Rix had just been in the St. Louis or Chicago Symphony, or something like that and he got out and came to New York, and was doing some session work and stuff. . . . he was the great love of her life at one point” ( 37 ).
Recalls Buzzy, “Bette said to me, ‘You know, Luther is just such a perfect drummer for you, because he just plays every style, and he’s schooled, and he can read and can write charts, and you guys—you just gotta meet him. I know you are gonna play together.’ And I got on the subway to go home, and I went one stop, and the door opened on this subway going down to the Village from up at the Baths, which is 74th and Broadway. And the door opens and here comes this dude wearing a cape, with a cane, with a serpent’s head on it, and some kind of a funny hat. And he comes and sits down beside me, and he says, ‘Oh man, I see you got a guitar case. You know, the greatest guitarist in the world is playing tonight in the Village, you really should catch him.’ THIS was Luther, her boyfriend, and we didn’t separate for a year and a half after that” ( 37 ).
Linhart’s working relationship with Luther and friendship with Bette were both long-lived. However, his gig at the Baths was not. It was just Buzzy and his guitar and a bunch of gay boys in towels, making eyes at each other. According to Linhart, “It was fun, but it just wasn’t me. Somebody could have done showtunes, it would have been perfect for someone else. I did two weeks. They were all in towels, and I’ve grown up in the theater, which is a very special place to be. I got the gig because she got me a job ‘cuz I needed some money. For the rightaudition pianist, it would have been heaven, for someone who knew every showtune ever written. So, we decided after a couple of weeks that it wasn’t for me” ( 37 ).
In a very real sense, Bette’s initial gigs at the Continental Baths were limiting. She was making only $50 a week herself, and Steve Ostrow was paying Manilow. Not convinced that she was going to find the end of the rainbow at the Baths, she continued to attend theater auditions, and, thanks to Bud Friedman, she was beginning to get some legitimate nightclub work outside of New York City.
The first of her major gigs outside of Manhattan came in October of 1970, in Chicago, at a club called Mr. Kelly’s. The engagement was as the opening act for Borscht Belt comedian Jackie Vernon. She was paid so little, there was no way that she could bring along her own piano player, only her musical arrangements. However, this was her big chance to see if she could hold her own onstage with a “straight” crowd. She had to delete her Carmen Miranda camping, her Mae West routines, and her Fire Island/gay hairdresser jokes, but she managed to garner laughs by spontaneously reeling out a whole routine about her lifelong fascination with Frederick’s of Hollywood’s sleazy lingerie.
For her Mr. Kelly’s gig, Bette wore a bright purple dress—without a bra. There was Bette, shaking her ample breasts on stage to her raucous opening number, the ever-tasteful “Sha-Boom Sha-Boom.” Her two opening act shows a night at Mr. Kelly’s were a successful mix of 1950s rock and several blues numbers. Jackie Vernon came across like a corpse after Bette’s energetic set.
After she returned to New York City, Bette continued to do research for her act. She began singing a mix of new material, including rockers like “C. C. Rider,” theatrical pieces like Kurt Weil’s “Surabaya Johnny,” and the lewd and bawdy “Long John Blues,” which is about a dentist who satisfies his female patients by filling their “cavities” with his big, long “drill.” Only Midler would go out of her way to unearth such material—and have the nerve to perform it.
Bette was beginning to feel much more comfortable with her new role in show business—as an interpreter of classic songs. “That’s really my thing,” she admitted, “I watch things,
Recalls Buzzy, “Bette said to me, ‘You know, Luther is just such a perfect drummer for you, because he just plays every style, and he’s schooled, and he can read and can write charts, and you guys—you just gotta meet him. I know you are gonna play together.’ And I got on the subway to go home, and I went one stop, and the door opened on this subway going down to the Village from up at the Baths, which is 74th and Broadway. And the door opens and here comes this dude wearing a cape, with a cane, with a serpent’s head on it, and some kind of a funny hat. And he comes and sits down beside me, and he says, ‘Oh man, I see you got a guitar case. You know, the greatest guitarist in the world is playing tonight in the Village, you really should catch him.’ THIS was Luther, her boyfriend, and we didn’t separate for a year and a half after that” ( 37 ).
Linhart’s working relationship with Luther and friendship with Bette were both long-lived. However, his gig at the Baths was not. It was just Buzzy and his guitar and a bunch of gay boys in towels, making eyes at each other. According to Linhart, “It was fun, but it just wasn’t me. Somebody could have done showtunes, it would have been perfect for someone else. I did two weeks. They were all in towels, and I’ve grown up in the theater, which is a very special place to be. I got the gig because she got me a job ‘cuz I needed some money. For the rightaudition pianist, it would have been heaven, for someone who knew every showtune ever written. So, we decided after a couple of weeks that it wasn’t for me” ( 37 ).
In a very real sense, Bette’s initial gigs at the Continental Baths were limiting. She was making only $50 a week herself, and Steve Ostrow was paying Manilow. Not convinced that she was going to find the end of the rainbow at the Baths, she continued to attend theater auditions, and, thanks to Bud Friedman, she was beginning to get some legitimate nightclub work outside of New York City.
The first of her major gigs outside of Manhattan came in October of 1970, in Chicago, at a club called Mr. Kelly’s. The engagement was as the opening act for Borscht Belt comedian Jackie Vernon. She was paid so little, there was no way that she could bring along her own piano player, only her musical arrangements. However, this was her big chance to see if she could hold her own onstage with a “straight” crowd. She had to delete her Carmen Miranda camping, her Mae West routines, and her Fire Island/gay hairdresser jokes, but she managed to garner laughs by spontaneously reeling out a whole routine about her lifelong fascination with Frederick’s of Hollywood’s sleazy lingerie.
For her Mr. Kelly’s gig, Bette wore a bright purple dress—without a bra. There was Bette, shaking her ample breasts on stage to her raucous opening number, the ever-tasteful “Sha-Boom Sha-Boom.” Her two opening act shows a night at Mr. Kelly’s were a successful mix of 1950s rock and several blues numbers. Jackie Vernon came across like a corpse after Bette’s energetic set.
After she returned to New York City, Bette continued to do research for her act. She began singing a mix of new material, including rockers like “C. C. Rider,” theatrical pieces like Kurt Weil’s “Surabaya Johnny,” and the lewd and bawdy “Long John Blues,” which is about a dentist who satisfies his female patients by filling their “cavities” with his big, long “drill.” Only Midler would go out of her way to unearth such material—and have the nerve to perform it.
Bette was beginning to feel much more comfortable with her new role in show business—as an interpreter of classic songs. “That’s really my thing,” she admitted, “I watch things,
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