Merv Griffin, John Gardiner, Jews To South Africa

John Gardiner's Tennis Ranch

"My God Bernie, what great breasts you have."~ Merv Griffin

John Gardiner's Tennis Ranch in Carmel Valley was one of a kind resort that catered to the rich and famous. It had spectacular food, great tennis pros and over the top ambiance.

It also had sessions in the summer for kids. Ronald Reagan, a friend of John Gardiner's, did 'inspections' of the kid's quarters while staying there. I became a member through a fluke. I was neither rich nor famous and a Jew to boot.

Joe Swanson, the illegitimate son of Gloria Swanson, was a high tech engineer, and he and his wife were bridge playing, tennis playing friends of ours (the Princess and me). Joe and I had another bond. We were both really serious drinkers. The Swanson's who were members invited us to our first visit to the Tennis Ranch.

John Gardiner had been a tennis pro at Pebble Beach, married to Barbara who in turn was very fucking smart though tough as nails. Barbara really conceived the notion of making the Tennis Ranch very exclusive. You could only have one stay at the Ranch without becoming a member. It certainly was not a place for ethnic diversity. Thank God that they didn't check for circumcisions.

John Gardiner took a liking to me on that first trip and allowed me to return many times. John and I became good friends and after Barbara passed away he was my guest on a tour of oil towns: Midland, Texas, Denver and Calgary. I also hosted him in London. We never stopped laughing.

A few years after the Princes unloaded me (Thank God) I was spending one of many weekends at the Tennis Ranch. The whole atmosphere at the Ranch was warm and friendly enhanced by spectacular food and fabulous weather.

So I'm at the Tennis Ranch talking chit, chat with a young, 30 something, good looking guy. Naturally, one of the first questions out of my mouth was 'What do you do for a living?' (A must ask question always asked by all Jews of my vintage.)

I play polo, he says. Not being part of the polo playing WASP set and being addicted to foul language my response was, 'Don't bullshit me. No one in America plays fucking polo for a living.' Well, I do he says very vehemently and goes on from there. The unreal conversation about fucking polo finally ends and we split. About then, Anne Priddy, Ashley's daughter, who was there with her parents comes up to me and says, 'Bernie, that guy is here with Merv Griffin's and is Merv's lover'. 'You're shitting me, are you telling me that Merv is a fag?' (Homo had evolved into fag and gay had not yet become the politically acceptable word.) 'Absolutely' Anne says.

Merv was one of the friendliest people, ever. He was as common as an old shoe, just a terrific person. He was an above average tennis player, very smart and very funny. He, by the way, out witted Donald Trump in a business transaction. Merv made Trump look like a wig wearing dummy. They settled a gambling casino transaction and Merv, one liners and all, 'pantsed' Trump. Fucking fun to watch.

Merv had a weight problem and in a fit of insanity I sent him two big time collections of nutrition books. One to the Beverly Hilton where he lived and owned and one to his 1,000 acre spread in Carmel Valley. Didn't do him any fucking good. I think he died over weight.

So one Saturday Merv, John Gardinder, Monique Gardiner (A true blue phony), Barbara Wiederecht and I are having lunch in the glorious Carmel Valley sunshine. Tennis clothes and all.

I was wearing one of the first Polar Heart Rate Monitors, which was ticking loudly away like crazy. Monique commented on the ticking and asked me what the ticking was all about. I explained the ticking to be my heart rate, and turned the ticking off. I then lifted my tee shirt to show Monique the chest band which measured my heart rate. Merv takes one look and out popped, "My God Bernie, what great breasts you have!"

I thought John Gardiner would slide under the table: Monique, for once in her bullshitting life, was speechless and Barbara Wiederecht, a great gal, just sat there stupefied. Me? I thought 'Shit, my pecs aren't as bad looking as I thought'.

About a year later:

• Walking down Madison Ave., here comes Merv with his polo playing lover. Merv asks, "How's the oil business, Bernie?"

          "Same ole sixes and sevens.”

          "How is your weight management business?"

          "Same ole sixes and sevens.”

          "My cook loves the books you sent. She's lost a lot of weight. Looks great."

• "Thanks for the exercise bike", John Gardiner said to me."It's a great bike and I've hired a guy to ride it for 45 minutes a day for me. He is really looking good." That ended my weight management efforts on John's behalf.

• Monique? Monique pontificated at breakfast one morning that the Jewish 'problem' could be solved by shipping all the Jews to South Africa; John was embarrassed while Monique continued her rant. I couldn't bear the sight of her and went back to the ranch only one more time. I stayed in touch with John using that old fashioned device called the telephone.