An afternoon reminiscing with James Darren

Time Tunneling with James Darren Los Angeles Magazine

How long have you lived in L.A.?
I came to Los Angeles to get discovered in 1954. I stayed at the Garden of Allah, a beautiful hotel at Sunset Boulevard and Crescent Heights. It was mystical, like being in a 1940s movie. It had this certain magic that is difficult to describe. I would walk across the street to a popular diner that was next to Schwab’s Pharmacy called Googie’s and buy a hamburger or whatever and bring it back to my room. I was so shy I would never eat it in the restaurant.

Then I met actor John Saxon, and he and I became very good friends—we still are today. I met him at the bar at the Garden of Allah in 1954. James Dean used to sit with [John and me] at Googie’s. He would usually be coming back from a car race, and he’d be picking stones from his hair!



I also lived in the Villa Elaine Apartments across from the Hollywood Ranch Market. I lived at that market. There was nothing you couldn’t buy there, and it was open 24 hours a day. It was a total hangout. I would sometimes go there at 2 a.m. with other actors. I remember seeing Tony Curtis there a lot. Eventually, I moved into an apartment right behind Greenblatt’s, and James Dean would come by there, too. I had no idea how big a star he was going to be. I don’t think any of us did. I just knew he loved cars. We would sit around and talk. I even went up to the Griffith Observatory while he was shooting Rebel Without a Cause there.



What were your favorite hangouts during your early days in L.A.?
When I was first under contract [with Columbia Pictures] in 1957, I would hang out at Norms. This was a few years before Gidget was released.

The Villa Capri (owned by Patsy D’Amore on Yucca in Hollywood) was my favorite Italian restaurant. I was there all the time. It was very casual; you never felt like you had to be “on.” I also went to Scandia, Matteo’s, and Dino’s Lodge.

I was at Martoni’s on Cahuenga Boulevard on the night Sam Cooke died. I was with Dick Glasser, my producer at Warner Bros., and Sam came over and talked to us for a while.

You could bump into just about anyone back then. In the ’50s and ’60s, you never really felt that you were being spied on or followed by paparazzi. If somebody was outside, it was usually a newspaper person with a flash bulb.

I liked Chasen’s a lot because we’d go to a little private room, but the Villa was my favorite restaurant. Patsy was a great host. These places had dark lighting that made them intimate. Today, places like Rainbow Bar and Grill and Musso and Frank ooze that same ambiance. The Hamburger Hamlet on Sunset was a big loss a few years ago.

I also loved The Luau in Beverly Hills. Joe Stellini was the maître d’. Steve Crane owned the place. Joe went on to open Stellini’s.

I know that you were very close to actor and comedian Buddy Hackett. How did you meet and what was it like working with him?
I was at the Cocoanut Grove to see a Nancy Sinatra show in 1970 and Buddy Hackett came to my table to introduce himself. He said, “So, what are you doing now? How would you like to work with me?” I said, “Sure that’d be great.” And we shook hands. He said, “My attorney will call you.” I said “OK, great.”

When he left, I told the people I was with, “Boy, I’m happy I’m wearing boots because there’s so much ******** in this town.” I said, “It would be great, but I’ll never hear from him.” But I did. Maybe a week-and-a-half later, his attorney called. We [booked a gig] at the Sahara for two weeks. After that, Buddy said, “How would you like to stay on with me?” I said, “I’d love it.” We worked the Sahara for 14 weeks and around the country for 40 weeks and had a great time. Sometimes when I’m on stage today I feel that Buddy is coming through me.

What did he teach you?
Everything. When I started working with him, he came out on stage after like three, maybe four songs. We talked, and it was like a Martin and Lewis kind of routine, so I tried to be funny. After that show, Buddy called me in my dressing room and said, “When I come out on stage and we talk, I want you to be one thing: honest. Don’t try to be funny. Because I’m funny. If you’re funny and I’m funny there’s nothing for me to play off of. So just be honest with me and I can work off that. If I ask you, ‘What time did you get up this morning?,’ tell me the truth.” From that alone I learned so much. He’d do things that would floor me off the top of his head. He was so brilliant. His timing was everything. Just like a metronome.​