The Hardest Partying Musician Ever
And did my great-uncle know him?
While in Paris last weekend, I portrayed Cole Porter for an audience on a walking tour. The group was seeing a small neighborhood of Paris and getting visits from historical figures along the way.
To prep for my brief stint in the role, I read up on Cole Porter’s life. I knew I’d learn about his fantastic musical ability. But there were other things I didn’t know about. Surprising things.
Like, the guy knew how to party. Hard.
I guess this shouldn’t come as a surprise. Musicians party. John Bonham drove a motorcycle through a hotel. Ozzy Osbourne snorted fire ants. Billy Idol got tranquilized by the Thai military. Classic stuff.
But it’s always the squeaky-clean looking ones that surprise you.
When interviewed about his time with the fresh-faced Beatles in 1964, sit-in drummer Jimmie Nicol said, “I thought I could drink and lay women with the best of them until I met up with these guys.”
But this isn’t about the Beatles. It’s about Cole Porter. And this guy might have been the party king.
You’ve probably heard something Cole Porter has written, even if you think you haven’t. He’s the songwriter responsible for so many entries in the Great American Songbook. I won’t list his catalog here. It’s astounding, though. If you’re familiar with Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, their contemporaries, or any of Broadway’s classic musicals… you’ve probably heard Cole Porter’s music.
Anyway, I knew all that. Here’s what I didn’t know.
Porter was wealthy from the get-go. He was born into money. His lavish lifestyle didn’t need to wait for fame. He always had it. But of course, the fame helped.
He was born and raised in Indiana. He moved to New York, but didn’t succeed at first. After his debut musical only lasted 15 days, he moved to Paris. He found more professional success there.
And then there were the parties.
According to his biography by J.X. Bell, “Porter maintained a luxury apartment in Paris, where he entertained lavishly. His parties were extravagant and scandalous, with much gay and bisexual activity, Italian nobility, cross-dressing, international musicians and a large surplus of recreational drugs.”
Wow.
Later in life, he had an estate in western Massachusetts that he grew to love when “he discovered he could entertain in the style he enjoyed and accommodate numerous guests in the spacious main house and separate guest cottage.”
His parties were so legendary, that a “Cole Porter Party” is still a thing today. But generally, they aren’t quite as wild as they used to be. The are classy affairs, with plenty of champagne, black ties, and of course, the music of Cole Porter.
So, it’s about this moment in my reading when my dad casually drops “You know, Uncle Dick told me he knew him.”
A sentence like that stops you cold.
“Wait, for real?” I asked.
“I think I remember him saying that. Cole Porter had an estate in Massachusetts, and he was famous for parties. Uncle Dick was a socialite. It makes sense that he could have been at one of those parties.”
Of course, I needed to know more.
First, it was easy to verify the claim about the estate. Porter bought it in 1940 and lived there until his death in 1964.
And Uncle Dick was Richard E.S. Maxson, of Amherst, Massachusetts. He was a well-known traveller, lecturer, and film maker.
According to my dad, “he made 21 trips around the world, visited 150 countries, completed 15 feature-length travel films, amassed a collection of over 2,000 pieces of historic art, and entertained and inspired millions of people who attended his lectures or saw him on television.” Here’s a New York Times article about him from 1964.
Given his prominence, it makes sense that Uncle Dick could have been invited to one of Porter’s parties. The man had famous friends. He was buddies with the Dalai Lama.
But either way, I’m not sure that a Cole Porter party in Massachusetts was like the parties in Paris. By the time in life that Dick was successful enough to get the invite to Cole’s estate, it sounds like the maestro was winding down.
According to this article, “During the remaining 10 years of his life, Cole became a virtual recluse at Buxton Hill. He was embarrassed and incapacitated by the amputation of one of his legs, which was crushed in a riding accident in the 1930s. According to one of his biographers, visitors to Buxton Hill became fewer and fewer because most weekends Porter was drunk and ignored his guests.”
Well, regardless of the unverified claim, I’m intrigued. I hope Uncle Dick met him.
And while acknowledging the parties, I don’t want to lose sight of Porter’s contribution to music.
He was one of the few Tin Pan Alley composers who wrote both music and lyrics. And his melodies have endured the test of time. They sound just as creative, catchy, and clever as they did back then.
As someone who has stood on a street corner in Paris, accordion strapped to his chest, belting a Cole Porter tune, I’m proud to have played a tiny role in upholding the legacy of one of the world’s most prolific and artful musicians.