Concierge Confidential

by Fazio, Michael

  One quiet evening, the lobby was deserted. Literally every phone call I took was for people canceling their dinner and/or theater ticket reservations. Oh my God, I thought. People can’t stop coming. Now is the time to come! There was tremendous damage that had been done to the city—but it was just getting worse and worse. This damage could be mitigated, in some small way. How do we convince people to come to New York without sounding greedy?

  It was the same thought process I went through when a show was sold out. I always knew that there must be some way. Like my most demanding guest, I absolutely would not and could not accept the notion that there wasn’t at least something that could be done. Maybe I could get someone from the theater industry to call all the incoming guests to leave a message or send a letter out to people that would encourage them to come. I knew who was listed as scheduled to check in and I had all their contact information. Maybe there was a way to reach out to everybody due to come in the next month. I obviously didn’t want to make it something like, “On behalf of the hotel: We need your money!”

  There seemed to be a lot of help and support for those who lost loved ones in the towers, but as dirty as it made me feel, I couldn’t help but think about the next wave of residual damage. More bad things were happening. Shows close when seats are empty. Waiters don’t make a living from empty tables. Concierges are useless without a hotel full of people snapping their fingers. I was terrified of trivializing, in any way, the anguish New York was going through. Yet I couldn’t help but think that this, of all times, was a good time to bury some sorrow in great food, music, theater, and art.

  Then I thought bigger and I began to feel that there really wasn’t anything wrong with my message. What the message needed to make it legit was star power. I was fixated on all those public service announcements that celebrities do for various causes. Was this a “cause”? Could I pull something like this together? Would it seem odd for me to reach back to my Hollywood contacts, as someone now on the outside? Thoughts of Dolores gave me a sense of fearlessness.

  I needed to get a star who was really famous and really recognizable. Who do I have contact with, I wondered, that knows someone with a famous, distinctive voice? Charlie Sheen would be good, and I certainly know how to get to him. Salma Hayek? Now there’s a distinctive voice—but I just couldn’t. I do have an in with Rosie O’Donnell. She’s all about New York. But would her voice be instantly recognizable?

  Whoopi Goldberg was blaring in my inner monologue. She was on Broadway, she had won a Tony award, and her voice was totally distinguishable. She just seemed like someone who I could be real with about my mission—and someone everyone loved.

  Whoopi was on my periphery because one of my acquaintances from Los Angeles was Tom Leonardis, who I knew as her assistant. He was one of the people I had tried to network with by sending little notes and articles about themselves to. I had a little bit of pull with him but not a lot; I hadn’t talked to him at all since I moved to New York. I found his number and gave him a call.

  “Tom Leonardis’s office,” his assistant said.

  I did a quick double take. I knew that he was still with Whoopi and I knew that he had risen in the organization, but I didn’t know the extent. I had eventually stopped reading Variety. He had actually become the president of Whoop, Inc., her production company. “Hi, this is Michael Fazio.”

  “Can I ask what this is regarding?”

  “Oh. I’m an old acquaintance of Tom’s, and I just wanted to say hello and to run something by him.” I didn’t want to get into detail about what exactly I wanted, and I definitely didn’t want to mention Whoopi. I felt like that wouldn’t warrant a response, or would probably even put up a wall.

  I got the typical tepid assistant’s answer. “Okay, I’ll take your number and let him know you called.”

  Oh, crap, I realized. There’s no way she’s going to do this. What the hell was I thinking? Tom is going to blow me off.

  I got more down-to-earth about the kind of person I was looking for. I brainstormed people who would be known to guests of the hotel—but who would also have a direct vested interest in what was happening. Daniel Boulud was a famous restaurateur with a great French voice and Abbie knew him very well. Danny Meyer was an icon in the restaurant industry, and I knew his assistant. Both of them agreed to do it on the spot.

  I started calling my contacts in the theater industry, since they would have access to actors. They were all cautiously polite, but they didn’t really want to promise me someone who they couldn’t deliver.

  I looked through my old L.A. book to see what contact info I had. I put calls out to everyone that I could, but Whoopi was far and away my best choice. I decided to call her office again; the worst thing that they could tell me was no. By this time I knew that Tom wasn’t likely to return my call anyway. I came up with my thirty-second elevator pitch of what I wanted; the first time I’d called, I just hadn’t been prepared. I rang him up again, and again I got the assistant.

  I thought about what worked and what didn’t work with me, as a service industry person. I wasn’t going to get through by being dismissive, or fakely nice, or needlessly aggressive. I couldn’t take his caution personally. The assistant was just trying to do his job, which was to be a gatekeeper for his boss. So I was truthful and to the point about what I wanted. “I hate to be impatient and I know Tom hasn’t called me back but I would just like to get his ear for twenty seconds. This is something that’s kind of time sensitive and it would mean a lot to me. I don’t work in the business anymore; I work in a hotel. I have this idea that I think would be really positive, and help bring some attention to the tourism industry in New York, which is in really bad shape.”

  It worked. “Okay,” the assistant said. “Hold on one second.”

  Tom got on the phone. “Yep?”

  “Tom,” I said, “I hate to be calling you for this because we haven’t spoken in so long. I work in a hotel now and I’m scared out of my mind, because the hotel is emptied out. I’d like to know if Whoopi might consider doing some sort of public service announcement. This wouldn’t be broadcast nationally or anywhere in the media if she doesn’t want it to be. It’s just to play to our hotel guests because everyone’s calling and canceling, and we are all flipping about our jobs.”

  His tone changed, and he warmed up. “Oh … Wow, when did you move to the hotel?”

  I gave him the condensed version about becoming a concierge, and explained what the situation was like in the New York tourism industry. “Look, it’s a crazy idea to think that somebody of her stature would even be interested.”

  “You know what?” he said. “Fax me over what you’re asking, and put it exactly how you told me. If we can keep this to around five minutes, I can find a slot. She’s going to be in a recording studio, and I can just put it in front of her.”

  I couldn’t believe it. “Of course!” I wrote up exactly what I was envisioning, and sent it over to him.

  He called me back the next day. “I still can’t guarantee it,” he said, “but just looking at it quickly she said okay. But I think we need to have a script.”

  I sat down immediately. What do I write? I remembered my friend Brendan’s answering machine. He paused after saying hello, and I always thought that it was him picking up the phone. I would start talking as the message continued with, “I’m not here to take your call right now.”

  I envisioned the guests calling the hotel. When you’re on hold, you’re kind of brain dead and not paying attention. It would be a great way to jolt people, to have Whoopi Goldberg say “Hello?” Then, when they started talking to the recording about how they needed to cancel, she could continue with, “Are you still there? Oh, there you are. I just didn’t want you to get cranky while you’re on hold. Hey, it’s me, Whoopi Goldberg. Your visit can really help lift us up, and I know that once you experience some of what this city has to offer, you’ll be lifted up, too.” I kept it cute and I kept it quick.

 
“Oh, this is perfect,” Tom said. “This is all she needs to do?”

  “Yep!”

  Just like that, I had the brass ring. I had underestimated how accommodating she would be—just like I underestimated how accommodating so many other people would be. Rather than getting doors shut in my face all over town, celebrities willing to chip in started calling me back.

  I told everyone’s people the same thing: “I work in a hotel; our business is a catastrophe; the city needs all of this tourism. This is how so many people make their living—not just me. Here’s my idea, to broadcast this to people to stop them from canceling.” It wasn’t like I was sponsored by some big corporation. It was just little ol’ me. People took the cause on as their own. My friend Nancy Richards, head of a theater marketing company, brought in tons of Broadway celebrities. The roster grew bigger every day:

  * * *

  HALL OF FAME

  Charlie Sheen

  Dominic Chianese

  Fran Drescher

  Vanessa Williams

  Michael Feinstein

  Bernadette Peters

  Billy Crystal

  Ray Romano

  Helen Mirren

  Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee

  David Hasselhoff

  Anne Meara and Jerry Stiller

  Christine Baranski

  Marc Anthony

  Tony Bennett

  Paul Shaffer

  Cindy Adams

  Wynton Marsalis

  Bea Arthur

  Mayor Bloomberg

  Joan Rivers

  * * *

  I was shocked by the people who were saying yes, but I was even more shocked by the people who were saying no. When I had Valerie Harper and Joel Grey calling me personally, it was hard to believe that a Bebe Neuwirth would be turning me down. There were so many people signing up that if Brooke Shields didn’t want to do it, it wasn’t any problem. When you own that belief and when that really is your philosophy, things have a way of snowballing in a very positive way.

  * * *

  HALL OF SHAME

  Sarah Jessica Parker

  Mathew Broderick

  Billy Joel (but what about “New York State of Mind”?)

  Brooke Shields (not-so-pretty, baby)

  Rosie O’Donnell (the “Queen of Nice”)

  Barry Manilow (it would have been such a personal triumph)

  * * *

  I am absolutely certain that of those famous people who refused, none of their representatives ever even took it to them to begin with. It was very much like being back in Los Angeles. Instantaneously, I could tell if the contact was going to be a yea or a nay. The refusals probably came from those who wanted to hear that this was the next “We Are the World,” with people flown to New York in private jets for a huge press extravaganza.

  The campaign soon took on a life of its own. Steve Karmen had written the “I Love New York” jingle and donated its use. It occurred to me that this should be a love letter from New York to its visitors. With “I Love New York” playing behind each message, I decided the perfect tagline would be “New York Loves You Back.” I called a studio in L.A.; they donated time. Sony in New York donated studio time as well. Tapes were constantly coming in the mail, from celebrities all over America.

  Then one of my contacts pulled me aside. “Why don’t you share this with other hotels?” she said.

  “I didn’t tell anyone here that I was doing this,” I replied. “I didn’t know it was going to get this far.”

  “It’s not right to get all this free stuff, and just have your hotel benefit.”

  I thought about what she said for a second. “You know what? You’re right. But I didn’t ask any of the people if that was okay.”

  “Are you joking? It’s all good. Don’t worry about that, and just push this whole thing out there.”

  She was right. I took it to the Hotel Association of New York, and they had twenty-five hotels playing it on their hold button. She knew Gerry Schoenfeld, the head of the Shubert Organization, and they got on board; whenever you called Telecharge to buy a Broadway ticket, you heard the campaign while waiting for an operator. Then Ticketmaster picked it up, and a slew of restaurants followed suit.

  It kept my mind off all the crappy stuff that was going on in the rest of the city. Because all this happened within a month, I could keep myself distracted from the horror. Then I got a call from one of my publicist friends. “You know what?” he said. “This is really cool. I think you should call New York magazine and just get something in there. You might as well bring more attention to the fact that people should be going out to dinner and to see shows.”

  I saw what he was saying but I felt very conflicted. I had made a difference, but on some level it felt like the most opportunistic thing imaginable. It was like I had the ethics of an ambulance chaser, using 9/11 to guilt people into coming back to New York—and somehow this was turning into something about me. I felt like I had medicated myself with the whole campaign and been an opportunist. Maybe what I should have done was to go to some kid’s house who had lost a parent and, say, mentored him at the hotel and taught him a vocation.

  After New York ran a piece on it, Crain’s and Channel 5 news came calling. That was when it got too much for me to be the face of this whole, huge expression of love for the city. I roped Abbie into being my partner for the larger rollout as the project continued to take shape. Instead of it being the Michael Fazio show, it became the story of this creative duo who did this crazy, zany thing for the city that they loved.

  Between all the press and all the attention, I had addressed the problem as best I could. Things definitely improved—somewhat. Now, instead of being at 40 percent capacity, the hotel was at 42 percent capacity—and next week looked to be at 43 percent. They’re not coming back, I realized. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Dozens of stars have joined this fight, but they only managed to stop the bleeding. It’s going to be a long time before New York is a tourist spot again—and before this hotel needs me as a concierge like they did just weeks before.

  It seemed like it was time to pay the bill and get out—but despite all my contacts, I didn’t feel like I had any place else to go.

  * * *

  DEALING WITH CELEBRITIES

  Concierges constantly get requests for meetings with celebrities but it’s not as simple as just calling the stars themselves. A typical celebrity has: (a), a personal assistant; (b), an agent; (c), (often) a manager; (d), (often) a business manager—which is a nice way of saying accountant; (e), a lawyer; and (f ), a publicist.

  People have this idea that if they only happened to run into a star in an elevator, they could pitch them their project and then be discovered. After all, this kind of thing happens all the time—in movies. In real life, you can’t ignore the fact that these gatekeepers’ very reason for existence is to guard the celebrity from people who would waste their time. You want to get through the gate—and not somehow sneak over it. No one, famous or not, is going to overrule their closest associates for the sake of someone they ran into in an elevator.

  There is a certain system that you have to respect, just like when getting a discount for rooms or getting a table at a hot restaurant. You might get through by being creative or even tricky. If you were tasked with crossing a minefield, for example, getting a metal detector would help you navigate the situation. But getting through is not the most important part: you still have to have something real on the other side. The idea of being able to bullshit a star whose entire career is based in Hollywood is absurd. You can trick someone into taking your call, but you can’t trick someone into doing something they otherwise wouldn’t do.

  Agents are all about how much a celebrity is going to get paid, so that is usually a bad person to contact first. Publicists are sometimes good way to go, especially if there’s something they can spin in a positive direction. They are often a little bit more open, and they are always looking for something “interesting.” My
fellow concierge Daria got her name into Page Six because she had been tasked with finding a beard-braider for ZZ Top. Lawyers are also often good to contact. They have the famous person’s ear, but they’re not in entertainment themselves. If you can present your case (ha-ha), they can be helpful. Many times, I’ve gotten theater tickets from musicians’ lawyers.

  Put out what it is you would like, and don’t take it personally or get offended when they tell you that they don’t take offers or that they don’t take unsolicited material. You have to constantly skin it. “What if I just send you a treatment, and I sent you a disclaimer?” “Can I send you literally one paragraph to read, for your feedback?”

  You have to have a very legitimate thing that you want. Let’s suppose you wanted Beyoncé to sing at your birthday party. That’s not not legitimate—but you had better figure out what is going to make that compelling for her and her gatekeepers. Maybe you’re going to charge everybody who comes fifty dollars that’s being donated to an after-school program. You should also have a plan B and a plan C. “Can she call and wish me a happy birthday?” “Can I send her a sign saying ‘have a great birthday,’ and you just take a photo with her phone and send it to me?” Provide various levels, so it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. If they’re nice and they don’t want to just say no, giving them choices will allow them to say yes to one of them—so you get something out of it after all.