The Way It Was--Hollywood Parties
Part Two by Mina Diamos

Every detail was discussed with "Atty's" chiefs and lieutenants who worked together as efficiently as if they were running a business. Although everyone came to his parties not everyone qualified for friendship. Atty was shy and not an easy person to know. Most of his guests came and went without even meeting him. He was a little man in the background who enjoyed watching all those famous people eating and drinking and mingling in their own intimate milieu. Intruders were not welcome, and soon Capo di Monte became the cliquish meeting place where the elite could meet and be entertained by an invisible host. Needing help, he appointed members of his staff to serve as stand-in hosts and to guard against crashers who were a problem on party nights.

I served as one of Mr. Kent's hostesses at many of these parties, wide -eyed and mesmerized in a room filled with the radiance produced by its glamorous occupants. I loved greeting my screen idols such as Joan Crawford and her then male companion, the noted attorney Greg Bowtzer; nearly fainted when Mario Lanza took my arm as I led him through the crowd to meet his host. The peck on the cheek from Errol Flynn sent me to the moon, and Cary Grants hand shake is a tattoo on my hand that will never be removed. The struggling new actor Jim Davis, who later made the role of Jock Ewing on Dallas famous, made my heart beat faster on many of our close encounters. And I'll never forget being stricken by the young Elizabeth Taylors' beauty when she smiled at me and paralyzed me with those incredible violet eyes. Then there was the time I had to rescue one of Hollywood's famous columnists from falling on her tush after trying to diminish the contents of the bar. She had the reputation of doing this at parties, and so I was ready to catch her and help her out before she disgraced herself.

My turn at disgrace and humiliation came soon enough when we were hosting a party for the music crowd and Eugene Ormandy, one of the worlds' leading conductors was the guest of honor. I was given the distinguished honor of spotting him when he arrived and leading him to meet Mr. Kent. When a rather insignificant little man arrived, I was sure he was a crasher, and I asked him for his invitation. In some embarrassment he groped through his pockets unable to find it while I began to lead him out the door only to spin him around just as quickly. He happened to mention his name was Eugene Ormandy. I'll love that humble and gracious man to my dying day for his sensitivity and delightful sense of humor. He showed real class in overlooking my gauche-ness, and we became good friends.

Parties were always separated by lists. There was much snobbery among the various groups and the lists were never mixed. There was the social group where Atwater would fete the dignitaries that headed foundations that he gave generous donations to, such as Mt. Sinai Hospital, Boys' Club of Hollywood, The March of Dimes, St. John's Hospital, Memorial Medical Center, and many more. There was the movie crowd which he loved because of the glamour associated with those beautiful people and his being a part of their world.

Then there was the music group which included all the cultural leaders of our city. This group was Atwater's favorite as it included his pet project - The Atwater Kent Auditions. His great passion was opera and he designed a scholarship type contest to help young opera hopefuls between the ages of 18 to 24. He inaugurated the auditions in 1919 and many Metropolitan opera stars came from those auditions. The auditions were reestablished when Atwater moved the foundation to his new headquarters and brought forth new talent. Cash prizes were given the winners with the ultimate prize being a chance to audition for the Metropolitan Opera Company in New York. Hundreds of applicants were auditioned by committees set up by the Atwater Kent Foundation at his home and at the homes of the committee members with the finals being held at the Hollywood Bowl. It was a big deal and lots of hard work went into making it all happen. The judges were picked from names prominent in the fields of music, entertainment and education. Among them were Lauritz Melchior, Nelson Eddy, Helen Traubel, John Charles Thomas, Jeanette MacDonald, Werner Janssen and Rouben Mamoulian.

These contests contributed mightily to the furthering of music appreciation throughout the nation. I attended most of the auditions during that time and can still feel the goose bumps forming on my skin when I remember hearing an aria perfectly executed by the outstanding voice of one of the auditioners. After listening to the many poor attempts at opera from hopeful contestants, a winner clearly rang true. No wonder Atwater Kent made it his passion.

The snobbery did not stop with the separate lists. The biggest snobs were the servants. It was like the T.V. series "Upstairs Downstairs". No one ever encroached on their domain. Milroy, the head butler ruled the roost and they were like a clan, tight and private. Their quarters took up most of the huge house, and the garage apartments housed the chauffeur and his wife. They had the best of it - beautiful house and garden with all the privileges of their rank. Since Mr. Kent's health was frail, he ate like a bird and only "lite" diets. But I noticed the servants table was loaded with a gourmets' dream. My rare visits to the downstairs staff were only on invitation by Milroy, but I was able to take a quick peek in the king size freezer and spotted racks of lamb and prime rib roasts. They lived well.

Atwater Kent was a born gentleman. Whatever his claim to fame he was not pompous or self important, but polite and well mannered. He entertained with class and good taste. He brought dignity and a style of pedigree to a place that needed the polish, and our city benefitted by his influence. But those Arcadian days were not to last. For the little man who came to claim our city was here for just a brief time, and in that brief time he claimed our hearts leaving gentle memories in some of them. At a time when the nation was recovering from a terrible depression and a devastating war people were ready to play. Now there was peace and affluence. Women were dressing up again and new cars instead of bombs were beginning to come out of factories. Our men in the services were putting their uniforms in mothballs, and Hollywood was rolling out new and better movies.Atwater found the perfect place and time to have his last fling. When his health began to fail no one seemed to notice that he attended fewer and fewer of his own parties and it wasn't long before those of us close to him knew the end was near. He died on March 4, 1949 in his beloved home, Capo di Monte, at the top of Bel Air Road. His will stated that not more than $50,000 should be spent on his funeral. The many, many people whom he hosted, and the "close" friends that he left thousands of dollars to in his will were all conspicuously absent from his funeral. The only mourners at that $50,000 funeral were his children, who had never been to his home in Bel Air, and his staff and his servants. The Atwater Kent millions went to charities, his wife and children, his servants and some Hollywood luminaries that were considered his friends. Mme. Yeatman Griffith, who was his singing teacher up to his last illness was left $l2,000. (She too, was a no -show at his funeral.)

Capo di Monte does not exist anymore. Gone are the cascading flowers over retaining walls, the stately mansion with its brilliant vistas and picture windows, its' copious gardens rich in color and fragrance, olympic pool and tennis courts, the winding driveway and imposing gates. All gone. Atwater Kent Jr. sold his father's estate to a development company who swept it all away and divided it into small lots. Now I'm sure that the music and the laughter and the gayety of a magical time of long ago is haunting the top of Bel Air Road.

Along with his passion for opera was his lifelong love affair with cars. He loved them and loved to drive them fast. One of my fondest memories of Atwater Kent was racing west on Sunset Boulevard with him at the wheel. I arrived for work one morning and he was waiting for me in the driveway. His eyes twinkled as he asked me if he could drive my car. I had one of those new Studebakers that were one of the first cars to come out of the factories just after the war. I moved over and let him get in the drivers seat. He started up and expertly maneuvered my little Studebaker as he wove down Bel Air Road, gleefully ignoring all speed limits. As soon as we reached Sunset Boulevard he turned west pressing his foot on the accelerator and not letting up until the speedometer reached 100 miles per. I think I left my hand prints on the seat as I hung on for dear life. We didn't have seat belts in those days and I'm sure God heard my prayers during that terrifying drive. I was treated to the thrill of a life time by this 74 year old man and I'm not sorry I took that hair-raising ride. It was worth the reckless risk just to see the look on this gentle old man's face, the spark in his eyes, and the unparalled joy he felt on our daredevil escapade!