by playwright Arthur Miller and directed by the famous John Huston. It would star Clark Gable and Marilyn Monroe, two of the biggest names in Hollywood. Initially, the entire shooting cast and crew were to be housed at the Holiday, but when Ramage had learned of the arrangement he had offered a superior deal from the much larger Mapes Hotel. Both Erickson and Shaw were excited about The Misfits and said it was bound to be a blockbuster because of the large budget that had been allocated for filming.
MISSING. Yesterday I passed an old friend standing by the Virginia Street bridge. I don’t think she noticed me, because her eyes—that once danced with light and sparkle as she gazed down on the fast-moving water—seemed blank and vacant, like the windows in an empty building.
Indeed, her whole appearance was one of seediness and neglect. Oh, the fine lines and imposing mien were still there, but they wore the smudges and stains of grime and exposure to the harsh Nevada elements.
Could it actually be less than 50 years since she first burst onto the scene, only a few decades ago since she had been the darling of Virginia Street: courted by royalty, entertainers, athletes and politicians? Were her memorable parties, fine dining and whirlwind romances gone forever?
As she stood, so forlorn and unwanted at the river’s edge, I felt a pang of sorrow. I did not speak, for I knew that just as she could no longer see—neither could she hear or respond. I left her there, draped in her faded elegance. Her name? The Mapes Hotel.
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