ON THE ROAD & OFF THE RECORD WITH LEONARD BERNSTEIN
Charlie Harmon, My Years with the Exasperating Genius (New York: Imagine, 2018)
by Douglas Messerli
Charlie Harmon, the author of On the Road & Off the Record with Leonard Bernstein, worked as Bernstein’s personal assistant for four years late in Bernstein’s life, establishing a very close (if also, as the subtitle indicates, exasperating), relationship. As Harmon begins this memoir: “Before I entered his life, Leonard Bernstein’s assistants came and went like the change of seasons in New York.” Some just disappeared out of his life, while others resigned after fairly short periods; one attempted to steal Bernstein’s limousine. Others were simply not up to the demands of the job, which included everything from packing and unpacking the twelve suitcases with which Bernstein traveled around the world, making sure that the Maestro made all of the rehearsals, luncheons, and dinners on time, on occasion even chauffeuring Bernstein to events, and hundreds of other duties large and small that helped ease the conductor and composer through his more than stressful life.
At first, I was a bit irritated by Harmon’s
book; why air all of LB’s dirty laundry (which, in fact, was another of his
literal jobs)? But as the book progressed, I began to realize that if you truly
loved this talented genius, you had also to take in a fuller portrait. How
else, for example, could LB not be a speed addict given how he bounced back and
forth from his apartment in the Dakota in New York to Italy’s La Scala, Vienna,
Israel, England, Tanglewood, Los Angeles, and his home in Connecticut—all in a
single year? Without it, as Harmon was, one could hardly be expected to survive;
by book’s end the author has nearly had a nervous breakdown from his endless
tasks. There is even a kind of #MeToo moment when, in a hotel room, the great
Bernstein attempts to grab Harmon’s crotch. The too cute gay boy pulls away,
simply explaining that that was not part of his job.
Much of his time was simply attending
events with the Maestro, meeting and making small talk with major musicians and
celebrities, even dancing and singing with Betty Comden and Adolph Green. And
surely it didn’t hurt that Harmon could also speak German and Italian and was a
quick learner even of Hebrew.
Yet if you think that Harmon’s book might
be simply a loving paean of his time with the master, you’d be highly
disappointed. The Bernstein of Harmon’s book is not the well-dressed “Lenny” of
the Kennedys’ whirlwind life, but the LB (as Harmon and others of his entourage
refer to him) who can be rude, petulant, dismissive, haughty, unwashed, and,
occasionally, downright sleazy (his own nickname for himself was “Mississippi
Mud”).
From the very first moment LB’s manager,
the terrifying Harry Kraut, hired Harmon, Bernstein’s private chef Ann Deadman
immediately looked over the new hire, saying “He’s too cute. he’ll have to
shave that moustache.” The naïve Harmon wonders, “Cuteness was a liability? Had
prior assistants been up for grabs in some kind of sexual free-for-all?” Of
course, Bernstein, besides having been married (his wife had died before Harmon
came to work for him) and producing three children, was openly gay, but this
book clarifies how avidly he sought out handsome younger men for his beds. Years
later, when Harmon was introduced to Bernstein’s new chauffeur for a stay in
Italy, he himself was tempted to repeat Deadman’s phrase--and indeed, the
handsome driver was found in Bernstein’s bed soon after).
At first, I was a bit irritated by Harmon’s
book; why air all of LB’s dirty laundry (which, in fact, was another of his
literal jobs)? But as the book progressed, I began to realize that if you truly
loved this talented genius, you had also to take in a fuller portrait. How
else, for example, could LB not be a speed addict given how he bounced back and
forth from his apartment in the Dakota in New York to Italy’s La Scala, Vienna,
Israel, England, Tanglewood, Los Angeles, and his home in Connecticut—all in a
single year? Without it, as Harmon was, one could hardly be expected to
survive; by book’s end the author has nearly had a nervous breakdown from his
endless tasks. There is even a kind of #MeToo moment when, in a hotel room, the
great Bernstein attempts to grab Harmon’s crotch. The too cute gay boy pulls
away, simply explaining that that was not part of his job.
Besides, it is clear that the two men,
although sometimes furious with one another, had become close friends, LB even
seeing his assistant as being in a kind of “marriage” with him. Harmon shares
long descriptions of what he describes as the perks of this job, meeting and
becoming close friends with so many of Bernstein’s celebrity acquaintances. If
some might have treated the assistant—Harry Kraut included—as if he were only
Lenny’s servant, many others recognized his importance to the Maestro, opening
their homes and their personal lives to him.
Moreover, there are all those wonderful
times with not only LB, but with his maid, Julia Vega, the chef, Deadman, and
Bernstein’s long-time personal secretary, his original piano teacher Helen
Coates. Not only were there hundreds of stars—Beverly Sills, Lauren Bacall,
John Travolta, James Levine (who unexpectedly took over Harmon’s role so that
the younger man might have one day of much needed rest)—but also queens and
other royalty. And despite his dislikable attributes, LB was brilliantly witty
and funny. Still, Bernstein’s own loveable mother once took Harmon aside to ask
what he was really planning “to do” with his life, as if provoking him to think
about what gifts other than endless sacrifice that he might wish to give to the
world.
When he was told that Bernstein was ill
and near death, Harmon paid him a visit at the Dakota, where the two briefly
and humorously spoke of their long friendship. Harmon to LB: “You’re only the
second person I’ve ever known that I could fight with.” Harmon to LB: (soon
after) “Arguing isn’t the same as confrontation. When both sides agree to a
compromise, a fight deepens a friendship, instead of destroying it.” LB: (in a
raspy growl) “Fighting—it’s as good as fucking.” Soon after, he takes Charlie’s
hand and says: “Please look after my music.”
Harmon did. After Bernstein’s death, he
edited full scores of West Side Story and Candide before tackling
vocal scores for Candide, On the Town, and Wonderful Town. He might have gone on to
edit performance scores for others of Bernstein’s works, but Kraut, unable to
see the importance of those projects, pulled the plug. Yet today people still
come to him asking many questions about the scores and productions. In the end,
Harmon finally discovered his own life, even without abandoning the life of his
great mentor and, as he describes LB, rebbe.
Los Angeles, 2018
Reprinted from Rain
Taxi (2018).
