Post by Bigolhomo Post by No One Post by Kris Baker Post by No One Post by edonline
Merv Griffin died a closeted homosexual
By Ray RichmondThu Aug 16, 11:49 PM ET
If he was in fact hiding it, how would this guy know?
"Everyone" knows Griffin was gay; it was rumored, he was
sued a couple of times (and settled). He was open about
appearing in public with men.....he just didn't talk about it
or "out" himself. He was what he was. That's not a bad
Well, I didn't know - never met the guy and have/had no interest
in his personal life. Otherwise it sounds ilke speculation on
someone's part ... mere rumor.
By the same standards we'd have to say Liberace's being gay is only
rumor and speculation.
"Why LIBERACE'S theme song should be...
CONFIDENTIAL was a Hollywood tabloid magazine devoted to the
misadventures of Hollywood celebrities. Sold in news stands and
supermarkets everywhere it boasted a circulation of 10 million.
Liberace was not spared Confidential's humiliation.
The July 1957 issue featured an article entitled "Why Liberace's theme
song should be 'Mad About the Boy'". The article alleged that
Liberace, "The Kandelabra Kid," had made advances toward a press agent
in Akron, Los Angeles and Dallas. Liberace sued for libel, denying he
He later won the case by proving he was not in the Dallas area at the
time of one of the alleged attacks.
"Mad About The Boy"
By HORTON STREETE
"THERE ARE FEW SHOW BUSINESS PERSONALITIES today with a gaudier sense
of theater than the Kandelabra Kid himself, Liberace. You know the
routine - grand piano, glittering suit, glimmering candles, Brother
George on the violin, and so on.
But the pudgy pianist's many faithful fans would have popped their
girdles if they had witnessed their idol in action last year in an
offstage production that saw old Kittenish on the Keys play one sour
note after another in his clumsy efforts to make beautiful music with
a handsome but highly reluctant young publicity man.
In one of the zaniest plots in theatrical history, this comedy of
errors rang up the curtain in Akron, Ohio, played a crazy Act Two in
Los Angeles, and closed in Dallas, Texas with the wildest finale since
"Hellzapoppin'." The show had everything: unrequited love...
conflict... mob scenes... low comedy. And through it all throbbed the
theme song, "Mad About the Boy."
It all started when the handsome press agent was brought to Akron from
New York to breathe life into what was threatening to become a dying
enterprise - an outdoor Fourth of July spectacular to be held in the
Akron Rubber Bowl. Along with stock car races, the big attraction was
to be the glamorous Liberace.
Promoting the show and committed to shell out $35,000 to Liberace was
an Ohio promoter, the man who had sent the S.O.S. to the publicity
specialist. By the time of Liberace's arrival in Akron by plane on
Tuesday July 3rd, the promoter and the hard-working drum-beater had
whipped up a gala welcome at the airport that included six slick
chicks to drive cars in a motorcade.
A clue on what was to follow might have been found right at the start
when Liberace, resplendent in a frilly white lace shirt with red polka
dots, minced down the ramp from the plane. As news photographers
crowded around, one of the curvy cuties planted a kiss on his dimpled
cheek. Fatso managed to flash a toothy smile for the cameras, but his
heart clearly wasn't in it. He had just been introduced to the young
publicity man and was getting ideas.
Arriving at the Sheraton-Mayflower Hotel, he wasted no time persuading
the press agent to join him in his suite for a drink. The latter went
along with the invite, figuring it was his job to keep Dimples happy.
He had no idea that in a few short minutes he would be fighting for
his honor. And so it was in all innocence that he informed his host:
"Whatever you want - I'm your boy."
With a little coo of delight, the beaming Liberace promptly threw his
arm around the flack's shoulders and simpered: "That I like!"
The press agent firmly disengaged himself and began mixing drinks. His
host meanwhile tripped into the adjacent bedroom and returned wearing
an elegant robe and an ardent look. Flouncing over to the couch,
Liberace flung himself on its full length, propped his chin on his
hands and gazed tenderly at his young guest. "You I like," he purred.
"That's swell," said the drum-beater nervously, "but I gotta go," and
he started up from his chair. The next thing the publicity man knew he
was right back in it again with Liberace sitting on his lap!
The scene that followed had all the lively action and wild comedy of a
TV wrestling match - with a few things added. Dimples clamped on a
headlock. His victim fought to keep from being pinned, but he was at a
disadvantage. For one thing, he was outweighed. For another, he needed
a referee. A referee certainly would have penalized the panting
pianist for illegal holds.
Once during the scuffle the press agent let out a yelp of pain, and no
wonder... For Luscious Libby, it was strictly no-holds-barred.
Finally, with a sort of combination wristlock and flying mare, the
publicity man wrenched loose from his host's embrace and fled from the
suite, leaving Liberace sprawled on the floor.
Out in the corridor, our hero stopped to catch his breath and to vow
fervently that he would never get in a spot like that again with the
How wrong can you get? He didn't know it, but it was only intermission
coming up, and that was to be packed with action, too, but of a
different kind. First, bad weather and perhaps a touch of apathy
resulted in a disappointing turnout for the Fourth of July
spectacular, and Liberace's appearance was postponed for two days.
When his concert finally did go on at the Rubber Bowl, it was to the
fortissimo accompaniment of planes taking off every few minutes from a
nearby airport and drowning out Libby's keyboard capers.
After the concert, Liberace's trailer-dressing room got the rock-and-
roll treatment from noisy crowds impatient to see the stock car races.
At the height of the confusion, Liberace minced over to the press
agent as though the hotel room scene had never happened, pecked him on
the cheek and murmured: "Who do you love?" The rich profanity he drew
in return seemed to bother Dimples not one whit. Everything in his
manner indicated he still hoped to play a tender duet with the object
of his affections.
Liberace got his chance about two weeks later when the Ohio promoter
persuaded the reluctant ballyhoo boy - by means of a fee and expense
money - to fly out to Los Angeles and settle some litigation that had
arisen in connection with Libby's Akron show. All the press agent had
to do was get Fatso's signature on a couple of releases and the matter
would be settled.
Liberace agreed to sign but first he insisted on fun and frolic, and
the pair had dinner and drinks at Trader Vic's until it closed. After
a visit to another spot, they headed back to town, with Libby at the
wheel of his jazzy Cadillac with the black and white piano-key
upholstery. He steered the car into Trader Vic's darkened parking lot
and came to a stop. Before the young press agent could make his
escape, he found himself playing a tune, you might say, on the
upholstered piano keys - a frantic little number called "Let Me Go,
Lover." He finally managed to break loose, once more vowing profanely,
And once more he was wrong, because right about that time the plot
really began to thicken. Liberace got coy about signing the releases
and the disgusted publicity man went back to New York. The Ohio
promoter promptly contacted him again, mentioned money, and the press
agent was soon off to make one more stab at getting the releases
signed, this time in Dallas, where Dimples was appearing in "The Great
By now, the drum-beater was beginning to feel like the harried hero of
some maniacal melodrama, chasing a perfumed villain with the mortgage
papers. In the lobby of the Stoneleigh Hotel in Dallas, where Liberace
was staying, the flack warned an associate: "If you don't hear from me
pretty quick come up after me." He wanted no more boy-and-boy games
with the kewpie of the keyboard.
Trouble was, no one bothered to tell Liberace that the script was to
be different this time. When the young public relations man walked
into Suite 602, it was Akron all over again. There was Libby, reeking
of perfume and wearing that same robe.
After a few conversational preliminaries, Fatso plumped onto the couch
alongside his young guest, and before you could say Gorgeous George,
the pair were playing a return wrestling match. In a matter of
moments, it turned into a boxing bout, too, with the press agent
throwing desperate lefts and rights at Liberace. The latter, his
determination stiffening, merely clung tighter.
The floor show reached its climax when Dimples, by sheer weight,
pinned his victim's shoulders to the mat and mewed into his face:
"Gee, you're cute when you're mad!"
At that insane moment the door opened and in walked the flack's
friend. To the young publicity chap, he was the U.S. Cavalry riding to
the rescue in the nick of time. The press agent's pal stood there
Liberace jumped to to his feet and greeted the newcomer with some sort
of world record for aplomb. "Forgive the room," he panted, "we've been
That ended the mad farce. The tired press agent was soon heading back
east -without the papers and, for all we know, they never did get that
legal tangle unsnarled.
One thing is sure, though. The whole delirious fiasco served as a
powerful object lesson to the handsome young publicity man. He knows
now that it's time to hit the road when a client tries to turn public
relations into private relations."