ago and fell in love instantly with the place when I was told I’d be staying in the same suite Marilyn Monroe once occupied. As I was being shown to my suite by the delightful (and award-winning) concierge Charles Fitzer, we passed the large palm-tree-ringed oval swimming pool. Charles pointed out the area and the chair that John Wayne used when he lived at the Bel-Air. My suite was sumptuous and comfortable, with a working wood fireplace and a private patio.
The hotel is spread out over a number of acres, so no suite is higher than the second floor. You are either on the ground or one up. As with many older, classy hotels that attract movie people, an air of eccentricity and surrealism is part of the day and night there. It’s as if you’re always waiting for something strange to happen, and usually you don’t have long to wait. While I was there a typical Southern California heat wave scorched the landscape. In the canyon where the Bel-Air is situated it was marginally cooler, but the sun still seared skin as if it were in a blast furnace. Nevertheless, I was determined to do my usual morning laps in the big pool no matter what.
At Hotel Bel-Air in Los Angeles you can meet anyone from former U.S. First Lady Nancy Reagan to actor Daniel Day-Lewis.
That first morning I did my laps alone, since it was pretty early. The only other creature nearby was a strange, colourful, duck-like bird that splashed around with me here and there. After swimming I sat in one of the lounge chairs with a book and the Los Angeles Times to dry off. Without seeing them until the last second, I was flanked by two guys in black suits. I assumed at first that they were with the hotel, but they seemed a bit too officious for that upon closer inspection. Then one spoke to me. “Good morning, sir. We were just wondering if you wouldn’t find it even more comfortable over in that area there.” He indicated the other end of the pool.
I chuckled and asked the fellow why he was making such a suggestion. He produced credentials that identified him as an agent of the U.S. Secret Service and explained that someone under the Secret Service’s protection took morning tea where I was sitting. They would appreciate it awfully if I’d change spots for a while.
Seeing no point in arguing with two Secret Service agents, especially over a poolside chair, I moved to the spot they indicated and even asked them if my choice was okay. They waved and said it was. A tea service with fine china and silver was set up, and the two guys returned with former First Lady Nancy Reagan and a lady guest. Mrs. Reagan waved in my direction and mouthed the words “Thank you.” I thought that was nice, though I was sure that moving locations wasn’t actually a decision I could really make.
A few mornings later I was back in the pool doing my laps. There were a few people around the pool reading the morning paper and drinking coffee, but I was swimming alone. I noticed someone come in and take notice of the book I was reading. It was lying on my lounge chair. (I was reading a new book that re-examined the famous mutiny on the Bounty, with an eye toward realism over seafaring drama.) The fellow then stepped to the pool and hunched down to say something to me as I swam close. “Would you mind if I took a look at your book? I’ll mind not to lose your page.” I told him he was welcome to it. The guy was actor Daniel Day-Lewis, after all.
When I finished swimming, I got out of the pool and sat next to where Day-Lewis reclined. He told me he had a particular interest in the Bounty story, since he had done something on it himself years ago. I said I was well aware of that. Day-Lewis had played Master’s Mate John Fryer in the Anthony Hopkins/Mel Gibson film The Bounty.
“Ah, you know it?” he asked.
I told him I was an admirer of the movie and that it would have been fantastic if it had been made as originally planned as a giant two-part epic directed by David Lean (New Zealander Roger Donaldson ending up doing it instead). I said it would have been a spellbinding bit of cinema to have Lean reunited with his Lawrence of Arabia screenwriter Robert Bolt for such a saga. Part one would have been the voyage and the mutiny, while part two would have been the unbelievable feat of seamanship performed by the cut-adrift Captain William Bligh, who piloted a launch for months with no food or water and got his men to safety.
Day-Lewis studied me with a strange smile. “My, my, you know an awful lot about that film. May I ask why you know all that?”
I explained what I did, and we conversed for more than an hour, but not about films or acting. Instead we chatted about the mutiny on the Bounty and what life at sea must have been like. When he left for his meeting, we shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. I never saw Daniel Day-Lewis again in person, but my admiration for him as an actor doubled because of that accidental meeting at the Bel-Air. His intelligence and esoteric wonder about what other people think and feel are the reasons he’s a great actor.
One morning after a lovely breakfast with Charles Fitzer at an outdoor table, he asked if I’d like to see one of the bigger suites the hotel had to offer. He told me he could show me around the suite Oprah Winfrey kept on hold for her trips to California. I knew a woman who was a rabid Oprah fan, so I agreed to check it out. We strolled over, and once we got into the suite, it was pretty much what I expected it to be — spacious and comfortable. The suite came with its own private swimming pool, small fountain, and terrace. I thanked Charles for guiding me around the rooms, and as we were leaving, I grabbed a Bel-Air pen from one of the coffee tables and stuck it in my pocket. I wanted to give it to my Oprah-loving friend. When I eventually gave her the pen, she reacted as though I’d brought her a religious relic I’d snatched from the Vatican!
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On the subject of older grand hotels, one of the oldest and grandest in the world has to be Château Frontenac in Quebec City. Château Frontenac belongs to the Fairmont family of hotels in Canada, many of which were originally built by Canadian Pacific Railway. When you see Château Frontenac looming above historic Quebec City, it almost seems as if the solid edifice has always been there and that the rest of the provincial capital grew up around it. There is such an awesome majesty about even the look of the place, let alone its interior, which is every bit as majestic and awesome. The hotel was actually designed by American architect Bruce Price and opened in 1893. It was named after Louis de Buade, Count of Frontenac, who was the governor of New France from 1672 to 1682 and from 1689 to 1698 and was responsible for building the nearby Citadelle.
Of the many times I’ve stayed at Château Frontenac, two stand out above all the rest. Coincidentally, I was in the same suite both times — a terrific one high up near the top of the hotel. The bedroom area had a low-sloped ceiling because of the configuration of the roof, and a hallway led to an enormous bathroom with an immense tub. Directly across from the tub was an alcove where a desk sat before a window that offered a stunning view of Quebec City. During that time, I was writing a magazine piece about Château Frontenac, which The Guinness Book of Records lists as holding the record for the most photographed hotel in the world.
Because of the assignment I was doing, I was treated to an extraordinary evening. I was asked to join a few members of the hotel management and public relations staff for dinner in a room that wasn’t a designated dining area but an ornate sitting room. It was explained to me that the room was used at the 1943 Quebec Conference by President Franklin D. Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston Churchill for relaxed conversations about the direction of the Second World War. The actual strategy meetings were held at the Citadelle, but when the two leaders talked off the record it was in the room where we were eating.
Dinner was a magnificent treat of French-Canadian cuisine, including a tourtière, a meat pie made from local game and the best I’ve ever had and no doubt ever will. As dinner wound down, a guest joined us. The door opened, and Louis de Buade, Count of Frontenac, strolled in. Of course, it was an actor playing the count, but his costume and wig were perfect. I thought this was a wonderful touch to the evening and rose to be introduced to him. I stuck out my hand to shake hands, but the
