Way back in 1988, much of the Oscar Best Picture winner,
Rain Man, was being filmed in Cincinnati. I lived a block away from the Vernon Manor Hotel, where the cast resided and several scenes were filmed. I visited "The Vernon" (where The Beatles/"Bayuls" stayed in their first American tour in 1964, but what of that?) almost every evening. The barmaid had become a friend and she made the dryest and best martini in the Midwest, and she poured me plentiful "mistakes". Can't beat free martinis, am I correct? The hotel also provided an unparalleled
gratis hors d'oeuvres selection: barbecued pork ribs and chicken wings, numerous cheeses, cold cuts, crackers, and all the other things which put $$$ signs in your cardiologist's eyes. Enough for a complete dinner, and that it was for me most nights of the week.
One soft springtime eve I strolled into the hotel; Lori (my bartendress friend) had saved me my customary seat at the bar. As she shook my nectar so as not to bruise it, she gestured with her eyes and a nod of her head to look at the corner table, which was a
banquet set up which might seat, say, six people. Only two were there in that darkened corner. Dustin Hoffman and Tom Cruise!
Shyness has never been my strong suit. I asked Lori to send the stars a drink and she complied, smiling with a mouth full of teeth. As she brushed against me on her way back behind the bar, she stuttered "They want you to join them for a drink!" And so I did, and not just for one.
Both men are short, five-sixish, I would guess. Both look very much as they do on celluloid. Both are intelligent and have great sense of humo(u)r. Both were generous and calm. It got drunk that night!
The high spot of the evening occurred when I excused myself and adjourned to the Gentleman's Room. As I was completing my (e)mission at the urinal, the floor above me buckled and collapsed. I was showered in gallons of malodorous liquid. Turns out that the room a floor above me was a duplicate bathroom and several of the urinals had been leaking, errr, human excretions for weeks or longer! Just my Irish luck, eh? (If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have none at all, sure an' doncha know?)
Having heard the cacophonous collapse, the management, including the very nice Orthodox Jewish brothers who owned the hotel, rushed to my aid. I was escorted to a room where I showered and changed into some decent clothing procured from the hotel's lost and found. I was offered
free drinks for life! (Never a wise move if the promisee has Oirsh roots!) Before I decided on that kind offer, I returned to the
banquet table and my 120 minutes of fame.
No one was there! My drinking companions must've smelled the disaster! All good things must come to an end.
Years before I had appeared in a 1983 Burt Reynolds flic. Unlike Dustin, I did not win the Oscar for Best Actor! Yet there is a moral to my tale and it is this: The population of Abingdon, Bledlow, and surrounds need to be very careful. Hollywood will tear a place up, and you never know what's gonna hit ya when the ceiling caves in!
- Ed