It's A Glamour Profession

As a way of earning some extra money while touring with Doc, I accepted the role of wardrobe supervisor. This was a pretty easy gig, and consisted mostly of unpacking the trunks at the venue and helping schlep them around before and after the shows.
Schlepping them before was kind of fun; Rick the road manager would pick me up at my apartment, the we’d go to Doc’s manager Bud’s apartment in West Hollywood (although he insisted it was Beverly Hills) where the outfits were stored. The apartment doormen usually pulled the trunks out for us, and Rick and I would then load them into the limousine, a Cadillac station wagon purchased for the limo company by Elvis for his personal use while in L.A. (It was the only limo available that could haul our gear; a truck would have been gauche!) The Caddy had ELVIS license plates front and rear, and deeply tinted windows, and pretty much demanded that one had to wear dark glasses and avoid eye contact with other motorists en route to the airport.

It was always fun when we arrived at LAX, where a small crowd would gather and the Skycaps would come running to meet us. The disappointed groan when Rick and I emerged from the car did nothing to spoil our enjoyment. We would load the three trunks on the Skycap’s cart, Rick would tip him and I would sneer “Thank you very much,” and we would saunter into the terminal.

Often, but not always, we would be pre-boarded on our flight to make things less of a spectacle for Doc, but the pre-boarding announcement “We will now board the Doc Severinsen party” tended to negate the effort. Still, almost as much fun as the limo ride. Once on the plane, we again became anonymous except to the light attendants, who were always very, well, attentive. On one trip, I got to take a rather claustrophobic elevator ride on a Lockheed L-1011 jumbo jet down to the galley so the flight attendant could show me around.

When we arrived at our destination, Rick and I would go to baggage claim, hail a Skycap and have the trunks carted out to our bus to the venue or hotel. Doc almost always wanted to go to the venue for a sound check; the hotel could wait. If the trip was an out-and-back, there might not be a hotel anyway. After sound check, I would hang up the outfits in the dressing rooms, unless Rick had already done it. The three girls always got a separate dressing room, but I was permitted in and out as duties demanded. After a while, the girls said “Quit knocking all the time! Just come in and close the door.” This was not an invitation so much as exasperation.

Our outfits consisted of matching patchwork denim jeans and vests, with three shirt variations, and matching white boots and belt. The girls wore patchwork hot pants instead of jeans. At one point, the Brittania Jean Company offered to supply us with new jeans and vests for a TV appearance, and I had to measure everyone’s waist and inseam. When it came time to fit the girls, we were in San Francisco getting ready for a show. I needed to have them try on the jeans so I could make a soap mark where the cuffs needed to break at the boots. The girls NEVER had enough time to get ready (!), and asked if I would do it while they changed. Whatever. I gave them their jeans, and asked if they wanted me to leave. “No time for that. Just don’t stare” was the consensus.

About the time I was on my knees marking hems, Doc knocked on the door to borrow some hairspray. “Daddy, don’t come in! We’re dressing!” shrieked Nancy. She opened the door a crack and handed him the can. A few moments later Doc knocked again, saying “Here you go.” I opened the door a crack, took the can from him and said (sotto basso) “Thanks,” and shut the door. “Hey!” said Doc. We all laughed; inside the room, anyway.

After a performance, the costumes would be wadded up and stuffed back in the trunks (if it was a one-night trip), or hung up and re-packed for the next night. At the end of the “tour,” Rick and I would take the trunks back to Bud’s apartment building in West Hol- that is, Beverly Hills – and Rick would have the dry cleaners pick them up to get them ready for the next trip.

If we were in Vegas on an extended booking, I would have to drag myself out of bed at the crack of 8:00 AM to meet the dry cleaners at the dressing room a couple of times a week. Not a big deal at all, and I got paid quite a bit extra to do it. During the winter, that might be the only time I would see daylight during the entire engagement.

I would also sometimes steam the wrinkles out of Doc’s outfits. With all the rhinestones and studding, those jackets were heavy! Doc had well-developed forearms from holding up his trumpet while wearing those garments. It was sometimes said that Doc’s former wife made his outfits, but in reality they came from several different sources. Once, I accompanied Bud to pick up a new jacket at Bob Mackie’s workshop. Inside, Mackie and his staff were working on a number of projects, including costumes for Carol Burnett and Cher. Bud gushed and marveled at everything, and Mackie gushed back, and I stayed in the background. It was FABulous, but I survived.