She wrote me from Milan: “If I wouldn’t always be in this nervous tension caused by these constant attacks by the papers and dishonest people and dishonest, jealous colleagues and so many other stupid things of artistic life, I would have nothing wrong with me. My nerves can stand just so much and not more. I’m sorry that I’m troubling you with these ridiculous things, but I feel you must know exactly how things are.... If you drop me a line, I’d be grateful, and please consider me your sincere friend.” She proved that in 1961 in Mallorca, when we had a jolly old time together.
Elsa couldn’t let it go at that. Thanks to Jack Paar, she landed herself a new job on his “Tonight” show on NBC and announced: “I have invaded TV. The great American public loves me.” Not every member of it, let it be said. Walter Winchell threatened to sue all twelve of Paar’s sponsors for $2,000,000 apiece after Jack and his companion had raised questions about Walter’s role as a good citizen.
Miss Maxwell decided to take it out on me, though I didn’t see her crowning performance. John Royal, NBC vice president, telephoned me the following morning about it. “She went on and tried to distort you,” he said. “I suggest you call your lawyer and get a transcript of what she said. More than that, make them show you a tape of the show. We tried to get her off the air once before when she talked about somebody on Broadway and made a gesture indicating the woman was crazy.”
“Why don’t you get her off now?”
“We can’t. Paar loves her. But if she slanders you, you can get her off. Put your lawyer on to it.” My New York lawyers are also the News’ lawyers. They insisted on a transcription from NBC. Their considered opinion was that Elsa stopped just short of libel. “What she wants,” they said, “is the publicity you and your circulation could give her. Our advice is ‘Don’t let her have it.’”
Not long ago Dave Chasen came across to the table at which I was sitting in his restaurant. In tow he had a dapper young man in a blue blazer with brass buttons. “Hedda,” he said, “I’d like you to meet Jack Paar.”
After we’d exchanged our how-do-you-do’s, I asked: “Mr. Paar, why do you hate newspaper people? They’ve been very good to you. You wouldn’t be where you are today but for them.” I thought he was going into his tears-in-the-eye routine, but I pressed on. “I certainly should hate you for what Elsa Maxwell did to me.”
“What did she say?” he asked, all innocence.
“I have a transcription in my office, though I don’t carry it around in my purse. But tell me, why do you hate newspaper people?” He excused himself and went off. I thought he was going to burst out crying.
By this time Jack Paar and Elsa Maxwell, who belong to the same cradle but a generation apart, had gone their separate ways. The Paar staff told me several times: “He’s very anxious to have you on his show.” But I refused. The inscrutable workings of television may have made Jack a bigger name than Bob Hope or Jack Benny, but insults leave a bad taste in the mouth.