Restaurant Jonathan

Part 1

Once upon a time I played piano in an outrageously beautiful Art Deco restaurant known as Restaurant Jonathan. When I wasn’t playing, there was piped in music that always reminded me a bit of the music in “The Shining”. On the third floor, just outside of the private dining room, was a vintage 1930s bar which, when opened, was all lights and mirrors. On one occasion I was hired  to accompany a special command performance of "You Gotta Get a Gimmick" (from "Gypsy"), performed by three local favorites--Judy Latour as Tessie Tura,  Linda Fried as Electra (complete with electric lights on her costume, and Becky Allen as Mazeppa, trumpet in hand. I was at an electric keyboard that had been brought in for the after-dinner entertainment. In the small converted attic dining room, the three ladies looked like Mardi Gras floats as they entered with their headpieces and props. The second floor had two dining rooms—the Icarte and the Erté. Erté himself made at least one appearance at the restaurant. The etched glass mural, created for the restaurant by Dennis Abbe, behind the second floor bar extended all the way up from the first floor bar in the Night and Day Lounge, where I played the oxblood baby grand, which faced the bar and also had a view of the aquarium that was set into the wall that divided the bar from the front entrance of the restaurant. 

I’ll never forget my first night playing at Jonathan’s. My photograph (taken by Barry Muniz) was in a window frame outside, just next to the main entrance. I was scheduled to play from nine til midnight. Shortly before I was to finish for the evening, impeccably dressed manager Klein Stuart came over and discreetly informed me that a Mr. Irwin wanted to hire me to play another hour for an extra hundred dollars. So of course I said ‘’yes’’ and continued playing.  Mr. Irwin requested ''I Get a Kick Out of You'' and bought a round of drinks for everyone in the bar.  Around this time my friend Ricky Graham stopped in and sang a song ("Wall Street" from the off-Broadway show "Dames at Sea") with me and tap danced on top of the piano. The bar crowd, all dressed to the nines, sang along. (On a side note--a few months later I was playing another song from "Dames at Sea". Tom, one of the waiters came up to me later that evening and very excitedly told me that he was good friends with Tamara Long, who had originated the role of Mona Kent in the show. In his wallet were several photos of the two of them together.)  Later, as I was finishing for the night, I saw Mr. Irwin, by now quite passed out, being carried through the Night and Day Lounge, and out of the restaurant, by two of the restaurant staff members. 

And so it began. Every Friday and Saturday evening, formally attired, I would arrive, have a drink at the bar, then play three sets, followed by dinner. I became familiar with the regular New Orleans diners, mainly from discreetly observing  them from a distance as I played the music of Cole Porter, The Gershwins, and Rogers and Hart, among many others. One recurring scenario I remember involved a particular New Orleans type. My outspoken marionette character Miss Viola would describe them like this: ‘’Uptown New Orleans, where the women pretend they’re queens...and their husbands pretend THEY’RE not.’’ 

     Every so often I’d hear the managers at the front desk say ‘’the so-and-so’s are coming’’, and the entire staff would suddenly be on edge because the so-and-so’s were coming and everything had to be perfect or, as I recall one particular evening, one of the wives had warned a manager, ‘’If this isn’t taken care of immediately, you will experience the WRATH of RUTH.’’ Some evenings, after dinner, Mr. so-and-so would slip into the Night and Day Lounge with a much younger attractive gentleman, and they would sit quietly at a corner table for some private time. There would inevitably be a minor scene outside the bar at the front desk, where the sobbing, distraught wife would order the manager, ‘’Call me a cab!’’ And then the next week the infamous couple would come back in for dinner as if nothing had happened. 

There were also opening parties for the national touring shows that played the Saenger Theatre down N. Rampart St. Opening night of the touring "Oklahoma", leading lady Christine Andreas sang with me--"With a Song in My Heart". And celebrities. I recently heard, for the first time, an account of the time Andy Warhol was in town and had dinner at Restaurant Jonathan. It seems there was, on this particular night, a rowdy group from Alabama at the restaurant. About the time Warhol and his entourage had arrived, the Alabamans were ready to leave. The Warhol party entered, checked in, and stood patiently waiting for the elevator. When the elevator arrived, the doors opened to reveal the drunken group from Alabama. Among the revelers was one unfortunate soul who had died during the journey to the first floor. 

Part 2.

Everyone, customers as well as staff, took great pride in being part of Restaurant Jonathan. The bartender, Charles Grant, always had a welcoming smile and made everyone feel special. In the men's room were rose scented candles. Whenever I went in to use the facility, if there were drops of water on the counter, I would wipe them dry with a clean paper towel. Everyone did their best to maintain the elegance that had been created by the original owners, architect Jack Cosner and his partner Jay Schwab, who by this time had sadly both passed away. Margarita "Darling" Bergen, still a vibrant presence in New Orleans, would come into the Night and Day Lounge and say "Hello Henry--can you play for me 'As Times Go By'?" Other times she would request "Sophisticated Lady". 

     Many of the regulars had favorite songs, which I would play as they entered the room. Visiting celebrities included Leslie Caron, Yvonne DeCarlo ("Oh my, look at all of these lovely things. Art deco--that's what this is--art deco."), Paul Lynde (wearing casual clothes and a sailor hat, pulled down), Richard Burton (the most striking, bigger than life person I have ever seen), Henry Mancini (never saw him but I knew he could hear me!), and many others. 

After the restaurant finally closed, the property remained unoccupied for a number of years. Eventually it reopened as Funky Butt's, a music club and bar. I couldn't quite bring myself to return to 714 N. Rampart St. I don't generally have a problem with change, but this was different. Restaurant Jonathan held such special memories for me, and I preferred to keep them intact. Until I was asked to come along for an evening at Funky Butt's. So, along with my cabaret companions Cynthia Owen and Chris Wecklein (both of whom had to convince me), I returned to what once was the Night and Day Lounge. 

     We didn't enter through the main entrance. The lounge doors were fully open and we walked right inside. The etched glass behind the bar was still there, but otherwise the room was barely recognizable. We sat at a table right in the same spot where the baby grand piano had been. We ordered a round of drinks, and then another. And then another. I had, for the moment, forgotten about the past and was having a good time at this new club. 

     Then it was time to use the men's room. I made my way through the bar and crossed the hallway and entered. And then I remembered. There were no rose scented candles--only the heavy smell of urine and other unpleasant things. There was grafitti on the walls, and there was water all over the counter. I instinctively reached for a paper towel. I decided that I needed some privacy, and so I locked the men's room door. And I began to wipe the water off of the  counter. I must have had  a lot to drink, because all of a sudden my eyes filled with tears, and I broke out into heavy, violent sobs. I thought of the first time I ever saw the restaurant.  I was given a personal tour of Restaurant Jonathan, before it opened. I had been a guest for dinner with Jack and Jay, the owners, and a few staff members. Dinner was outside on the second floor terrace. And I pictured, in my mind, the waiters, those wonderful, crazy guys, and Chef Tom, and the managers, and all the others who had left this world. I cleaned the men's room, one last time. It was a sort of rite of passage into the present. And it was okay.

 © 2019 Harry Mayronne

After my first time traveling by air, I decided that the experience needed to be replicated and shared. So one weekend when my cousins came to visit, we played airplane, under my direction. My cousins Craig and Brian were close in age (I was ten). Their sisters Sharon and Carrie were closer to my sister Maryanne, who is about five years younger than I. So there we had our crew and our passengers. Preparation for the flight had begun much earlier in the day. I decided that my bedroom would be the best location. I began by hiding all my personal things, including toys, papers and unnecessary chachkas. Then I borrowed some chairs from the dining room. They were placed, two by two, along the wall by the windows. The first two were for the pilot and co-pilot (Craig and Brian). 

     The next two were passenger seats (for Maryanne and me).Each passenger seat had a pillow to sit on as well as a pillow to lean back on. Two belts hooked together made an excellent seatbelt, and a fresh clean white napkin was placed over the top of each chair. Across the hall in the bathroom was a stack of small airline soaps. Two perfectly folded hand towels were placed on the towel rack. In the kitchen, two TV dinners were placed in the oven, which was turned on at just the right time for the dinners to be ready when it was mealtime during the flight. The vacuum was plugged in and placed by one of the dressers.

     Then we were ready. Craig and Brian took their places in the "cockpit". Maryanne and I entered the "cabin", where we were greeted by the two flight attendants (Sharon and Carrie), who took our tickets (real tickets from a family trip), and showed us to our seats. Before I took my seat I went over to the dresser, turned on the vacuum cleaner, and stuffed some socks into the hose. The noise it made sounded very much like the sound in the cabin when a jet is airborne. So Maryanne and I buckled ourselves into our seats, read magazines, looked out of the window and then, when the TV dinners were ready, were served dinner by the two flight attendants. The meals were placed on two TV trays that had been folded and discreetly placed in front of our seats.I don't remember much else.

      After all, when the flight was over, it was late, we were still in my bedroom and our four cousins had not yet had dinner. As for my sister and me, we were jetlagged and probably turned in for the night.

©️ 2019 Harry Mayronne

During the Spring of 2008, I was asked to play piano at a reception for Stephen Sondheim. The party was hosted by a couple of mutual New York friends with ties to New Orleans, which is where the event took place. The piano I played was a Cottage Grand with what I believe was the original bench, with a rotating seat.

     About an hour into the party, Mr. Sondheim broke away from the crowd and came over to the piano.  I stopped what I was playing, said hello, and he asked, “So how’s the piano?” 

     And so began our conversation. He seemed concerned about my personal comfort sitting on the small piano bench. I assured him that I was okay. He was intrigued by my having worked with Dr. Joann Gordon (author of "Art isn't Easy--the Theater of Stephen Sondheim") as accompanist for her “Art Isn’t Easy” student workshop at Loyola University.  And with my having met Craig Zadan, author of "Sondheim and Company". (This was prior to Craig's producing the film musical "Chicago" with his Storyline Productions partner Neal Meron, and then later the Academy Awards. When we met he was directing a film called "If Looks Could Kill" with Richard Grieco. Craig invited me to the Warner Brothers lot to watch and hear the orchestra record the musical soundtrack under the direction of composer David Foster. This was the first time I learned of computer generated sheet music. Every so often the orchestra would stop playing for a change, and an assistant would run off the soundstage and then quickly return and hand out freshly printed revisions to the musicians.)

As often happens in New Orleans, the subject of food and restaurants came up. I learned that his first dining experience in New Orleans was at a small neighborhood place called Liuzza’s, where he was introduced to (and enjoyed) fried dill pickles. After a bit more conversation he headed back to the crowd.

     Earlier this year, I was invited to play another party for the same hosts. This time the occasion was friends simply being able to get together again, as the lockdown restrictions had finally subsided. I was looking forward to seeing who would be there, and to playing for them. I arrived early, and chatted with the hosts before the guests arrived. When it was time, I headed over to the piano in the next room.  Intellectually I knew, but it wasn’t until I saw the Cottage Grand, and the small bench with the rotating seat, that it hit me. Stephen Sondheim had really left us. But also left us an incredible legacy. I treasure the few minutes I was fortunate to spend with him.

©️ 2023 Harry Mayronne

It was a Saturday. Along with some friends, I had been to the Europa Center in Berlin. First we watched the skaters at the ice rink. Later we visited the Bote und Bock music store. I made a purchase using Travelers Checks in German currency. It wasn't until I had returned to my hotel, the Eremitage, that I realized that the shop clerk had given me too much change--as if I had given her Travelers Checks in American dollars. 

Later that  evening at the hotel, I sat and had a glass of cognac and a conversation with a German girl named Bruni. I told her the story. She  told me that if I would give her the money, she would return it to the store on Monday (I was leaving the next day, Sunday). When I told my friends that I had given the money to Bruni, they all laughed and told me that Bruni would just keep the money and tell people about the stupid American.

A week later, though, after I had returned to Munich, where I was spending the summer studying, I received a package. It was from the shop girl in Berlin.  Bruni had returned the money. In the package was a thank you note and a record album of a jazz group called "Allotria".

All these years later it's good to remember that there are some honest people in the world.

© 2015 Harry Mayronne

Rowena Rollins came to New Orleans to appear in "An Evening with Spike Jones and his City Slickers", a recreation of the original, including the original trap-door upright bass and cowbells. (See story below.)

From 2015, on the closing of The Pearl Oyster Bar and Restaurant:

'Yesterday evening I read online that The Pearl restaurant, which had opened  on St. Charles Avenue nearly one hundred years ago, was going to close today. I decided to go there one last time.  I sat at the bar and had a nice conversation with the owner’s daughter.  On the way out I noticed one table in particular, where I used to sit for lunch during the month of rehearsals for the "Spike Jones Show" several years ago. 

The guest star was a show biz veteran named Rowena Rollins, who had appeared on Broadway and done a film or two.  She had been given a rather lengthy monologue to learn and was having a difficult time learning the lines.  To no avail she had told the producer/director that she preferred to just do her old “schtick” and not have to learn so much new material. Day after day she struggled.

One afternoon during a lunch break, Rowena, Chris Wecklein (his first show in New Orleans), and I were seated at the table for poboys and drinks. Rowena looked particularly troubled. She finally said, “I’m SO upset but I can’t tell anyone.” I asked her what was wrong but she kept on saying, “I can’t tell anyone—he’ll kill me if I tell anyone.” After some persuasion, she reluctantly shared her dilemma. It seemed that the producer/director/designer (who, in his bio, attributed "his ethics to L. Ron Hubbard"), had decided that he was now going to also appear as an actor in the show. Her role as “the lady from the society for the prevention of cruelty to music” was actually going to be performed by the director himself, and he intended to “surprise” the performers on opening night with his unexpected appearance.  For those of you outside of the business, this is, to say the least, highly unethical. The plan was for Rowena to to learn and rehearse the monologue, knowing that she would never have a chance to perform it.

After giving the situation some thought, I came up with what I thought was a rather  ingenious solution.  “Here’s what you can do”, I explained. “Go ahead and learn the monologue.  On opening night, go stand in the wings, in costume, as if you’re going to go onstage for the scene.  Then when our director friend appears in an identical costume, in the wings, ready to go on, you feign a heart attack—YOU’RE AN ACTRESS. Clutch your heart and fall to the floor.  He will panic. Then when he runs out to the lobby, in full drag, to call an ambulance, you simply walk out onstage and do the monologue. There is nothing he can possibly do to you.“

Rowena just sighed and said, “Oh, I couldn’t do that.”

“Well” I replied,  “then I really don’t know what to tell you.”

Opening night, the director made his intended “surprise” entrance. Of course, the cast and musicians had all been told what was going to happen and were prepared not to react.  And the result, which for one time was actually warranted, was---CRICKETS...

From outside, I looked through the window and watched the diners enjoying their lunch, and the Pearl began to fade into history. All the best to Miss Marie, and thanks for the memories...'

©️ 2015 Harry Mayronne