In the summer of 1954, between my junior and senior years of college, my good friend and classmate Larry Levy obtained a position for me on the public relations staff of Grossinger’s and The Concord, the premier hotel in the Catskill Mountains resort area of New York State. I was to be a reporter for the two hotel newspapers, drawing on my vast experience on the staff of The Ticker.
One of the resort newspapers was published daily, in mimeographed form, and appeared on the hotel’s dinner tables. The other was a printed tabloid style, replete with photographs, and was published on Saturdays.
The mission of these publications—my mission—was to extol the zeal and achievement of guests participating in the hotel’s sporting and entertainment offerings, which were uniformly magnificent (at the Olympic-sized pool, on the championship golf course, etc.).
To that end, I spent my days following the guests around, taking names and chatting them up. It was hugely enjoyable.
Grossinger’s chief publicist was the legendary Milton Blackstone, whose clients then included the rising Eddie Fisher, who came up to the hotel now and then to be seen among the guests. As a matter of fact, one of my after-hours jobs was to serve as informal bodyguard for celebrities, an assignment that required me to insert my 145-pound body between, for example, Eddie Fisher and an adoring public. I also carried midnight bagels to Mr. Fisher’s room, where he was usually on the phone wooing Debbie Reynolds.
My favorite locale was the hotel’s magnificent golf course (Grossinger’s is gone, but I’m told the golf course endures). On weekends and holidays, celebrities and sports figures would be flown up from New York City (Grossinger’s had its own airstrip) to play among the guests. It was handled very well: only respectable golfers were invited, and they were not treated as exhibits for the guests. As the staff’s sports reporter, I got to hang out close enough to see and hear. Here are some of those memories:
Jerry Lewis, also rising then, made some fantastic shots chipping in from off the green. Perry Como would bring his sons for a low-key family game. Joe Turnesa, that year’s U.S. Open champion, came up to show how it’s done.
There was always something going on, days and evenings. Rocky Marciano, the World Heavyweight Boxing Champion, in training for his title bout with Ezzard Charles (he won), had his camp at the Grossinger’s Airport. Almost every afternoon after his workout, Rocky would wander around the hotel campus in his satin robe, towel around his neck, saying hello to everyone who looked in his direction. As the date of the big fight neared, boxing reporters from around the country came to stay at the hotel. Evenings they played poker in a thick fog of cigar smoke in a bungalow set aside for them. I watched until invariably I was kicked out for jinxing someone’s hand.
All in all, it was quite an educational summer.
About the Alumnus
Frederick Harrison has penned The Drone Paradigm, the fifth novel in his Intelligence Community series. He has worked at the CIA, the Office of Naval Intelligence, and the National Security Agency.
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