Living On Air (12 page)

When Danny opened his mouth, it sounded like honey oozing out of a fluffy white cloud. Like warm butter spread out on a slice of homemade bread just out of the oven. His cadence was cool, his voice was hip, and his rhythm was pure jazz. I think he visited us from a time gone by, a different era. Every time I saw him I felt as if I had traveled back to the days of F. Scott Fitzgerald and “The Great Gatsby.” It was like being best friends with Errol Flynn, as much for the mischief Danny caused as for the natural suave, debonair, smooth way about him. Danny would wear an ascot and carry it off without a hitch. He charmed everyone he met, immediately holding them in the palm of his hand just by the easy, dreamy way he said “hello.”

For all of his polish, Danny was also a real man’s man. He lived life to the fullest. He was about my height, but when he grabbed you for a hug it felt like he was ten feet tall. He called everybody honey or baby and it never sounded strange. The moment he met you he would give you a nickname. Mine was Josie. Josie honey, Josie baby, Josie boy, or any other combination that sounded good to him.

I first met Danny in 1989 at his movie-star home in Brentwood, off Sunset Boulevard. Danny and his wife, JoBee, had opened up their home for a meeting of AFTRA, our voice-over union. Here was another legendary guy, inviting us rank-and-file members into his living room, to rub elbows with the big guns.
But it wasn’t until my agent Rita asked me to meet with Danny that I actually worked up the confidence to talk to him.

It was in the spring of 1994, right about the time home studios were becoming more common for voice-over actors. Because of my technical background, skills I had learned from my dad, I was one of the first guys to build my own studio at home, setting up an ISDN line and dialing in to the FOX network for my sessions at night. Rita wanted me to show Danny the ropes so he could build his own studio, too. I told Rita to ask Danny if he’d be willing to come over for one of my afternoon sessions – and he was. I set up an extra chair next to the audio board, along with a microphone and headphones, so he could listen to both sides of the conversation.

A date was made and a week after Rita’s call, the doorbell rang about 30 minutes before the network was supposed to dial me up, plenty of time for us to get acquainted. I opened the door to greet the very dapper, the very charming Danny Dark. He was holding a brown paper bag filled with ripe tomatoes just picked from his garden at home.

“Hi Josie. Here’s a gift for you and Annie. Thanks for the help,” he said. I doubt that Danny ever showed up to someone’s house empty-handed.

We went downstairs to my studio where he slipped on those headphones and let loose with a little love into his microphone. When we hooked up with the studio at FOX, he knew everyone in the room, the mixer, the producer, they all joked and chatted about their past encounters. Working this way was a whole new experience for Danny. He thought the idea of having a studio at home was pure genius, saving him the ride from the west side of Los Angeles, all the way to NBC in Burbank. He was interested in learning everything there was to know about building a studio.

We hit it off right away, and talked until it was nearly dark. As he got up to leave, I somewhat offhandedly said we should get together for dinner sometime, with our wives. Danny said, “Sure, when?” I probably said something like, “I’m not sure. Let’s figure it out later,” but he wouldn’t let it go. He said, “Get out your calendar and let’s pick a date right now.” Danny was like that. He never left things ambiguous. If you said we should have dinner sometime, he said, “When?” That’s one of the many wonderful gifts I picked up from D Squared.

Our first double date was at Peppone’s restaurant, an old-style, red-sauce Italian restaurant, just down the street from his house. Ann and I fell in love with Danny’s wife, JoBee, and the four of us became fast friends. JoBee is the most warm, beautiful, absolutely fun person you could ever want to know, extremely talented in so many ways, first and foremost as a dancer and choreographer, and also a gifted photographer. Together they were the cutest couple ever. Love birds. One night we were having dinner at the Hotel Bel-Air, kind of a quiet, stuffy old restaurant, when he looked over at me and hollered out across the table, “Our wives are so freakin’ HOTTTT!” All heads turned in our direction as I looked back at Danny admitting, that yes, he spoke the truth.

Those dinners were the beginning of many years of adventures with Danny. I remember one time when Ann and I were spending the weekend in Malibu with our kids. Danny called to chat, I told him where we were and he said, “Hang on honey, I’m comin’ over. I got us a couple of Cubanos that need to be fired up.”

“Okay Double D, I’ll be here.”

Danny and JoBee had just been on a trip to France and he had brought back two beautiful Cuban cigars. We sat out on the beach, lit up those cigars, and caught up on his escapades in the City of Light. After a while I asked him to take me on a tour of
his Malibu days. Danny used to own a big home on Malibu Road and I had always wondered where it was, so off we went. I tossed Danny the keys to my convertible and said, “You drive,” and we hit the road. He showed me his old house and a few other of his favorite haunts, then said, “You’ve gotta check this out,” and he pulled up to the entrance of Serra Retreat, a gated, private community in the heart of Malibu. I wondered how we were going to get in, but I forgot whom I was with for a moment. We pulled up to the guard gate, the security man stepped out with a skeptical look and coolly said, “Can I help you?” Danny looked over with a big smile on his face, a curl of smoke streaming from the cigar hanging out of his mouth, “Hey, honey, how are you today? Listen, man, I’m Danny Dark and this is my buddy Josie Cipriano. We’d like to head in to your fancy place here just to take a look around.” For whatever reason the security guard answered, “Of course, Mister Dark. Drive carefully.”

What? Danny was just so cool, outrageously hip, so purely honest and transparent, the guard was disarmed. We went on our tour, as Danny pointed out where all the celebrities lived, then after we’d seen it all, he turned the car around, waving to the guard as we drove out of the gate. The longer I knew him, the more I realized Danny probably got away with everything he ever wanted to do in his life. His daughter once told me that when she was a kid, Danny would barge into her room late at night, wake her up at three in the morning to say, “Honey, let’s have a candy party!” and they would, right there in the middle of the night.

The craziest stories I remember about Danny happened in New York. The first time was in December, just after Christmas. Ann and I were there with our kids, visiting my family. Danny and JoBee were in the city, celebrating their anniversary. The four of us had dinner at Cipriani’s on Fifth Avenue, then headed out of the restaurant to continue our celebration. We decided to walk
from Cipriani’s to the Monkey Bar on 54th Street, eager to enjoy the last of the holiday decorations. It was a bitter, cold night. We were bundled up in long coats with scarves wrapped around our necks. Danny and I warmed up with a couple of cigars, while JoBee snapped a few pictures. When we got to the bar, it was like stepping back in time, not an unfamiliar feeling when you’re with Danny.

The Monkey Bar was dark, warm, with a couple of guys playing jazz and a few late-night couples swaying to the music on the dance floor. Annie, JoBee, Danny, and I took four seats at the bar. By then we had finished our cigars, and we ordered a few drinks. This was so long ago, you could still smoke inside a restaurant, so Danny took out his pipe, already stuffed with weed, and lit up. Danny always had his pipe at the ready. It just so happened he was ready at that moment. We chatted with the bartender, sipped our drinks, and swapped stories. Suddenly, as the bartender was cleaning glasses with his back to us, he caught a whiff of something he hadn’t expected. I saw him stiffen, he turned to look over his shoulder and cocked his head, trying to figure out where the marijuana smell was coming from, but nothing made sense. His gaze landed on the dapper gentleman with the scarf draped around his neck and the natty clothes, with a pipe stuck between his teeth. The bartender tipped his head to one side, narrowed one eye then shook his head as if to say, “Couldn’t be.”

Yeah, it could. And it would, over and over. Ann and I were in New York again staying at Trump International at Columbus Circle and Danny and JoBee were in the city too, staying at the St. Regis Hotel. It was a crisp, rainy fall day this time when I called Danny to say, “Hey D Squared, wanna go to the Grand Havana Room for an after-dinner drink and cigars?” He said, “Hell, yeah.” I grabbed a cab and told Danny I would swing by
his place to pick him up. Pulling up to that legendary St. Regis canopy on 58th Street as I looked out through the raindrops staining the window of my taxi, I saw a man wearing an elegant long coat with a cool fedora covering his head. The doorman held a huge umbrella above him for protection from the cold rain as Mr. Danny Dark stepped off the curb and into the cab. With Danny in place we were off for 666 Avenue of the Americas, once known as “Top of The Sixes.” Our destination was the penthouse and the private cigar club, The Grand Havana Room. Since I was a member of the original in Beverly Hills, I had residual membership at the New York club, too.

We found ourselves a couple of chairs in the corner of the club, looking up Avenue of the Americas through floor-to-ceiling corner windows, watching the rainfall outside. I had a cigar and Danny lit up his corncob pipe. Sitting next to us was a big group having a great time. At some point we realized that one of the people in the group was the remarkable actor and dancer, the late Gregory Hines. He had a show on CBS at the time called, what else but “The Gregory Hines Show,” and I was voicing the promos for the show. Danny got up to introduce himself to Gregory, then brought me up and said, “Gregory, Josie here is the voice of your show on CBS.” Gregory said, “What? You’re kidding. Let me hear.” I did a promo for his show and he fell down laughing. He introduced us to all of his friends and we chatted for quite a while before heading back to our chairs. It was another great night, talking, smoking, me with my cigar, Danny with a pipe full of weed. It had gotten to be about two in the morning and we were just about the last people in the club when I said, “Danny, we should be getting back to our wives.” He agreed.

As we left the club, headed to the elevators, Danny stopped to have a chat with the manager, to thank him for a wonderful night. Danny walked off to the elevators, as I shook the manager’s hand
and thanked him, too. He gently grabbed my arm and drew me close and said in confidence, “It was a pleasure, Mr. Cipriano, but may I make a suggestion?”

I said, “Of course.”

He said, “The next time Mr. Dark joins us, could you please encourage him to enjoy one of our fine cigars instead of his pipe?”

I said, “Good call. Yes, I’ll be sure to do that.”

I had many memorable times together with Danny but sadly, a short ten years after the start of our great friendship, he became gravely ill and his sickness happened way too fast. It was in 2004 when I saw him for the last time. The four of us went out to dinner, at the Hotel Bel-Air once again. JoBee had warned me ahead of time that Danny was in a lot of pain, but when we got there, I couldn’t see any signs of the discomfort or struggle he was feeling. Somehow, Danny was the same man I knew so well, charming the maître d’, the waiter, the busboy, everyone. He was dressed to the nines in a perfectly tailored sports jacket with a tie. JoBee was beautiful as well, hiding any of the sadness that I knew she was feeling inside. Instead I saw the love and happiness of Danny enjoying himself, one more time.

We had a wonderful time and he and I talked often on the phone after that night, but several weeks later, Danny was gone. I was honored when his family asked me to be the emcee at Danny’s memorial tribute at the Sportsman’s Lodge in Studio City. Walking through the door is like stepping back in time to the fifties, the perfect setting for Danny. It was a tough day but also a celebration of his life with so many wonderful stories about this special man. A beautiful way to say goodbye to one of my best friends.

As for JoBee, our friendship continues stronger than ever.
During the Danny and JoBee years, I first meet JoBee’s beautiful daughter Janeen and her husband, Michael Damian. Today, I consider Michael one of my closest friends and the five of us never go more than a few weeks without seeing one another, continuing the tradition of great meals and fun adventures. If it weren’t for Danny, I wouldn’t have these beautiful people in my life today.

A couple of months after Danny’s death, I was talking to JoBee on the phone, and we were about to hang up when I could tell she had something else to say. She hesitated, then told me she needed to ask a favor. I said, “Of course, anything.”

She said, “Danny made me promise something to him during those last weeks of his life. And Joe, I know you are the only person who can help me with this.”

I couldn’t imagine. I braced myself and then she told me. “Danny worked at a lot of studios, a lot of networks, but there was one he was especially fond of. Danny said, ‘Honey, when I’m gone, I want you to spread my ashes all over that fucking place.’”

That’s not at all what I expected her to say. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry and as I rolled this around in my head, I had no idea how we were going to get the job done. I told Ann about it and asked her to help. A few weeks had gone by and we were supposed to meet up with JoBee on a Wednesday afternoon, but we still didn’t have a solid plan. Earlier that day Ann was having lunch with some of her closest friends at an outdoor café. She was with Deborah Lloyd, our good friend Suzy Stromsborg, and her sister Christy Farmer when Ann told them what was going on. Christy came up with an offbeat suggestion, one that was actually staring them right in the face. Why not grab a couple of those take-out coffee cups and lids from the counter right next to them, and use those to carry out Danny’s wishes? We could pour his ashes into the cups, then sprinkle him around without
tipping off anyone. It was the only idea we had, so that’s exactly what we did.