Serving Celebrities: The Complete Collection by Bill Ryan Page A

from the front desk when one of the hotel’s neighbors entered the foyer with the lost dog. I went to the neighbor and told him to stay there, I would get Mr. Harris. When I knocked at his door and entered his villa, Harris was sitting on the couch, petting the other dog, affectionately. I told him my good news; that his dog was down in the lobby. Harris jumped up and gave me a joyful embrace. Like a flash, he ran out the backdoor of the villa and raced down the hill to the hotel -- his stained night shirt billowing in the breeze. I went downstairs to the hotel lobby later and Mr. Harris was still talking to the neighbors, happily holding his lost dog. He had bought drinks for the dog’s finders (I had heard that Harris was on the wagon but there was always an open bottle of white wine in the suite) while he recounted loving stories of his travels with both dogs.
    I don’t know for sure if the hotel or Harris ever paid the reward for finding the dog but I heard that they didn’t because the hotel thought Harris was going to pay when they made the fliers and Harris thought that hotel should pay since they let his dog escape. Who knows, it’s just bunnies under the fence to me.
    Harris was amusing, one of those great Irish story-tellers you hear about. One time I served a Sunday dinner to his three sons and an ex-wife. While I set up the table and served the meal, Harris was telling the story of trying to get in through U.S. customs with the two dogs. It was a funny story but the way he told it was the best part. He acted out the roles of the customs agent, the agent’s supervisor and even some of the people around him, as he tried to convince the agents that the dogs were not filled with drugs. He held his family in rapt attention and I stayed after I finished serving to hear the end.
    One of the last times that I waited on Mr. Harris, he was eating out by the pool with a friend. I came over and took their order. While I was setting up the table for lunch, Harris asked, “Bill, who is staying here, beside myself, that is important?” Without missing a beat, I said “Mr. Harris, when you’re staying here there is no one else more important.” Harris turned to his friend and said, “I told you he was good -- he’s very good.”
    One last story about the great Richard Harris, I read where at the end of his life he was living at the Savoy Hotel in London. When the time came, he was wheeled out of the hotel on a gurney by the paramedics. As they made their way through the hotel’s lobby, Richard Harris suddenly sat up and removed the oxygen mask from his face, long enough to announce “It was the food,” informing all the hotel’s patrons. It was a great line for a great man to go out on.
    Joe Cocker Wears Tightie-whities

    A t the Sunset Marquis Hotel and Villas, one of the continual problems working there was that the different departments of the hotel never communicated well with each other, causing many gaps in service -- and sometimes embarrassing situations.
    One day I came in and prepared to begin my butler duties in the hotel’s villas. When I checked the guest list a name jumped out at me; Joe Cocker. Joe Cocker is a very powerful and emotional singer. Who can forget his performance in the documentary film “Woodstock,” singing A Little Help from My Friends? Or for that matter John Belushi imitating him on Saturday Night Live… or even better, John Belushi imitating Joe Cocker on Saturday Night Live, while standing directly behind Joe?
    One of the duties of my job at the hotel as a butler was to prepare the rooms for the arrival of the guests. We would have to make sure the room was clean and ready for service. I would also place the amenities in the room; the quality of amenities depended on how much the management liked the guest. If they were friends of the hotel, it was wine, flowers or a favorite liqueur -- if they were mid-level; a fruit bowl, fancy water or candy -- if they were normal or a pain