The Ghost Ship ‘W.W.’ – Opinionator Blog – NYTimes.com
Ach, the memories: This Dick Cavett column reminded me of the night in the early 1960′s that I met Walter Winchell. Did I say that I met Walter? One did not meet him. Not unlike the Pope, Walter granted audiences.
Understand, ever since I was a young kid, Walter Winchell had been like a god to me. My folks and I listened to his New York news show every night at 8 on our big Emerson console radio. He talked, with his staccato delivery of gangsters, New York night clubs, Starlets, all the places and people that I only dreamed about as a young boy. His “Hello Mr.& Mrs. America, and all the ships at sea” was a thing that I looked forward to every Monday thru Friday night.
So, I was covering a Dodger home game for the old Hollywood Citizen News one night, sitting in the pressbox watching the usual boring 1-0 Dodger game of that era, when the door burst open and none other than Walter Winchell, the One and Only, wearing his trade-mark hat and tie, loosened at the collar, with the then bad-boy Angel no-hit pitcher Bo Belinski and two of the most beautiful but sleazy Sunset Strip hookers that I’d ever seen pranced in, all arm-in-arm with all the air of royalty. The girls were the kind that you would kill for, if you know what I mean.
It is my understanding that, up until that very moment, the Dodger pressbox had been an all-male domain. Even the wait-staff and cooks were men. Remember, this was long before the era of female sportswriters. I wonder if Walter O’Malley ever knew that the 1st two women to enter his pressbox were hookers?
Anyway, when they came in, all attention to the game came to a screeching halt, and Walter took over, holding court. They stayed just long enough for a couple of quick beers, all the while, Walter answering questions, giving advice, and generally sucking all the air out of the room.
Then, after finishing his last glass of beer, Walter and his entourage left as suddenly as they appeared and we got back to covering the game. End of story.
It’s a night, that for some reason, I’ll never forget.
Yer pal, Ferrari Bubba
One of Bubba’s most succint posts, and that is saying something.