If it were possible to extract Maude Chasen’s office from the restaurant that bears her name and move it intact to the Smithsonian-where it really does belong-the room could stand as a perfect time capsule for the Hollywood that used to be.
On its walls are signed photographs from dozens of famous customers and celebrities, ranging from movie stars to astronauts. More than 58 years worth of plaques, magazine covers and letters from several American presidents also are on display.
There’s Jimmy Stewart, Alfred Hitchcock, Frank Sinatra, Clark Gable, Ronald Reagan, Jules Stein, Marilyn Monroe, Howard Hughes, John F. Kennedy, Greer Garson, Jack Benny, Eleanor Roosevelt, Jimmy Carter, Joan Crawford, Barbara Stanwyck. If you remove the framed photo of Jackie Gleason and peek through the hole in the wall behind it, it’s possible to order a drink from a conveniently placed bartender.
All in an office smaller than most stars’ closets, but conveniently close to the dining room Maude and her late husband, Dave, would command.
Chasen’s-an archive of fame, Hollywood style-will soon disappear. The chateau-style building at the corner of Doheny Drive and Beverly Boulevard in West Hollywood will close April 1 and eventually make way for a two-story shopping center. The final bash will be a post-Oscar party for Miramax films.
“You only got up on that wall if you were friends (of the Chasens),” said manager Ronald Clint, who has been here for 40 years. “No restaurant got the clientele this one did.”
In a community where restaurants go in and out of style with the seasons and where reputations are fragile, Chasen’s has had a remarkable run.
A symbol of the “old” Hollywood, Chasen’s has outlasted several studios, most of the stars who filled its booths and many other historic dining spots, including the Brown Derby, Romanoff’s, Ciro’s, Scandia, Perino’s and the original Trocadero. Musso & Frank Grill, on Hollywood Boulevard, may be the only other restaurant with similar pedigree, a place where tourists still can experience the glory of the past, however dusty.
“That will be the only one left,” said Clint. “Our restaurant is sold out until April for lunch and dinner. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He said that old friends and customers, as well as people just curious from the gallows publicity, want to see the restaurant one last time.
Legend has it that back in the 1920s, vaudeville comedian Dave Chasen was inspired by limited restaurant choices and paltry income to become a whiz at cooking chili and barbecued ribs. He provided meals for fellow New York entertainers and writers such as Robert Benchley, Dorothy Parker and Harold Ross.
Chasen moved to Los Angeles, where talkies had just taken over the industry. After Chasen’s rocky start as an actor, director Frank Capra suggested that he open Chasen’s Southern Pit Barbecue at a site that was then a cornfield. New Yorker editor Ross supplied a $3,000 loan to make it happen. Capra, Jimmy Cagney and Pat O’Brien supposedly were there on opening night.
A storied tradition
In addition to providing a hearty meal, Dave and Maude Chasen offered their customers a convenient watering hole and a safe haven from celebrity-mad fans and photographers. Through the decades, the menu would become more continental and the cost of its fare would skyrocket to a point where it became almost too dear for anyone other than a movie star.
That tradition continued. But Hollywood changed, becoming younger and more fickle in its habits and hangouts.
Sure, the President and Nancy Reagan could be counted on to show up occasionally (causing a stir among the veteran staff because of the size of their entourage), as they did last month with Margaret Thatcher as guest. The Stewarts, George Burns, Joe DiMaggio-even Warren Beatty and Sharon Stone from a younger generation-also provided excitement. But not often enough to stop the financial decline.
Dave Chasen died in 1973 and Maude, now in her 90s, has been too ill lately to visit the restaurant. But their presence is inescapable here, especially in the reverence shown to them by the staff (“One of the few restaurants in west L.A. where the waiters won’t be confused with aspiring actors,” said one wag).
On a recent rainy southern California night, captain Paul Esbrandt enthusiastically volunteered to lead some Chicago visitors on a mini-tour of the restaurant. The evening’s crowd-obviously monied and warmly familiar to the staff-had dwindled, leaving time for a stroll through history.
“We’ve seen quite a few more celebrities lately,” said Esbrandt, discreetly pointing out new-fashioned moguls Jeffrey Katzenberg and David Geffen, then apologizing for not drawing attention earlier to Kirk Douglas before he left. “Response has been marvelous since we announced we were closing.”
But, he said, “we keep hoping some miracle will happen” to keep this decidedly non-trendy landmark open.
Throughout the sprawling dining room were hung dozens more autographed photos of movie stars, some instantly recognizable, others more familiar to those patrons who might still remember the premiere of “The Jazz Singer.” Over the rear bar, where longtime mixer Pepe held court, was suspended a model of a TWA plane given by Howard Hughes to Dave Chasen, who once catered for the eccentric billionaire’s airline. (Hughes’ standard order: steak, mashed potatoes, peas and ice cream.)
Next, Esbrandt pointed out the regular booths of the Reagans; the Stewarts, under a picture of the actor as a young sailor; and George Burns, who recently celebrated his 99th birthday there.
Jimmy Stewart is one of Clint’s favorite customers and he told the story about the time the actor’s bachelor party was held there. When Stewart was called upon to carve the meat, he lifted the silver hood of the serving tray, revealing two midget actors in diapers instead.
“The next year, the Stewarts had twins,” Clint added.
The menu favorites continue to be the hobo steak, chicken pot pie, deviled beef bones and chili, which, although it isn’t listed on the menu, is always available.
Esbrandt recalled how Don Rickles would disrupt the usual decorum of the place, while Richard Nixon would “work the room, tablehopping.”
An uncertain future
Maude Chasen specially chose the design of the Garden Room (patterned after “something she saw in France”), where a lattice roof opens to permit al fresco dining. Upstairs, the wood-paneled New York Room salutes early benefactor Harold Ross with a display of framed New Yorker covers.
Several restaurateurs, including Wolfgang Puck, the most honored chef (Spago, Granita) of new Hollywood, have indicated a desire to continue the Chasen’s name in a restaurant to be built in the new shopping center. But developer Ira Smedra, who faces opposition for his shopping center from preservationist and neighborhood organizations, has indicated that the Chasen family probably will operate a smaller facility, although it will be difficult to re-create the palpable importance and sepia-tinged ambiance of the original.
It’s also unlikely that the seasoned wait staff will be able to hold off until 1996 or 1997 before needing to find new jobs. Some indicated a hope that they might find a position in the Beverly Hills Hotel and its venerable Polo Lounge when the pink palace reopens this summer after renovations.
Mitzi March Mogul, president of the city’s Art Deco Society, tried to put the passing of Chasen’s in historical perspective.
“Whether you like it or not, Hollywood-as a state of mind-is our heritage,” she said. “It’s what brings people to L.A., and what helped make this city what it is. People are drawn to places like Graumann’s Chinese Theater or the booth where Bogart sat with Sinatra.
“We continue to tear down our community touchstones, the places that mean something to people. Frankly, Chasen’s isn’t a great example of old Hollywood, but it’s the only one of its genre left.
“This isn’t just a matter of saving Chasen’s; what we’re talking about is adding a supermarket, making it a mall.”
If a new Chasen’s does open and the walls are allowed to once again hold some of its many charming artifacts, perhaps it will continue to prominently display two striking conversation starters.
At the entrance now hangs an oil painting: a traditional portrait, unremarkable at first glance. On closer inspection, it reveals W.C. Fields in comic drag as Queen Victoria. The outrageous portrait was willed to the Chasens by the comedian, who died after Dave Chasen delivered a meal to his home on Christmas Day, a holiday Fields despised.
And, just beyond the maitre d’ station, is a large photograph of another unmistakable entertainer of the Golden Era. The salutation reads: “Dear Dave-Here is an expensive picture for an expensive restaurant. Long life to you, from Groucho.” Marx is looking up, cigar at full mast, with smoke wafting to the heavens.
Planet Hollywood should be so lucky.
