Liberace Extravaganza!

Preface

Visiting the Liberace Museum, in Las Vegas, Nevada, in 2009, we could not have imagined the journey we were about to take. As we entered the museum’s magnificent costume gallery, Liberace’s music was playing in the background and we were instantly mesmerized by the kaleidoscope of reflecting colors and lights. It was a magnificent spectacle. It reminded us of the magic of opening a most beautiful, ornate music box.

When we’d seen all of the fantastical costumes, we rushed to find the gift shop to take home a keepsake, so we could relive this glorious experience again and again. Much to our surprise, there was no book to be found. We stood there for a moment, stunned. Then we looked at each other. We knew we had found our next project.

Shortly after the visit, we approached the Liberace Foundation with a proposal. We asked permission to photograph all the costumes housed at the museum. The stars aligned for us. We were granted permission to take on what at times would be an overwhelming project—but also a consistently and extraordinarily inspirational one.

Neither of us knew much about Liberace at the outset. Who was this man who had entertained and delighted audiences for more than four decades? How had he remained relevant to the public for forty-six years? Who helped in creating Mr. Showmanship?

In our process of discovering the answers to these questions, we sieved through photographs of Liberace, fan letters, and cards that he had exchanged with other entertainment icons. We also went through his lavish collection of costumes and jewelry. We photographed everything, from every angle, and we painstakingly scribbled notes about what we saw, describing the little details about his costumes: the many kind of beads that were used and their colors, the threads, and the way each costume was created—all those things that only we costume geeks would notice. We also talked to those who had been closest to him: his producer, Ray Arnett; furrier Anna Nateece; designer Jim and designer Michael Travis (whom we are so blessed to have had contribute the foreword to this book).

Ultimately, we discovered a man whose life story is a tale of rags to riches, a man who had against all odds realized his wildest dreams. The world was forever changed by the great Liberace. His designers brought the razzle-dazzle that made him who he was.

Liberace in a black and gold tuxedo with his signature candelabra.

Introduction

At 2:05 in the afternoon of February 4, 1987, the world lost its most flamboyant and prolific performer: the great Wladziu Valentino Liberace, known professionally as simply Liberace. His career lasted more than four decades, from the Big Band Era to the decadent 1980s. He earned two separate stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame (one for music and one for TV), and he had six gold albums. His performances sold out Radio City Music Hall, Carnegie Hall, and the Hollywood Bowl—even today many of his attendance records have yet to be surpassed. He was an unparalleled TV personality, the magnetic star of The Liberace Show, which drew more than thirty million viewers at any one time, and received ten thousand fan letters per week. And he was the proud owner of his own museum, in which he showcased his dazzling possessions—his outrageous costumes, jewelry, cars, and pianos—for more than 450,000 museumgoers per year during peak years.

In 1955 The Guinness Book of World Records Listed Liberace as the world’s highest-paid musician and pianist in a single season after he earned two million dollars for a twenty-six-week stint the previous year. He made millions and he spent lavishly, happily enjoying the fine things in life—a glorious estate, ornate cars, and grand pianos. But above all else, Liberace’s legendary wardrobe—his famous sequined, bejeweled, and rhinestone-studded costumes; his feathered capes; and his fur collection—is what defined him. His wardrobe embedded him in the minds of his fans, and it is what people most associate with him. In glitter and glam regalia that only he could pull off, Liberace earned, among numerous other awards, the titles of best-dressed man in show business from the American Fashion Foundation, best dressed from People magazine, and best-dressed entertainer from the Las Vegas Chamber of Commerce.

Liberace and his brother, George Liberace.

Liberace’s ensembles, created by brilliant designers and tailors—Sy Devore, Frank Ortiz, Frank Acuna, Jim Lapidus, Anna Nateece, and Michael Travis—inspired megastar performers such as Elton John, Cher, Freddie Mercury, and Madonna to bring eccentricity to their stage costumes. Indeed, today’s young pop stars continue to follow his lead. One cannot help but consider Lady Gaga’s entrance to the Grammy Awards enclosed in an egg—a reminder of Liberace’s 1986 emergence from a Fabergé egg at Radio City Music Hall.

As Eric Felten wrote in the Wall Street Journal, Though commentators have rushed to declare Ms. Gaga the new Madonna, the David Bowie of our day, or Elton John, Boy George, and Bette Midler all rolled into one, her real progenitor is the original purveyor of flamboyant rhinestone-studded excess, Liberace.¹ And as Adam Nagourney wrote in the New York Times, Liberace was Lady Gaga before Stefani Germanotta was even born.²

Although ridiculed by some for his over-the-top numbers, Liberace was never one to apologize for who he was or to shy away from attention. They have me crying all the way to the bank, he would say. It was one of his signature catchphrases.

Liberace in his red jumpsuit and black jacket costume. Liberace in his silver knickers costume. Liberace in his Hapsburg eagle costume.

One

The Beginnings

Born to Frances Zuchowska, a Polish American, and Salvatore Liberace, an Italian immigrant, on May 16, 1919, Liberace, weighing thirteen pounds, was the sole survivor of twins delivered under the veil—encased in the delicate membrane of the amniotic sac. In medieval times, this was considered an omen that a child was destined for greatness.

Salvatore Liberace was a professional French horn player who once toured with John Philip Sousa’s band, and he insisted his children be given musical training. Money was tight and Frances felt it was an expense they couldn’t afford, but Salvatore’s wishes prevailed. Liberace’s older siblings, George and Angie, received music lessons, and in his crib Władziu would be lulled to sleep by the music created by his father, brother, and sister. Angie recalled, At three, little Walter was playing the battered family upright by ear. . . . You could never keep him off that piano bench. . . . He’d just brush you aside.³

Liberace relates in his autobiography that as he got older he would often play the piano in his sister’s stead, fooling his mother, who was listening to make sure Angie was practicing. Angie would skip out to play baseball or something with the kids and I’d carry on with her practicing.⁴ Recognizing his son’s musical potential, Salvatore began teaching him piano. Soon the family agreed that it was worth the money to enroll him with a professional piano teacher.

In 1927 seven-year-old Władziu had what he would later describe as a life-altering experience. Ignacy Jan Paderewski, a friend of Liberace’s mother, visited the Liberaces at their home in West Milwaukee. Paderewski was a Polish national who had achieved international fame and wealth as a pianist. His performance blended classical and popular forms. He had an onstage persona that drew adoring and loyal fans, attracting a new audience to the theater. He demonstrated how a musician could enter popular culture by developing marketing strategies—and this was not lost on the boy who would become the famous Mr. Showmanship.

At the end of Paderewski’s visit, he paused and placed his hand on the young man’s head, saying, Someday this boy may take my place. It was a pivotal moment for Liberace: Inspired and fired with ambition, I began to practice with a fervor that made my previous interest in the piano look like neglect.⁵ Paderewski was to become a lifelong friend and mentor.

Władziu, or Walter as he became known, quickly outgrew the abilities of his first piano teacher. His father introduced him to Florence Bettray Kelly from the Wisconsin College of Music. Kelly was considered an outstanding teacher. The Wisconsin College of Music Bulletin listed her as woman whose natural gifts combined with brilliant playing have made her remarkably successful in the development of pupils.⁶ She was also a strict taskmaster, demanding discipline and perfection. Determined to help Walter, she secured him a scholarship at the college so he would be guaranteed access to music lessons. The scholarship ended up lasting more than fifteen years and was critical to his development as an artist. The United States was soon to enter the Great Depression, and without the financial assistance it is unlikely that Liberace would have been able to continue his training.

The 1930s

The thirties were desperate times for many families. The Stock Market Crash of 1929 threw the nation into the Great Depression. The arts survived due to the patronage of government and wealthy individuals, but their luster had dissipated and Salvatore had difficulty procuring employment. On occasion he was able to get work in the movie industry, performing in the orchestra while the movie played behind him. Once the talkie arrived, this was no longer an option.

In 1931 the birth of Walter’s baby brother, Rudolph Rudy Liberace, stretched the family’s sparse resources even more. To help support the family, Walter’s mother converted the front of their house into a grocery store. At dinnertime, Liberace would be sent to the store to retrieve damaged produce to use in the family’s meal.

Liberace as a teenager.

The Liberace children obtained jobs to assist with providing for the family. Walter was only ten or eleven when he procured his first paying gig. He’d badgered the manager of the Wisconsin Theater for the opportunity to perform in its talent review. After a week, the manager relented. But it was a secret to his family. It was not until Florence Kelly contacted his father, Do you know what Walter’s doing? He’s playing at the Wisconsin Theater. He’s pretty good, too! Angie later recalled that he got seventy-five dollars for appearing in that show for a week. It seemed like a million at the time!⁷ But Salvatore was not pleased. As a proud Italian man, it was infuriating to him that his son was the breadwinner for the family. Liberace later said about his father, I wasn’t playing the kind of music he wanted me to learn or to perform, and he told me so with a lot of emphasis and muscle.⁸

Undeterred, Walter continued to seek employment. Performing felt right and he was good at it. He was fourteen when he found his next gig. One commodity that doesn’t suffer during an economic depression is alcohol, and in 1933 Walter was able to aid his family by playing in the various beer joints around town. His mother was not pleased with the arrangement, and Walter, on occasion, would have to sneak out the window to meet up with his bandmates. But in time she came to accept it. The money was desperately needed.

In 1935 Salvatore was playing in a Works Progress Administration (WPA) orchestra. With the assistance of Florence Kelly, he convinced the conductor to allow the young Liberace an opportunity to appear as a soloist. Walter was over the moon with excitement—as much about the music he would play as about the