OHHHHH HENRY

“On ONE condition. You may not call him FONZ!”

My husband, 2 children and I flew MIDWEST to live in Cincinnati Ohio. 1994. How much further from my “native” Beverly Hills, 20’s in NYC, marriage home in Chappaqua . Yup. Home of Bill & Hillary, could I roam. Indeed. I had landed on an alien planet.

Winter 2004. I joined a dozen women. Brainstorming the next SPRINGER SCHOOL(Grade First to High School. Private. Myriad of Learning Issues) Fundraiser. My husband was on their Board. We are champions for children and I trunk load of disabilities) Springer’s achievements were so impressive he suggested I pitch in. I gave the Junior League a valiant attempt. Alas the conservative troop . Not my jam. Hell. I was kicked out of the Brownies! Despite. I sat. I listened. Not my finest trait.

One woman tossed out a wild idea. The children were deep into Henry’s book series, HANK ZIPZER, a young boy with dyslexia.

My Hollywood wheels began to spin. “I can get Winker.” Silence. All ears perked up.

It was a bold move. I’d never met him. What the hell had I just done? BUT. I had chutzpah.

Sense of high and low. Big ego? Not really. I knew one thing. I must deliver Henry .

Googled. Winkler talent agent. Number popped up. Dialed . Breathe. I’d worked in the biz confident I ‘gave good phone’. Assistant picked up. Gave my rap. Broke the ice while spilling the outstanding particulars of Springer. Transferred to his booking agent. “Mr. Winkler would be honored. IF you mention, advertise or display FONZ or HAPPY DAYS before or during the event. He will not come.

AGREED! I was. Elated. Success had a 5 star ring to it.

He arrived in a limo on a bone chilling mid March day. I greeted him outside the Hilton Netherland Hotel. Exchanging hello’s, raced to his room, hung up suit for the evening, jumped car’s back seat, to meet the children. Glanced over. Melted into his famous genuine smile.

Talk about a warm reception. Deafening. Screaming. yelling . Pure joy filled the indoor gym. All clutching copies of HANK ZIPZER. They’d read more than one in the series . Word for word. I’d been in the presence of famous since childhood. No one captivated as he. I had to drag him out of the room or miss the fundraiser. More than sure he would have preferred to stay.

The Hall of Mirror’s in The Hilton can’t seat more than 450. We had 270 on the waiting list. Cincinnati is filled with quiet wealth, powerful businesses equally powerful politicians. All of whom were in a reception line to greet Henry. The Governor, Senator’s, Congressmen, Bengal’s and Red’s owners and my good friend and neighbor Broadway Producer Rick Steiner (RIP)who never attended events (at the time his Producer’s was the biggest tix) pulled Henry aside to lure him into Nathan Lane’s role when he left. The response. “I can’t dance,” Rick “Oh no worries! We will teach you.”

Meet and greet completed. My husband and I took our seats. Henry between us. Watched and listened as guests chattered over the other speakers on the dais. He turned to me, held my arm . Whispered. “Are they going to be this rude with me too?”

Dessert served. Cleared. He stood. Stepped on the stage. Room. Silenced.

40 maybe 45 minutes. no one moved. Or sneezed. He delivered the most impressive words sans one note. Most not aware of his learning disabilities or degree from Yale. Not one mention of theatre, tv or show business. He wrapped with “Thank you for listening, my parents never did.” Standing O. Palms reddened and some eyes.

Hurried to catch RED EYE to LAX he managed to wade through the crowd. I squeezed in. We hugged. “Thank you . My parents never listened either.”