Speak Out: ‘Putting on the Ritz’

By Cecil Bethea

The phrase “Putting on the Ritz” originated during the early part of the last century from the Ritz Hotel in Paris, one the brightest stars in the excesses of the Edwardian Era and even today. One of the attributes of the Ritz was the large number of Rolls Royce automobiles that conveyed its guests.

Carl Shepherd, my partner, now lives in a nursing home. I try to take him out to prevent bouts of cabin fever, but because I no longer drive, we have to use RTD, which is not bad considering the alternatives.

At Prime Timers, I learned that Howard Martin owns a Rolls Royce. This prompted an idea – not so much an idea as a daydream. I asked Richard whether he would take us for a ride. Expecting “no,” I was surprised to hear “sure.” We scheduled a day when Howard wasn’t working. Also, Howard would not drive in snowy weather or on cold days; the heater doesn’t work.

That afternoon I asked Carl whether he would like to go on a drive in a Rolls Royce. Silly question; he just wanted to know when.

On the eve of our departure, I helped him shower, and on the day I saw that he was shaved and properly dressed. Since we rode in the gay Pride parade, Carl’s straw hat and dark glasses have become vital parts of his outings.

We were waiting in the parking lot at 10:45 a.m., 15 minutes early. Finally the ride arrived with Richard attached. It was beautiful, the acme of the car designers’ art and those words just minimize its awesomeness. It is a Silver Cloud II – last produced in 1980 when 200 of that model were exported to the U.S. The color is a very dark green; ‘Brewster Green’ is its name, the British racing car color. On the front of the hood was the Nike symbol, bending into the wind.

Such an occasion had to be photographed. Carl had always been our photographer. Knowing nothing of the subject, I am, regardless, now the recorder of events. Camille, the receptionist, self-assuredly took a picture of the three of us with the Nike.

Then we got in. Firstly we had to get Carl ensconced on the luxuriousness of the cowhide-covered back seat. After that task, we made failing attempts at getting his wheel chair into the trunk. Richard thought the stuff already in the trunk prevented our carrying the chair, but I think it was my excitement. Camille kept the chair; Carl can walk short distances if he holds someone’s arm. After I sat in the back seat, Richard started the car. I could never have turned the key or even moved the car in the parking lot for fear I’d break something. Not Richard. He deftly eased the beauty into the 15th Street traffic and toward Downtown.

We reveled in our luxury and looked out at the less fortunate. True we felt not the urge to give them a Queen Elizabeth wave. Richard did see several people give him a thumbs-up or some other sort of friendly salute.

Richard drove us around. We saw Washington Park from our regal perch. After an hour we went to Gaetano’s for lasagna.

Then came the dreary drive back to Carl’s residence. After retrieving the wheel chair, he and I stood in the parking lot watching the Rolls Royce drive away. It did not turn into a pumpkin; it only turned the corner and out of sight – but not out of mind.

The memory of that ride will persist in our minds until our minds themselves are fractured into fragments of Alzheimer’s. Until then it will be the stuff of daydreams. We, with high hauteur, shall bore our friends about the time we weren’t nobodies. True we were just acting somebodies, but they can’t take that from us. For once, we were putting on the Ritz.