"Warm Champagne" from "What I Learned on the Way Down"


Mercredi 30 January 1980-A L'Occasion Des 90 Ans du Bal du Moulin Rouge

The Moulin Rouge opened the night of 6 October, 1889. We arrived a few years later for a Unicef benefit hosted by Peter Ustinov, with special guests Jack Lemmon, Ginger Rogers, George Hamilton, the Village People, a bunch of French celebrities, 80 dancers from La Troupe de Moulin Rouge-most of them topless-with Guest of Honor, French Legion of Honor winner Jerry Lewis.

Whatever you may have heard about the French liking Jerry Lewis, it was an understatement. He was mobbed from the time we stepped off the plane. We needed security to take him to the bathroom. He told a reporter one day he was thinking about moving to France. They leveled a section of the city for him. (Well, they would have.)

When we arrived at the most famous "Red Mill" in the world, there was no putting Misseur Lewis in with the rabble in the Green Room. Joe and Claudia Stabile, Sam and I were ushered into the private office of L'Director du Moulin Rouge. Ustinov, wide and rheumy at the time, was in like a shot to welcome and pay homage to the "icon" to all that's filmatic in France, and to tell us things were running a bit late.

We milled about for a while. ("There goes Mr. Punster," JL would say about that last sentence.) After what seemed like hours, we were getting irritable and thirsty. There was a bottle of Moet Champagne set up on every table in the dining room, but not even a Coke in L'Director's office.

Ustinov came in again to make sure we hadn't left. Anywhere other than France, we would have.

Apparently, they were saving JL for last, warming up the audience for his appearance. JL was getting a little warm himself. The famous impatience-under "instant gratification" in the dictionary there's a picture of Mr. Lewis-had entered the room and taken over.

"Don't they have anything to drink around here?" Jerry asked.

JL started rummaging through desk drawers, cabinets, closets-and found a bottle of warm champagne in a cabinet behind L' Director's long mahogany desk.

In a closet Claudia found a stack of tiny corrugated paper cups, and we were saved.

"Get us some ice," JL demanded, so I stole an empty champagne bucket from a cart outside the kitchen and filled it from an ice maker. By the time I got back, JL was uncorking and preparing to decant this ordinary looking bottle (I mean, it wasn't Dom Perignon) of warm champagne. I cringe every time I think about it, but champagne on the rocks is better than warm when you can't make spit. We were desperate.

It was one lousy bottle of wine, we all agreed, but any Port in a storm, they say. (Sorry, I can't help myself.)

JL tossed the cork, but put the empty bottle back where he found it and closed the cabinet door. Moments later, Ustinov raced in. It was time for JL to make his appearance.

But he doesn't speak French, you say, how do they understand him? Everyone understands mime, and Jerry Lewis is a physical comedian. Regardless, when he starts up with his phony French gobbledygook, somehow they understand every syllable. Besides, while they don't let on to anybody, the French speak English perfectly.

After his performance, Jerry went to the Green Room to pay his respects. Ginger Rogers was thrilled to see him again. George Hamilton was being hilarious-I really liked him. And Jack Lemon was a mensch. He talked to JL like a normal person, not like a supplicant before the almighty. A Class act.

Before we left, we had to go back to the office and thank the Director. He seemed preoccupied, but cordial. There were a few people there who bowed and scrapped. And we left to find something to eat and a good bottle of Bordeaux.

The next morning in their suite at the Hotel Intercontinental, JL was reading Le Monde. "Look at this," he said and started to laugh. I had just walked in. Joey and Claudia were on the couch, JL and Sam were sitting at the dining room table having breakfast.

The English version of the paper described the 90th Annual Moulin Rouge Ball and the appearance of Mr. Jerry Lewis. It also mentioned a $2,000 bottle of rare French champagne that had been "stolen," apparently by a vandal who left only the empty bottle, which, because it still had a valuable label, was presented to one of the honorees at the conclusion of the star-studded affair.

We howled! Ustinov never knew. To this day, no one knows, except you and a few friends of ours.

JL took us to lunch later at Caviar Kaspia, a restaurant on Place de la Madeleine in Paris. They placed a wide round container full of Beluga caviar in the middle of our table, and served small portions of prosciutto and melon. When we had our fill, the waiter removed the remaining caviar and measured the amount we had consumed, in order to figure the bill, which came, for the five of us, to just over $900. For lunch.

I love Paris in the Springtime, I love Paris in the Fall. - jf

What I Learned on the Way Down

by Jac Flanders