Kitty Carlisle Hart
Kitty Carlisle Hart, 96, passed away one week after the official end of Passover. The concurrence reminded me of how few of her fans knew she was Jewish—and how lucky I was to have had the chance to hear her talk about that quiet part of her life.
We met three years ago when she granted me an interview for my book, Stars of David, which asked Jewish celebrities how much being Jewish mattered to them, and why.
It was a Sunday, but her attire made me forget it was a weekend. Hart looked pristine in a lime-green suit with nude pantyhose, low black heels and a double strand of pearls. Her pink lipstick matched her nail polish, and her perfect hair was motionless. We sat together on a green tufted velvet sofa in her spacious Upper East Side parlor, and she kept a small black purse beside her, as if she might at any moment need to dash.
We actually talked about Seders. "I once went to George Gershwin's," she recalled. "Gershwin and Oscar Levant decided to do the whole Seder in music. It was so wonderful. They sang and did the whole thing in jazz."
Of all the public figures I interviewed—62 in all—no one's inclusion in the book surprises readers more than the singer-actress-socialite-arts advocate known to fans as Kitty Carlisle. Over and over again, I hear people say: I had no idea she was Jewish.
Indeed, it was never a prominent feature of the starlet, who gained national fame in the early years of television, as a regular on the game show "To Tell the Truth" and a guest on "What's My Line?" But the former Catherine Conn told me: "My entire family was Jewish."
And her mother wasn't proud of it.
"We 'passed' for years," Hart explained, "because it was easier to get up in society." She said her mother, Hortense, sent her to "the choicest finishing school in New Orleans," but her classmates knew she was the only Jew there. "They didn't want to eat lunch with me."
I asked if her mother's single-minded attempt to penetrate "society" was ultimately successful. "Oh yes," Hart assured me. "I came out in Rome and in Paris."
Once she became a famous performer, Hart was always aware of which musical theater greats shared her lineage. "Everybody in the theater was Jewish," she declared matter-of-factly. "Except Cole Porter."
She only gradually became aware of antisemitism around her. "I went to a dinner party—and in those days, everybody dressed up for dinner parties," she recalled. "And they were talking about the Jews in a way that was just awful. It was unbearable. And I got up in the middle of dinner, and I said, 'I am Jewish, and I won't sit here and listen to this kind of talk for another five minutes.' And I left. The bravest thing I ever did."
There was prejudice even closer to home. "I once got into a taxi with my mother," she laughed. "And after she dropped me off, the driver turned around and said to my mother, 'That's Kitty Carlisle, right?' And my mother said, 'Yes.' And he said, 'Is she Jewish?' and my mother said, 'She may be, but I'm not.'"
When I called Hart a year later to ask her permission to use a wonderful 1977 Jill Krementz photograph alongside her interview, she had forgotten we ever spoke. "Oh, I don't think I want to be in a book like that," she said on the phone. Then, to my relief: "Come and show me the picture." On my second trip to her salon, I presented the Krementz portrait. "Oh, that's lovely," she smiled. "When is the book coming out?"
Hart dazzled me by attending my book party; as always, the best-dressed woman in the room. After it was over, my sister told me an incredible story: that when she was chatting with Hart on a couch in a corner, Hart leaned into her and whispered, "You know I came out in this book."
I felt very proud to have met Kitty on The Tell the Truth show of which i was an imposter for Jean Balukas and since my Dad was an artist was also very happy she devoted a lot to the arts
When I heard her voice on the phone, I instinctively stood up.
"This is Kitty Carlisle Hart."
The mellifluous voice with the slight traces of a New York accent were unmistakeable. I had heard her since I was a boy watching her on What's My Line? and I've Got a Secret, fascinated by her pearls and her laughter. Now she was on my phone, and her inherent nobility required me to stand.
In 2005, I was directing "Light Up the Sky", written by her husband Moss Hart. One month earlier I had written to the play's publisher with a few questions I needed the answer to in order to feel I had fully researched the piece. I had expected a polite refusal letter from the publisher in response, but my letter had been passed on to her and she had called me directly.
She answered my questions with alacrity and verve, and with an obvious loving regard for her husband's work. She told me of her experiences in acting the part of the imperious actress in "Light Up the Sky" in theatres across the country. She even confessed that, though she had performed the part so often, she never felt she had gotten right the character's first glittering tearful entrance. She talked about creating that first moment and what it demanded of her as an actress, the many different takes she had tried, never quite achieving what she felt the play demanded. But she also spoke of her joy in performing it, of her favorite laugh lines, and the wonderful sense of company that the paly created in each cast. She was especially pleased that I would be directing the piece with college actors, that Mr. Hart's work would be tackled by a new generation of theatre folk.
She wished me luck at the end and welcomed me to call her back if I had any more questions during rehearsals. When I hung up the phone, I felt what the audiences on those TV shows had felt so long ago - they had been in the breezy company of a true hostess, someone urbane and naturally witty, someone who made you feel that everything was possible and everyone (even you) was particularly charming that day.
When I heard her voice on the phone, I instinctively stood up.
"This is Kitty Carlisle Hart."
The mellifluous voice with the slight traces of a New York accent were unmistakeable. I had heard her since I was a boy watching her on "What's My Line?" and "I've Got a Secret", fascinated by her pearls and her laughter. Now she was on my phone, and her inherent nobility required me to stand.
In 2005, I was directing "Light Up the Sky", written by her husband Moss Hart. One month earlier I had written to the play's publisher with a few questions I needed the answer to in order to feel I had fully researched the piece. I had expected a polite refusal letter from the publisher in response, but my letter had been passed on to her and she had called me directly.
She answered my questions with alacrity and verve, and with an obvious loving regard for her husband's work. She told me of her experiences in acting the part of the imperious actress in "Light Up the Sky" in theatres across the country. She even confessed that, though she had performed the part so often, she never felt she had gotten right the character's first glittering tearful entrance. She talked about creating that first moment and what it demanded of her as an actress, the many different takes she had tried, never quite achieving what she felt the play demanded. But she also spoke of her joy in performing it, of her favorite laugh lines, and the wonderful sense of company that the paly created in each cast. She was especially pleased that I would be directing the piece with college actors, that Mr. Hart's work would be tackled by a new generation of theatre folk.
She wished me luck at the end and welcomed me to call her back if I had any more questions during rehearsals. When I hung up the phone, I felt what the audiences on those TV shows had felt so long ago - they had been in the breezy company of a true hostess, someone urbane and naturally witty, someone who made you feel that everything was possible and everyone (even you) was particularly charming that day.
I am not Jewish but was mesmerized by Kitty Carlisle Hart. When she appeared on What's My Line and To Tell the Truth I knew that I was watching an intelligent, well-bred New York society lady who was also incredibly talented. She seemed "old" to to me in the 1970's when I watched her on television. But I imagined that she dressed superbly. I was impressed by this short biography of her. It is a bit ironic that Mrs. Hart "passed" in polite society since theater was as she said dominated by Jewish people. I would have though the opposite would have been true so this was very educational for me. I think when people like Mrs. Hart pass on an era dies with them. Once here in the Dallas area I was eating in a very nice restaurant. A women of a certain age (much like Mrs. Hart) was sitting alone at a table. She was well coiffed, had beautiful makeup, dressed impeccably and had one of those purses described above. She could have been directly from a fashion magazine of a certain era. I almost approached her but didn't want to seem rude. I would have complimented her and did in my mind. I may be old fashioned but I think women like that represent a better time in America. Mrs. Hart is missed I am certain by her friends, by Broadway and by those from "middle America" like me. She taught us about class and erudition. Women like Mrs. Hart made producers, directors and writers look good. But they gave Coco Chanel a gorgeous client for their impeccable clothes.
I am not Jewish but was mesmerized by Kitty Carlisle Hart. When she appeared on What's My Line and To Tell the Truth I knew that I was watching an intelligent, well-bred New York society lady who was also incredibly talented. She seemed "old" to to me in the 1970's when I watched her on television. But I imagined that she dressed superbly. I was impressed by this short biography of her. It is a bit ironic that Mrs. Hart "passed" in polite society since theater was as she said dominated by Jewish people. I would have though the opposite would have been true so this was very educational for me. I think when people like Mrs. Hart pass on an era dies with them. Once here in the Dallas area I was eating in a very nice restaurant. A women of a certain age (much like Mrs. Hart) was sitting alone at a table. She was well coiffed, had beautiful makeup, dressed impeccably and had one of those purses described above. She could have been directly from a fashion magazine of a certain era. I almost approached her but didn't want to seem rude. I would have complimented her and did in my mind. I may be old fashioned but I think women like that represent a better time in America. Mrs. Hart is missed I am certain by her friends, by Broadway and by those from "middle America" like me. She taught us about class and erudition. Women like Mrs. Hart made producers, directors and writers look good. But they gave Coco Chanel a gorgeous client for their impeccable clothes.