Just a word in memory of singer and actress Kitty Carlisle Hart, who died on April 17 at age 96.
I have a particularly vivid memory of meeting Mrs. Hart. It was at least five, maybe seven years ago, when I was a guitarist for hire. [Update: It stands to reason that this was her 90th birthday celebration.] I got a call from actor Geoff Nauffts, with whom I’d worked once before. He told me about a little gig, I think at the Gramercy Theater on East 23rd Street (now defunct). Just one song, “I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face,” in a bouncy jazz feel, just for guitar and voice. I figured it would be casual, so I threw on a faded pair of Dickies and a green shirt with a collar. When I showed up I learned that this was a gala tribute to … Kitty Carlisle Hart. Betty Buckley was on the bill, along with Judy Kuhn and a host of others.
Looking around, I could immediately see that I was badly underdressed. I ran out of the theater and looked for a nearby clothing store and a decent pair of pants. No luck. Backstage, I voiced my embarrassment to Geoff, who was completely nonchalant. I ran into the great pianist Bruce Barth, who was there to accompany Betty Buckley. A moment later I was face to face with Mrs. Hart. She smiled at me and asked with genuine interest and open-heartedness: “And what are you going to play?” I told her; she seemed delighted. I think we shook hands.
Thank you, Mrs. Hart, for your graciousness during one of my not-so-professional moments.
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