Read My Life as a Mankiewicz for Free Online Page B

India's ambassador to the United Nations and later its foreign minister, on the grounds that he didn't want people wearing turbans going up and down in the elevator.
    The only problem we ever had with a neighbor was after Chris and I got a miniature pool table in our bedroom. The pool balls themselves were normal size and weight. We used to try all sorts of trick shots—the balls constantly hit the floor. One day a visibly troubled Richard Rodgers rang our bell. It seemed our bedroom was directly over the office where he wrote his music. At that time he was composing his famous symphonic poem Victory at Sea. When the series named after it subsequently aired on television, every time the cymbals clashed, signifying the pounding waves, Chris and I fantasized that it was our contribution, clearly one of the pool balls hitting the floor. I got to know Dick a little in later life. He finally found it funny.
    Dad and Mother had separate bedrooms for the first time. Hers was at the end of the hallway, directly opposite the bedroom occupied by me and Chris. The kitchen, pantry, formal dining room, and living room were spacious and comfortable. Life should have been good. Unfortunately, Mother's illness was recurring more frequently and with greater intensity. She would actually become a completely different person, one full of anger, even rage, and her frequent nighttime visits to our bedroom to yell were a source of dread—especially to me, since I was her favorite target. I would pretend to be asleep, but to no avail. I'd already developed pronounced asthma, and the attacks were getting worse. After she'd finished her outburst and left, my wheezing would keep Chris awake. I would go into our bathroom, close the door, and lie there, fighting for air, staring at myself in the full-length mirror until I finally fell asleep.
    Dad and Mother thought it best if Chris and I went to different schools. Chris was enrolled at Collegiate, and I attended St. Bernard's School for Boys, a posh grade school on Ninety-Eighth Street between Fifth and Madison Avenues. I had a little cap with the school shield on it that I wore every day taking the Madison Avenue bus up and back. I'm sure these days no one would let their ten-year-old child take the bus alone that far on a daily basis, but New York City in 1951 presented no such problem. The fare was a dime. The work was hard, but I relished it. To this day, more than half a century later, I still get my yearly invitation to “The Old Boys Dinner.”
    Full Circle with Willie
    Dad knew Leo Durocher, who was then the manager of the New York Giants baseball team. I thought he was a cool guy and became an immediate Giants fan. It was 1951, the year of Bobby Thompson's “miracle” home run, which beat the Dodgers and won the pennant. That year was also the rookie season of my all-time baseball hero, Willie Mays. Even Vin Scully, the legendary Dodger announcer, told me one night Mays was the best all-around player he'd ever seen. Half a century later I was having a drink in L.A. at the bar of the Palm restaurant (I'm a regular) chatting with a friend when a waiter who knew me came up and said, “You'll never guess who just walked past you—Willie Mays.”
    My head snapped around. There he was, about to sit down at a table. I have never, ever, approached a celebrity in my life, but I made an immediate beeline for him.
    â€œMr. Mays?” He turned. “My name is Tom Mankiewicz, my first year in New York was your rookie year, and I have a framed, autographed uniform of yours on the wall of my office, right next to my desk.”
    Mays smiled. It's funny what happens when you meet a childhood hero. I'd worked with John Wayne, Frank Sinatra, and Marlon Brando, but for the first time in my life my knees started to wobble as I quickly regressed to nine years old.
    â€œI…just wanted to say there's only one best player who ever lived, and you're it.”
    â€œHey,