Remembering Andy Williams

What an easy-going guy, a pleasure to work for.  Andy owned a charming building on La Cienega boulevard, a brick and vine-covered two-story Town House.  His office was upstairs, the staff's, downstairs.

Andy's airie was filled with modern art, an elegant retreat as well as an office.  A wrought iron spiral staircase in a cozy red brick courtyard connected his sanctuary to our equally elegant downstairs offices.

Andy was a man of exceptional taste; he furnished the downstairs offices with white desks, white chairs, white walls, and white-on-white paintings in lucite frames.

Somedays I felt like I'd go snow blind.  One day I gave into my need for color and brought in a basket of bright, multi-colored, hand-made paper flowers.

Now, I had worked for a number of stars over the years and, sad to say, some were screamers, but not Andy.  He looked at me, looked at the eyesore (to him, not to me), and said in his beautiful, mellifluous, melodious voice, (he sounded like "Andy Williams" when he spoke, too), "I prefer white."

I got the message.  So did the flowers.  They spent the rest of the day in the trunk of my car.

I should have known better.  I really should have.  But if I had, I'd never have experienced first-hand what a geniuinely cool dude, was Andy Williams.

Charlotte Miller