Ann on Tour - Maxim's, Paris

The best place on the Continent for a steak frites and expatriate conversation.  Charles and Ann spent many a soiree here entertaining les amis.

Musical Friends - Victor Herbert

Victor Herbert, the famous composer of American light opera.  He wrote "The Madcap Duchess" for Ann.

Ann on Tour - Pierre Hotel, New York

Understated.  Private.  The perfect Gotham getaway.  Ann's stays were yearly, seasonal, and legendary.

Ann on Tour - Claridge's Hotel, London

There is nothing in the world quite so so soothing as a soothing hotel, and this one is probably the most soothing of all.  No wonder it was Ann's favorite London haunt.

Somerset and Swinburne

Somerset Maugham, the famous author, was a confidiante of Ann and a frequent guest at Ann and Charlie Munroe's villa, Le Clos, in St. Jean Cap Ferrat, South of France.

"Mrs. Benkard Regrets"

Yet another of GrandMama's loyal retainers was an English butler named Meshes.  The way my father Rudolph pronounced it, he made a point of slurring the "sh" so that it became a slithery Russian "zh".  This proved to be an apt rendition, as our butling Brit was prone to tippling from the liquor cabinet.  In fact, the times when he was tipsy most likely outweighed his moments of sobriety, and thus, his slurry sobriquet.

Rudolph and Meshes shared a passion for current events, and spent many an hour huddled beside the radio as they breathlessly awaited news from the European front.  I like to think their sessions went something like this:

INT. - MANHATTAN, 1940 - RIVER HOUSE - SERVANTS PARLOR - EVENING

Meshes and Rudolph sit before the wireless, ears cocked for the nightly news broadcast. Meshes surreptitiously tops off his tea with a flask from his coat pocket.  The announcer's voice breaks through.

RADIO ANNOUNCER

This just in from the front.  German troops suffered massive losses as British bombadiers storm the Rhineland.  

MESHES

(in a British accent, betraying his Cockney roots)

Serves them right, bleedin' Jerries! 

 RUDOLPH

Think of it, Meshes! Wouldn't you give your eye teeth to be flying a B-52?

MESHES

(adjusting his dentures)

Can't say I wouldn't...that is...if I had me eye teeth...

RADIO ANNOUNCER

Hitler's forces followed up with a nighttime bombing run, swarming over the English Channel and pounding the Dover coast.

MESHES

Blasted Fuhrer! I'd like to give 'im what for! I'd beat the livin' daylights out of 'im I would.

Meshes removes his jacket and rolls up his sleeves and goes into boxing mode.

RUDOLPH

Fisticuffs? Brilliant You'd trounce him, I say! He wouldn't stand a chance!

MESHES

(now standing and hopping about the floor, throwing air punches)

Take that, ya little weinerschnitzel! Aha! Gotcha, didn't I? 

RUDOLPH

Meshes! Watch out for his left hook!

Meshes ducks, in reaction to his fake opponent's punch, then bounces back.

MESHES

Oh, you're the sneaky one, aren't you? Look lively now...comin' right back at 'ya...you sour old Kraut!

Just then the door swings open and GrandMama, dressed for dinner, stands, aghast at the jacketless, rumple-haired boxing butler.

GRANDMAMA

Meshes!  For god's sake! Remember yourself!  The British Ambassador will be here in twenty minutes!  Rudolph, stop distracting the servants.

MESHES 

(pulling himself together) 

Pardon me, Mrs. Benkard, but the boy meant no harm.

RUDOLPH

I'm sorry, Mama, it was my fault.  I asked Meshes to turn on the wireless.

GRANDMAMA

I see.

MESHES

Forgive me, Madame, I got a bit carried away.

GRANDMAMA

I can see that.

RUDOLPH

And then Meshes showed me his old boxing moves and well...Meshes just about had the Fuhrer, didn't you, Meshes!

Meshes and Rudolph stifle a conspiratorial chuckle.

MESHES

(under his breath)

We certainly did.

GRANDMAMA

The Fuhrer is nothing compared to the wrath you shall face if I don't see my canapes in place!

Rudolph, get dressed. 

Rudolph sheepishly exits, followed by GrandMama, slamming the door in a huff.

Meshes reaches for his flask and takes an unapologetic swig.

MESHES

(singing)

"Rule Britannia...

Rudolph pops his head in, joining in.

RUDOLPH

(singing)

Britania rule the waves....

They hum the rest of the tune as Rudolph hands Meshes a tray of pigs in a blanket, opening the pantry doors as Meshes, by now quite sloshed, ceremoniously marches forth.

Photo credit - Arthur Treacher 

Maid for Each Other

Mrs. Munroe had two Irish sisters, Catherine and Nora, in her permanent, if peripatetic employ. Upon first meeting them, I was informed that they were "personal" maids. As if being a maid is anything but personal. I was told they helped her dress, packed and unpacked her numerous suitcases, set out her jewellry and accesories for the evening, and tended to other details of Madame's toilette. Apparently Grandmother was unable - or far too busy - to attend to such matters herself.





They were "of an age", a fact which led me to believe that they had been a part of her household for many many years. They were often referred to in tandem, and for the longest time I failed to realize that "CatN'Nora" were actually two individuals. To me, they might as well have been twins, in their matching uniforms, caps and aprons. They labored swiftly, silently and industriously in the background, anticipating Ann's every whim. In short, they were the stage managers behind the longest running show on the East Side, and took a tremendous amount of pride in assuring only rave reviews. Once they had prepared the star for her entrance onto the evening's stage, they would stand behind her, admiringly, clucking to themselves with great satisfaction. Heaven help them if Mrs. Vanderpugh across the street stole any of Madame's thunder!





All day they would run to and fro, arranging, fixing, sewing, pressing, cleaning, hanging, folding. The two of them, talking to themselves, would crisscross the apartment hundreds of times, trying to get everything, "Just so." Their efforts would culminate in the elaborate ritual known as dressing for dinner, in which the lady of the household, Mrs. Munroe, would be clad and coiffed in a manner befitting a doyenne of society. This entailed a myriad of talents, which when combined, resulting in the perfect outfit to match the occasion. The effect - effortless, but the execution took hours of planning and preparation.





This particular evening, Anne would be attending a performance of "Der Rosenkavalier" at the Met, followed by a light apres-theater supper in a chic private club. Ann requested velvet, being that it was January, but it was Cat and Nora's unerring eye(s) that matched the burgundy velvet gown with black suede shoes and an ostrich feather cape. Ann stopped, stunned, as she sampled the outfit in front of the mirror. Seasonal, yet sensational. A slight smile crossed her lips, which she had painted in a deep shade of red. "Yes, there will be no other like it!". Cat and Nora sighed with relief. It had taken years to reach such levels of fashion anticipation.





When the final clasp was clipped, and the errant earring retrieved, CatN'Nora took the requisite two steps backward, signifying the end of their labors. Ann stared at her reflected perfection. "Lovely," she uttered, and with nary a glance in their direction, strode out of her chambers.





Upon reaching the entry hall, Ann would announce her departure to the household by chirping,


"Goodnight, Cat, goodnight Nora. And thank you.....(studied pause) Do have a look round the parlor and tidy up if you will. You know Marie can be forgetful."





They would nod in acknowledgement, and enjoy a chuckle. Cat jumps in, "Yes, of course, Madame. Young people today...all they think about going to the picture show." Nora retorts, "They've got no idea what it means to be in service!" They shake their heads, nodding in smug tandem pleasure. As the butler opens the front door, CatN'Nora catch a last glimpse at their heroine, looking every inch the leading lady. They smile to themselves in satisfaction, cooing with subdued delight. "Shall we tidy up then, Nora," Cat queried.





Their work is done for the day. The grand apartment, now hushed and dormant, feels oddly empty without Mrs. "M". Cat whisks a full ashtray from the edge of a table, "Just look at that. Why by tomorrow surely it would've fallen straight onto the Aubusson carpet." Cat gives the parlor a last glance, then places her hand underneath a heavy beaded shade. The last lamp's light disappears with a "click".





Nora smiles slyly at her sibling. "Well then, shall we have ourselves a nice cuppa and some of those shortbread cookies Uncle Seamus brought back from Ireland?"





"Indeed, Nora," Cat sighed, her posture, so straight throughout the day, relaxed into an exhausted "S". "Yes, indeed!"

LS 2009

Age Before Beauty - A Symphony of "S's"

Summer. 1965. New York or St. Jean Cap Ferrat, South of France.

Ann holds court with Marcel Erkart and Iris Flores Schirmer (daughter-in-law number two).

Legend has it that Somerset Maugham often sang for his supper chez Ann, being an old dear chum of hers. However, one evening, upon his entrance, he was met by Ann and Iris at the door. As the three of them proceeded into the parlor, Ann quite naturally took the lead, leaving a bewildered Iris in her wake.

Maugham was said to have looked kindly at the younger Mrs. "S" smile and quip, "Age before beauty, my dear."

Though both the latter and the former Mrs. "S's" treated each other with respect, no love was lost between the divas of stage and screen. Ann had never been accustomed to sharing the bill with anyone, even less so in her role of society matron. As far as she was concerned, she was the real Mrs. "S", and anyone who acquired the title afterwards was a mere pretender to the throne.

"Grand-Mama"

Excerpt from "American Social Leaders", INTERNATIONAL NOMADS, by Lanfranco Rasponi (G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1965)


The third great hostess in Nassau, Mrs. Charles Munroe, lives on Cable Beach, amidst a verdant oasis of green, in a pink villa which is not at all splashy but comfortable and snug. In the drawing room, over the fireplace, hangs a superb version of Monet's "Lillies in a Pond." Liable to stay here four months of the year, since she has no other permanent home, she roams the rest of the time. She is a true wayfarer, taking her immense zest for life wherever she goes and making all her friends the richer for it.

Three times a widow and the mother of two sons, Rudolph and Philip Benkard, she was born Ann Ditchburn in the state of Oregon. Gifted with a radiant voice, she studied singing in New York City and became, under the stae name of Ann Swinburne, such a first-rate musical comedy star that Victor Herbert wrote The Madcap Duchess for her. Her love for music has never faltered, and she renounced her skyrocketing career only to marry into the solid and well-estalished musical publishing family of the Schirmers. Today she is still an invaluable member of their Board of Directors. Her musical knowledge is geniune, and she is a fmiliar figure at the Spoleto, Bayreuth, and Salzburg (where she always rents a house) and attends the Festival every year. An intimate friend of many of the musical great, she undertakes long journeys to hear anything new in which they are involved. An enthusiastic supporter of Samuel Barber ad Gian Carlo Menotti from the very beginning of their careers, she has followed each step they have undertaken with something close to maternal pride.

She entertains often and easily, wherever she is. If it's Paris, it will be Maxim's; if London, Claridge's. Excellent at mixing people of all nationalities, she is enough of a linguist to cope with a professor of some German University or a French musicologist if it proves necessary. Restless in a gypsy-like manner, she moves incessantly with her small caravan, consisting of a maid and her English chauffeur, Sims, in a luxurious Mercedes, and rapidly puts up her tents, feeling at home everywhere. To be free to do what pleases her, upon the death of her husband she sold the huge Chateau at St. Jean on Cap Ferrat to Detroit's Ernest Kanzler.

In the thirty years I have known her, her spirit has not changed and her enthusiasm for everything she undertakes - the swim before breakfast in Nassau in the amethyst-tinted sea in front of her bedroom, the daily game of golf and cards, and the pause at the piano to go over a Mozart sonata ("It relaxes me so," I have heard her say often) - is part of the bubble of a charming human being unspoiled by riches or success. In Nassau she chooses her guests from all walks of life and they are apt to be Manhattan's dowager with the mostest, Mrs. William Woodward, Sr., Lorelai, Duchess of Westminster, Conductor Thomas Schippers, lawyer Henry Hyde, or theatrical producer Gilbert Miller and his Kitty.