The Copa Read online

  My father and me.

  My parents and me celebrating my second birthday.

  My father putting on my party hat while celebrating my third birthday with a group of friends at our home on 910 Fifth Avenue. Close family friend and business associate Jack Entratter observes the festivities.

  From the time I was a very young age, Mother would always tell me “remember you are a Podell.” That meant you had to be beautiful, you had to conduct yourself properly, and you could not show any emotion. After a short time I didn’t want to be a Podell and live up to a certain standard of perfection. My mother’s main standards were beauty and appearance. Don’t get me wrong—being a Podell did have its advantages. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but I was raised to feel like I was. I never had to do anything for myself, let alone for others. We had servants and a staff; I would throw my clothes on the floor and they would pick them up. I had a buzzer in my room that I could ring for anything I needed. I would ring the buzzer and ask the maid to get me a glass of water, and it would be done.

  There was a man working in the house who served as my father’s butler, chauffeur, and valet among other things. John Jackson was his name, but everybody just called him Jackson. He would address us as Miss Malda, Mrs. Podell, and Mr. Podell. I was not particularly fond of Jackson and neither was my mother. I assumed my father liked him, or he would not have stayed in his employ. My father or mother would always say “Jackson, get the car,” or “Jackson, drive Malda to school.” John Jackson would work for our family until the day my father passed away.

  When I went to school, Jackson drove me. This was always an embarrassment to me because the other kids would stare at me. Whenever anyone at school asked what my father did, I told them he owned a pizza parlor. I wanted to be like them, but I couldn’t be. I had a hard time finding true friends because in the long run they all wanted part of the limelight that they thought I lived in. I was always a giving child, and I was always disappointed when friendships turned sour. I truly believed that other children lived like this. The kids at school looked at me with something close to awe, and I wasn’t able to form any real friendships until I was shipped off to camp.

  I have cloudy memories until about age seven, which is when my whole life changed. It wasn’t until I was seven years old that I was told I had been adopted by Jules and Claudia and was not their biological child. I remember that moment as if it were yesterday; it was a complete shock. At that time we were living in an apartment at 910 Fifth Avenue, and every night my mother would supervise me brushing my teeth. The sink in the bathroom was too high for me, so I had a stepladder to stand on. I can remember the scent of my mother’s perfume and her standing next to me. I was in a pair of blue cotton pajamas and had just started brushing my teeth. I’m unsure of the reason, but Claudia’s anger stemmed from the fact that I didn’t want to do something she had asked. At that point she said to me, “You are just like your mother. Keep it up and you’re going to end up just like her…she was no good and neither will you be. I’m sorry I ever adopted you.”

  Stunned is a mild word for what I felt. I looked at her and asked her what she meant. She replied, “Apples don’t fall far from the tree and you’ll end up like your mother.” It was all very matter-of-fact; Claudia told me that I was adopted, that she was not my real mother and Jules was not my real father. She then proceeded to say that I came from the “wrong side of the tracks,” and with that, she walked out of the room. I never got over her saying that to me.

  The next day I questioned her about my real parents, wanting her to tell me what my real mother and father were like. Claudia would tell me that my birth mother had died in childbirth, and my father was killed in World War II. At the time I believed her, and it wasn’t until I was several years older that I questioned her story. Never once did my father mention in my presence that I was adopted. Once I discovered that I was adopted, my whole world changed. I would imagine that Jules and Claudia had kidnapped me and I didn’t want to be with them anymore. I started to rebel over anything and everything I could. I’m sure that once I became a teenager, they would have gladly given me back if that had been possible.

  I believe that Claudia wanted a daughter, and since Jules was accustomed to giving her whatever she wanted, he agreed to adopt me. My father worked long hours and was away from home most of the time; the majority of Claudia’s day was spent alone in the house. I believe I was adopted as a companion and possession for my mother. She essentially wanted a little girl to while away the hours with her while her husband was at the club.

  At one time I asked my mother why I couldn’t have a brother or a sister. She told me she had had a hysterectomy years ago and was unable to have children. My mother proceeded to show me her scar; it was huge and she hated it. Back then, doctors were forced to perform hysterectomies through a woman’s stomach, which was very painful.

  Since many of Jules and Claudia’s friends had children, they felt it was the respectable thing to do. I don’t think my father ever wanted or needed children because his whole life was centered on the Copacabana. The responsibilities of raising me were left mostly to the hired staff. My parents did not know what to do with me once I reached a certain age. They gave me as much as they could of themselves, which was not much. I guess in their world they felt giving me freedom without boundaries was a good thing. It could have been a lot worse; I loved them and they loved me the best way they knew how.

  A lavish party thrown by my parents at our apartment at 910 Fifth Avenue, which was served and catered by the Copacabana staff.

  We lived at 910 Fifth Avenue in New York until I was about ten years old. The apartment was very dark, with wood paneling in the foyer and dark blue paint or flocked wallpaper throughout. Remember, this was the 1950s, so this type of decor was considered stylish. There was a doorman in the lobby and a creaky old elevator that would take us to the twelfth floor. I was scared to death of the elevator, never knowing if it might get stuck while I was on it. We had the only apartment on the entire floor. Our maid was the only one who answered the door after someone was announced from downstairs. Once you entered, there was a long hallway and directly to the right was my father’s room, which I was forbidden to enter unless I had been summoned. His den had lighter wood paneling and a desk and various awards on the wall. There was also a separate bathroom in his section of the house. My room was far from the main entrance of the apartment. My mother’s room and mine were close but separated by the maid’s quarters. It seemed as if my father’s bedroom was at least two football fields away from us.

  My parents celebrating the holidays in 1947 with an unidentified friend.

  My mother with our dog, Tinker. Tinker was a given to us by Sammy Davis Jr.

  The building was very old and had a circular driveway where I would sometimes roller-skate. One day I fell after I stopped short on my skates and landed on my elbows. I took a hard spill onto sharp gravel, which stuck in my arms. I remember crying all the way to our apartment because of the terrible pain. My parents never expressed any emotion. I never saw my mother or father cry in front of me as a child. This was hard for me since I was a very emotional person, and it was hard to bond emotionally with them.

  My mother’s daily routine seldom varied. She would generally awake at nine-thirty in the morning and then get herself ready, make-upwise, before she would appear from her bedroom. Between then and 3 P.M., which was time to have lunch with my father, she’d find things to occupy herself with. To prepare for lunch, she would instruct the servants what to do, what special food to make, or have them call in an order from Farber’s. My father liked Farber’s sturgeon and herring. My mother’s lunch tray consisted of melba toast with cottage cheese and possibly one pear. They would sit in his den and eat lunch before he got ready to leave for the club. I assume that at some point during the day she visited the beauty parlor or went shopping. She would have her hair done or shop at least three to four times a week. Her exercise co
nsisted of yoga that she would practice in her room; I’d sometimes walk by and she would be standing on her head.

  Dad’s everyday routine never varied; he probably did not get up until one in the afternoon. Then he would proceed to work in his den until it was time for lunch with my mother. As a rule, he usually had a massage at home three times a week and then he’d get dressed and Jackson would drive him to the Copa. Jackson would then return to the house to do odd jobs or run errands. Sometime around 4 A.M. Jackson would return to the Copa to pick my father up. I don’t believe my father came home before 4 A.M. except on a few rare occasions.

  We had a long dining-room table, worthy of a King, and I would sit at one end and my mother at the other. The table had a buzzer underneath it that my mother would buzz, letting the maid know it was now time to serve dinner. The meals were of three courses, even if we ordered from the club. There was a red phone in my father’s office, which was the hotline directly to the Copa kitchen, and my mother and I would call and order off the Copa menu at least three or four times a week. I don’t ever recall my mother cooking in our kitchen at the house; it just was not something she did. Since she was so fanatical about her weight, she tried to stay away from fattening foods. We’d start off with a salad or vichyssoise and then it was liver, chicken, or steak with vegetables for the main course. She was not a big eater and would encourage me not to eat a lot so I could be thin like she was.

  Since this was the environment I grew up in, I assumed that everyone lived like we did. Believe me when I tell you that I was in shock to find out that other people didn’t have maids to serve them. I was never even in a grocery store until after I got married because my mother had everything delivered to the house or the staff would go and buy it for us.

  Very rarely did mother venture out during weeknights. I remember one time she kissed me good-bye—I can still smell her perfume—and told me that they were going to be on The Ed Sullivan Show. She told me what channel to watch, if I wanted to, so I could look for them in the audience. Well, there I was sitting alone in my room and I see her, in a white mink stole, and my dad being introduced by Ed Sullivan on television.

  The one thing I looked forward to every year was going to camp for eight weeks during the summer months. I enjoyed being away from the hustle and bustle of the city, and because nothing was expected of me, I could be myself. I also enjoyed being with the other children. Through the years I went to several camps located in Massachusetts or Vermont that catered to Jewish children. At camp I played archery, went swimming and horseback riding. I would be disappointed when the time was over because I had friends, companionship, and was able to be around people my own age with the same interests. In fact, I still keep in touch with one of the girls I went to camp with back then.

  On parents’ day one year, my father and mother came to visit me at camp. I was embarrassed because all the other parents were in shorts and casual clothes, but my father had on a dress shirt and slacks with a sport jacket. I remember he complained the whole time because he was hot, uncomfortable, and sweating. It was summer, this was a camp, and there was no air-conditioning…I don’t know what he expected. My parents also had Jackson bring baskets of food for them. This also proved to be embarrassing because everyone else was eating the food provided by the camp and here we were with these gourmet lunches. I still have a picture of my parents sitting on a log eating their lunch. This was the only time he ever came to visit me during all my years of being at camp.

  It sounds funny now, but I really just wanted to be a normal kid with normal parents who weren’t involved in show business. But that wasn’t our life. I was Jules Podell’s daughter and that connected us to the big world of New York City nightlife, and when I look back at all the wonderful people I got to see in their heyday, there isn’t much I would wish to change.

  My father visiting me at summer camp during my teen years.

  The famous Copacabana Girl drawing by Wesley Morje.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Opening of the Copa

  In 1920, Prohibition began in the United States after a constitutional amendment was passed. From January 16, 1920, until December 5, 1933, the “manufacture, sale, or transportation of intoxicating liquors within, the importation thereof into, or the exportation thereof from the United States and all territory subject to the jurisdiction thereof for beverage purposes” was prohibited in the United States.

  Supporters of the law suggested that Prohibition would serve to reduce corruption and crime in the United States. In these terms, Prohibition was a failure, since the law only led to an increase in crime and made those who did sell and supply liquor rich and powerful.

  The line outside the Copacabana during prom season. Taking your date to the Copa after the prom became a long-standing tradition for students in the New York-New Jersey area.

  You can imagine the effect the new law had on the bar, nightclub, and saloon trade. It was said that for every legitimate bar that closed, a dozen speakeasies opened. Speakeasies would emerge as a refuge where patrons could go to consume alcohol and be entertained. Since speakeasies were illegal, patrons were usually given a password to gain entrance. Organized crime owned and supplied these illegal clubs with liquor and protection from the law. Local law enforcement agencies turned a blind eye to such criminal operations in exchange for bribes.

  When Prohibition ended, the organized-crime outfits that had run the majority of speakeasies did not want to give up the lucrative profits the clubs had generated. They therefore needed front men, so-called legitimate businessmen, to act as owners of the legitimate bars and clubs. In many cases, the men selected would be owners in name only. While these front men operated the clubs, the mob skimmed profits from the nightly take and essentially oversaw the entire operation of the establishment.

  The Copacabana opened its doors in October 1940. The nightclub was located in the basement of the Hotel Fourteen, and the official address was 10 East Sixtieth Street. This location had previously housed a nightclub and restaurant called the Villa Vallee, which was owned by the then-famous crooner Rudy Vallee. Vallee became famous in vaudeville, radio, and the movies before newcomer Bing Crosby eclipsed his popularity in the mid-1930s.

  Monte Proser’s name appeared on the lease as the primary owner when the Copacabana first opened its doors, as it also did on the menus, matchbooks, handbills, and the club’s outside awning. Proser had made a name for himself as a nightclub publicist, with one of his accounts being the famed Stork Club. The Stork Club, owned by Sherman Billingsley, was located at 3 East Fifty-third Street in New York. In the 1930s, the Stork Club was “the New Yorkiest spot in New York” according to columnist Walter Winchell. Also joining Proser to run the club was my father and Jack Entratter.

  The dinner menu at the Copacabana from April 29, 1970. Besides the headline entertainment, the food at the club was also world famous.

  Monte Proser knew Jack Entratter, as they had both worked at the Stork Club. Entratter, who was in his mid-twenties when the Copa first opened, would stay at the club for over a decade before heading to Las Vegas. Entratter was a large man, six foot three, and an imposing figure, which helped him begin his career in the New York clubs as a bouncer. Through his connections and outgoing personality, Entratter was able to cultivate friendships with the top people who ran the nightclubs. By most accounts, Entratter was a very religious and family-oriented man who loved children and for the most part had a gentle demeanor and even temper.

  Proser would also venture out to California and became part owner of La Conga, a nightclub in Hollywood. Within a short period of time, Proser would also open various nightspots in others cities such as Miami Beach, Boston, and New York. While this proved lucrative in many cases, it also stretched Proser thin in terms of the attention he could focus on each nightspot. My father and Jack Entratter essentially ran the day-to-day operation of the Copacabana although Monte Proser’s name was out front.

  Monte Proser and company spared no
expense when they decided on a theme that mixed Latin and tropical influences for the Copacabana decor. Interior designer Clark Robinson, who had worked on other venues with Proser, was hired to transform the space into an elegant nightspot. In a few months Robinson’s transformation would be complete; it was extraordinary and exciting. To this day, those who remember visiting the Copacabana mention the lush tropical motifs and palm trees that decorated the club.

  When it first opened its doors, the outside of the Copacabana had an awning from the front steps to the street that initially read MONTE PROSER’S COPACABANA with the address—10 E. 60—above. A few years later, another awning would be added, announcing that the club—now open in the summer—had installed ARMO AIR CONDITIONING. During the first few years of operation, the club shut down during the summer season for several months.

  Phoebe Jacobs recalls:

  I was a teenager the first time I stepped into the Copacabana. My father would take me to all the places of entertainment and music in and around New York. I was a music lover from the time I was about twelve years old. Well, the first time I went to the Copa, I was fascinated by the palm trees and the silk coconuts. The Copa had a real feel and flavor of South America. I later was told that the decor was similar to the Rio, a very famous club in Rio de Janeiro. I was extraordinarily impressed, as any teenager would be, although I had gone to many nightclubs. My uncle was Ralp Watkins, so I knew about nightclubs. Ralph had opened a place called Kelly’s Stable, which was when Fifty-second Street started to be called the Swing Street, and he hired entertainment like Billie Holliday, Nat King Cole, Billy Eckstine, and Billy Daniels. Back then Fifty-second Street was jumping with all kinds of music and things. Later Ralph had the Royal Roost, Bop City, and Basin Street East among others. So I was very aware of the nightclub scene and it took a lot to impress me. Well, I was impressed by the Copa!