During that period from 1971 to 1976 I lived as a New York City bachelor. From September through May I would frequent the taverns along the avenues on the upper East side and lower West side. I dated women who would pick me up in their Jaguars and bring me to clubs, pay for my drinks, buy me presents and do favors for me.
In the summer I ‘d occupy myself in the Post House, Bobby Vans, Bradleys and the Drivers Seat. I met Jinxy, my anorectic live-in who ate lobster roe and didn’t speak a word of English but somehow we lasted a summer. The previous summer she had been the live-in lover of a very old and very rich European who I had met while living at the old Irving Hotel, a Gatsbyesque kind of gatehouse on Hill Street.
I met Jinxy the following year at the bar of the Driver’s Seat and we motioned to each other our remembrances of the previous summer. That night she came back to my room and never left. We went on one date all summer, to the Lobster Inn. The rest of the time we went out independently and half the time she or I either came back with somebody else or never came back at all or the other half of the time when we both came back.
Jinxy spoke German. She also had the habit of writing down everything she did in one of the many notebooks she had. At dinner, for instancem, she wrote down everything she ate. In one evening she would make ten or twelve entries and if she was lying at the pool the entire time was taken up by writing in her book. I once asked her the best I could what she was writing about. She popinted at me and said “you,” which I felt very flattered but knew it wasn’t true.
My summers were about partying with the wealthy, about the Fords, Charlotte and Anne, and Huntington Hartford and all those who ran in the Southampton summers. Huntington also became a winter friend. He analyzed my handwriting once at his nightclub. He hired me to write for Show Magazine and although I took a few paychecks I didn’t write a word because almost of a daily basis I was beckoned to Hartford’s Beekman Place penthouse. He had two floors and a basement suite where he tried to develop a tennis-like game. He and I played with a girlfriend to both of us, Kathy Kelly, who he knew as only Kelly. Kathy remained my friend past those days.
Kathy was the first woman I knew who was one of many regular clients of a midtown plastic surgeon. She invited me along with her for one of her treatments that she swore “wouldn’t take long” on a Saturday night at midnight. I went for the ride because I was astonished that a doctor had office hours at such a late time of the day. But sure enough the office was open and it was packed with people; perhaps fifteen were sitting in the waiting room. They were not the usual doctor’s office customers. The patienst were both men and women all under forty and all what you would call “beautiful people” in that they looked like either wealth or entertainers.
Kathy Kelly was called in and sure enough the appointment took less than five minutes. She had injections into her cheeks. After we left I told her about a gorgeous blond woman who was staring at me. Kathy started to laugh. “Didn’t you notice her Adam’s Apple.”
“You mean he was a she?” I asked.
“Yes. About half the people in there were having a sex change.” I then realized why the office hours were so late at night.
I was much more impressed by getting to know William DeKooning the artist than I was of Huntington Hartford. I got drunk with DeKooning a number of times and, I guess, was considered a part of his entourage. I started to date another member of the entourage, Diane Schwegal.
Southampton was a center for the arts and I was drawn to that element and sought it out.
Larry Rivers, for instance, the painter and musician, often came to my jazz club, New Orleans. Amongst the painters and the musicians he wasn’t so great, in my opinion, but he was a fantastic selfpromoter. He got his first taste of fame by winning the $64,000 Question, a TV show in the fifties that was later found to be rigged, though I don’t know if Rivers’ winning was rigged.
John MacWhinnie was a friend who I knew when we were both in our late teens or early twenties. We were friends because we had drugs and alcolhol in common, meeting regularly at the Hampton House and then going around back or upstairs into one of the apartments to smoke a join or take some acid. I was then invited by him to see his paintings, which I thought they were great. He was friendly with Fairfield Porter the great artist. Porter painted John and then John, wisely, painted Porter. During my marriage to Carol John came over to my house to sit and drink and share some pot. It was there that we would scheme on how we could get DeKoonig, or Rivers or Porter to give us a painting so we could sell it and get rich. I told John I had easy access to DeKoonig and he had access to Porter. It was all a figment of our imagination because we never went beyond the fun discussion we had. Later John became very wealthy on the basis of his own work. The Marlboro Gallery, who represented him, introduced John to the Johnson family, of Johnson & Johnson, the pharaceutical conglomerate. John was commissioned to paint the portraits of the entire family. It made John wealthy and famous.
John gave me a sketch he did for a painting of himself he was planning to do. It is below.
Finally, there was my dear and now passed friend Tony Scornavacca, who was a gifted artist, a standup comedian, an emcee, and, sadly, a lifelong degenerative alcoholic. Though Tony painted and drew everything including cartoons, jokes, comics, caricatures, upside down caricatures and portraits, his specialty was painting naked women and many of his paintings found there way into the pages of many magazines. He called it jokingly, “Scornagraphy by Pornavacca” or just plain “Scornagraphy.” Here is one of the quick cartoons he sketched:
One time he called me collect from Coconut Grove. I heard the conversation he was having with the operator: “You spell it S as in Scornavacca, C as in Cornavacca, O as in Ornivacca, R as in…”
I screamed through the phone, “Operator, I accept the charges.”
He was my passenger one day when I had to go into downtown Brooklyn for a job. We took the Belt Parkway. As I was heading west we saw that up ahead there was a sign. As we got closer we could read it. It said “Draw Bridge, 1 Mile.” Upon reading the sign Tony reached over into the back and pulled out his artist’s sketchpad. Sure enough, in exactly a mile we drove over the overpass. In the mean time Tony sketched away. A moment later he showed me what he drew looking for my opinion. He had drawn a bridge.
“I do what I’m told,” he said deadpan.
One time he and I were trying to quit smoking. We knew that if we wanted to be successful we would need to be constructive and stay busy.
So one Saturday morning after a hard Friday night, I screamed into Tony's bedroom from my position on the couch, "Hey, Scornavacca, you up?"
"No, what do you want?"
"I have a great idea," I responded, "we’ll make a lot of money and build the business over at the Driverts Seat for Howie the bartender."
"What is that," he yelled.
"Come here."
A few minutes later I told him a little about the idea.
We went down to the Morris Studio. We bought five, thirty inch by thirty inch, prestretched canvas
"Okay, now Tony, paing a large red circle." Tony took out his oils and painted a large red circle. Scornavacca, by the way, had developed a skill of doing caricatures at very high rates of speed. He did so to make a night's meal when he was really down and out. But he also was commissioned to if portraits from time to time and was mostly recognized for his full body lifesized portraits, some of which appeared in major magazines.
He finished painting large red circles on all five canvasses.
"Now paint a one inch light brown border on the circles," I directed.
He did that.
"Now take some yellowish white and put gobs of it all over the red areas," I directed him.
"Hey," he said, "they look like pizzas!"
"Exactly! I'll be back in a little while," I told Tony. "Just sit tight and get ready to paint like the dickens.”
I went down to Mr. Laffs and told Howie I'd like to set up in the cafe section right on the street. I told the owner, Paul Techworh, I would bring new business though what I really had in mine was to sell pizza. I took their blackboard back home and on the way stopped at the lumberyard.
I went back to the apartment. Tony was sleeping so I went to work. I spent the next two hours working hard on my project. Then I woke Tony.
As we started to leave the apartment, I asked Tony to take the scissors.
"What for?" he asked.
"You'll see," I rejoined.
That night at about eight we returned to the Mr. Laffs and began to set up. I nailed a sign I had designed and painted in a prominent corner of the cafe "PIZZA by SCORNAVACCA" the sign read. I then set up an easel with a price list:
Slice of Pizza $2.50 Whole Pie $15.00
One Topping $.25 $1.75 extra
Two Toppings $.45 $3.15 extra
Three Toppings $.65 $4.55 extra
The Works $.75 $5.25 extra
All I can say is that on the very first night we sold out. People didn’t buy the whole pie; the folks bought slices and kept me cutting them until 2 AM. Tony, in the mean time, painted anchovies, mushrooms, onions and peppers or whatever the customer wanted. Once people had a few drinks in them they asked for other things on their pizza slices. Without mentioning what they were, be assured what Tony painted was somewhat twisted and certainly vulgar. But the customer got what he wanted.
Of course Tony proudly signed, painted in his “Scornavacca” on each and every painted slice. Howie kept the beers and booze coming throughout.
We took off Sunday night and celebrated our new business but first thing Monday we were over at the Morris Studio buying rolls of canvass. The fad caught on and Tony and I had a very profitable summer, each night dining early in places we never dreamed we could afford.
And in one mansion as I write there are three Scornavacca Pizzas hanging on the walls. Tony did a charcoal of me.
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