was finally seen bycritics, he was one of three actors cited by
Variety
as “making any impression.” *2
T HROUGHOUT THIS PERIOD of his son’s nascent career, the elder Robert De Niro continued to live, however precariously, in France. His son wrote to him regularly, entreating him to return home, to no avail.
As his friend Larry Woiwode suspected, the subject of his parents was an extremely sensitive one for Bobby, and it could release a startling and angry energy from him when he felt prodded. There was the incident of a watercolor painted by the elder De Niro entitled “The Actor.” Visiting De Niro’s apartment—a new one, larger, on 14th Street, closer yet to Admiral’s place—Woiwode had expressed admiration for the picture. Months later, when Woiwode and his wife moved into their own place in Brooklyn, De Niro and his sweetie of the moment (not the French girl, but a waitress from Max’s Kansas City) showed up with a housewarming gift: “The Actor.” Bashful and clumsy, Woiwode protested that it was too generous, saying, “Your dad gave it to you.” But Bobby assured him that wasn’t the case: “I kind of took it from stuff at Mom’s! He’s got hundreds. Oils! I like a lot of them better.” After a little while, and some drinks, Woiwode tried once again to beg off the gift, and this time De Niro exploded: “It’s not good enough for you? You’re too damn special or what?” He leapt up and, yanking his girlfriend by the arm, left the apartment.
Woiwode grabbed the painting and gave chase, hoping to make amends. He caught up to them in the street and found De Niro in a fury:
“You’re giving it
back
?” he yells, and grabs my shirt and spins me so hard buttons pop and the watercolor flies the length of myarm.… He bends me backward over the pickets until I’m sure its spear points of steel will puncture my spine. [His girlfriend] screams, “Bobby, stop that! Stop! You’re friends!” That does it; he lets go.… I accept the gift, I thank him, and it’s over.
*3
I N EARLY 1965 , the elder De Niro returned to New York, finally persuaded by his son that it was the only place in which he could restart his career. “I eventually convinced him to get on a plane,” Bobby recalled. Having seen his father safely returned to Manhattan, the son made good on his promises to help him professionally. And there really were opportunities for the painter. Through his dealer, Virginia Zabriskie, he had sold forty-odd canvases from the past decade to Joseph Hirschhorn, and some of his newer works had sold as well. Zabriskie scheduled him for a one-man show in January 1965, his first exhibition since his return home, which would require him to produce a lot of work—just the thing to get him back into the swing of the city.
The elder De Niro had shipped canvases, materials, and personal belongings back from France, and his son enlisted Woiwode, their quarrel behind them, to help move his dad’s effects from the shipping yard to his new studio. They stuffed everything they could into a rented truck and then found themselves with a few oversized canvases—erotic paintings of women—that wouldn’t fit. So they dropped the top of Woiwode’s Bonneville and rode into Soho with them, father and son balancing the paintings during the slow promenade. *4
And there was another favor: would Woiwode permit his wife, Carole, then pregnant with their first child, to pose for the senior De Niro as he prepared work for the new show? At first Woiwode tried to stammer a demurral, but Bobby assured him that it was on the up-and-up—his own girlfriend would be posing, and
she
wouldn’t be nude oranything. The Woiwodes discussed the matter and Carole agreed. As ever, De Niro was a frantic presence in his studio, punishing himself with his perfectionism, trashing efforts that didn’t meet his high standards. “If they didn’t fall right in the first strokes,” Woiwode’s wife told him of the watercolors De
Variety
as “making any impression.” *2
T HROUGHOUT THIS PERIOD of his son’s nascent career, the elder Robert De Niro continued to live, however precariously, in France. His son wrote to him regularly, entreating him to return home, to no avail.
As his friend Larry Woiwode suspected, the subject of his parents was an extremely sensitive one for Bobby, and it could release a startling and angry energy from him when he felt prodded. There was the incident of a watercolor painted by the elder De Niro entitled “The Actor.” Visiting De Niro’s apartment—a new one, larger, on 14th Street, closer yet to Admiral’s place—Woiwode had expressed admiration for the picture. Months later, when Woiwode and his wife moved into their own place in Brooklyn, De Niro and his sweetie of the moment (not the French girl, but a waitress from Max’s Kansas City) showed up with a housewarming gift: “The Actor.” Bashful and clumsy, Woiwode protested that it was too generous, saying, “Your dad gave it to you.” But Bobby assured him that wasn’t the case: “I kind of took it from stuff at Mom’s! He’s got hundreds. Oils! I like a lot of them better.” After a little while, and some drinks, Woiwode tried once again to beg off the gift, and this time De Niro exploded: “It’s not good enough for you? You’re too damn special or what?” He leapt up and, yanking his girlfriend by the arm, left the apartment.
Woiwode grabbed the painting and gave chase, hoping to make amends. He caught up to them in the street and found De Niro in a fury:
“You’re giving it
back
?” he yells, and grabs my shirt and spins me so hard buttons pop and the watercolor flies the length of myarm.… He bends me backward over the pickets until I’m sure its spear points of steel will puncture my spine. [His girlfriend] screams, “Bobby, stop that! Stop! You’re friends!” That does it; he lets go.… I accept the gift, I thank him, and it’s over.
*3
I N EARLY 1965 , the elder De Niro returned to New York, finally persuaded by his son that it was the only place in which he could restart his career. “I eventually convinced him to get on a plane,” Bobby recalled. Having seen his father safely returned to Manhattan, the son made good on his promises to help him professionally. And there really were opportunities for the painter. Through his dealer, Virginia Zabriskie, he had sold forty-odd canvases from the past decade to Joseph Hirschhorn, and some of his newer works had sold as well. Zabriskie scheduled him for a one-man show in January 1965, his first exhibition since his return home, which would require him to produce a lot of work—just the thing to get him back into the swing of the city.
The elder De Niro had shipped canvases, materials, and personal belongings back from France, and his son enlisted Woiwode, their quarrel behind them, to help move his dad’s effects from the shipping yard to his new studio. They stuffed everything they could into a rented truck and then found themselves with a few oversized canvases—erotic paintings of women—that wouldn’t fit. So they dropped the top of Woiwode’s Bonneville and rode into Soho with them, father and son balancing the paintings during the slow promenade. *4
And there was another favor: would Woiwode permit his wife, Carole, then pregnant with their first child, to pose for the senior De Niro as he prepared work for the new show? At first Woiwode tried to stammer a demurral, but Bobby assured him that it was on the up-and-up—his own girlfriend would be posing, and
she
wouldn’t be nude oranything. The Woiwodes discussed the matter and Carole agreed. As ever, De Niro was a frantic presence in his studio, punishing himself with his perfectionism, trashing efforts that didn’t meet his high standards. “If they didn’t fall right in the first strokes,” Woiwode’s wife told him of the watercolors De
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