Dom DeLuise: Aug. 1, 1933 to May 4, 2009; a personal remembrance

TrustMovies first met Dom in the lobby of Lincoln Center's Philharmonic Hall (now known as Avery Fisher Hall), in the late 60s -- just around the time he looked like he does in this photo, at right. He was the new boyfriend of a friend of mine named Carol Arthur, an actress/singer (the Broadway musical High Spirits and an off-Broadway Cole Porter review in which she sang, marvelously, "I Happen to Like New York"). I'd done summer stock with Carol and then become part of a circle of her theatre friends. At the time, I worked at the Philharmonic Hall box-office, and one evening Carol stopped by to introduce her new beau. From the first, Dom was funny and friendly -- two important qualities that, over the decades, never changed.

I remember the evening, maybe a year or so after our first meeting, when Dom and Carol (left) came to dinner at the Greenwich Village apartment into which I and my lover Bob had recently moved. (Gays had "lovers" back then; "companion" was a word for someone who took care of the elderly and infirm.) "This is the first time I've ever cooked for a celebrity," Bob told Dom, who, being his usual self, immediately explained that, in order to create a really good meal, you must first make love to your kitchenware. And then, through our entire kitchen he went, greeting, kissing, nuzzling and whispering sweet-nothings to each pot and pan. "You, dear colander, will soon be draining the best pasta in town!" (We actually had roast beef that evening, but on it went: He had all of us in stitches.)

I think that some of us in that group of friends were worried that this guy was going to take Carol away from us. And of course he did. When I grew up a bit, I realized that this is what happens with marriage: You get "taken." Even at that point in his relatively new career, Dom was the most famous person that any of us knew. After awhile, because his career demanded it, he and Carol moved to Los Angeles, settling into one of its lovelier communities, Pacific Palisades.

Dom, putting parrot to sleep.

At this same time I was working for the New Jersey-based publisher Prentice-Hall, and a job promotion took me to California, too -- along with my new wife Rae (this was the 60s, remember and many of us, mostly closeted, were experimenting and discovering our sexuality). I soon began working at one of my company's subsidiaries, Goodyear Publishing, based in -- that's right -- Pacific Palisades.

Rae and I saw the DeLuises off and on, and even occasionally baby-sat for them (they soon had three boys: Peter, Michael and David). My mind is getting foggy these days, but I seem to recall once watching over the youngest child, David, who, soon after, came down with, and then thankfully recovered from, meningitis!

When my wife became pregnant in late spring of 1973, we began a rather tricky time. Almost coinciding with her pregnancy was a major feature published in The Los Angeles Times that linked the use of spray glues with birth defects. I had been using spray glue consistently in my advertising job at the publishing house, so Rae and I considered the possibility of an abortion, which neither of us wanted. We contacted the writer of the Times feature -- who proved a real doll, calling us back immediately, commiserating and giving us all her knowledge of these "defect" links, along with further people to contact in the scientific community. After some research, we decided to continue with the pregnancy. At almost five months, Rae began bleeding and was promptly put on bed rest for the next few weeks. At that point we figured, "If this kid gets born in OK-shape, we'll be really grateful."

Dom -- and his mom.

Then, on the day before Thanksgiving, the event happened in which Dom played -- so far as we are concerned -- his most important role. Rae worked for Tiffany & Co. in Beverly Hills, and on that day, Dom happened into the store to do some shopping. Rae and he had just kissed each other hello, when they heard a loud "pop" and suddenly the guard across the room fell to the ground, bleeding. "Hit the floor, you muthafuckas!" screamed men in masks, and the Tiffany customers and staff did exactly that -- except for Rae whose belly was out-to-here with the baby. One man turned and pointed his gun directly at her, screaming, "I told you to hit that floor!"

She did. But instead of falling forward onto Tiffany's hard floor, she fell directly onto Dom's corpulent and welcoming body, which softened her landing considerably and may even have saved our child's life. During the entire time that the robbery was going on -- glass cases and windows shattering, people crying -- Dom kept repeating over and over, "Keep your head down, keep your head down," talking quietly to reassure Rae.

The DeLuises and, uh, that other famous couple.

Post-robbery, Dom took Rae home and made her tea. It was at this point that she went into sudden contractions and had to be taken to the hospital. Just shy of seven months, Rae was not advised to have an early delivery, so the doctors gave her a shot to quell the contractions. Fortunately, it worked. Where was I during all this? Driving around the L.A. area that afternoon, traveling from publisher to printer. (Nobody had cell phones back then.) When I arrived on schedule to pick Rae up at Tiffany's, I found a closed, window-shattered and boarded-up store. A bystander filled me in on events, and I rushed right home. Given the names and events involved -- Tiffany, robbery and Dom DeLuise -- the story made the evening news, with interviews and all. We missed it, of course. (Nobody had VCRs back then, either.)

Having lasted out the spray glue, the bleeding, and now this, our child, we felt, was quite determined to be born. And so she was (in 1974, remember, you didn't know the sex until the baby was out). On the morning of February 15, 1974, just missing Valentine's Day, Laura Paige van Maanen arrived.

We had already asked Dom and Carol to be Laura's god-parents. When they came to visit at the Catholic hospital where the birth took place, its strict rules meant that only immediate family was allowed to see the new mom and baby. So Dom simply lied and told them he was Rae's brother (that's only a venial sin, right?). Afterward, of course, the entire staff quizzed Rae incessantly about what life had been like, growing up with Dom DeLuise! She improvised.

By the time, thirteen years later, that Rae and I separated and then divorced (we're still very close: a child and 20 years shared help make that happen), we had moved back to New York City, where we remain today -- I with my companion of the last 20 years, Bruce. Though Rae and I have not been as close (or as often in touch) with Dom and Carole in the ensuing years, our daughter Laura, as well as the DeLuises, have maintained contact. That's a photo of newborn Laura (above), with Dom, Carol, their boys and dog -- and another taken just two years ago (below) when our adult daughter, with her own daughter Marlo and husband Bryan Simms, visited the DeLuises (and parrot) in California.

All of us were surprised and saddened to hear the news of Dom's death. But we'll always remember him with a smile on our faces (god knows, there was always one on his) & a very big Thank You.

Note: I've taken these photos
(except those two that include my daughter Laura)
off Dom's web site: www.domdeluise.com
It's a treat to browse the site, should you have a little extra time.