Archive for the ‘Muriel’s Story’ Category

9 March

Where Do You Pee In The Palace?






Much to my disappointment my fairytale night was winding down, but I was determined to savor every last moment before I was forced to exit St. James Palace and turned back into a pumpkin.  

Since dinner, an army of servants had been busy distributing bottle after bottle of the finest Champagne in sparkling crystal flutes till we were all quite tipsy. At the Prince’s insistence, Bob and I performed a few numbers, then I danced with the Duke of This and the Lord of That – getting my toes frequently stepped on in the process. Bob was also in high demand as the female leaders of England’s high society giggled like schoolgirls as my charming and very handsome husband twirled them around the dance floor.

Bob & Muriel taking a walk in Paris in 1925

Finally, I found myself dancing with Fred Astaire. We had recently seen him and his sister, Adele, in the popular play,“ Lady Be Good,” and knew they were wonderful actors, singers and tap dancers, but I had no idea what a remarkable ball room dancer Fred was. He guided me around the room with such grace and ease, I felt like I was floating. I was almost disappointed when the Prince cut in – almost. I had recently taught HRH some new Charleston steps and the Prince kept me on the dance floor till my feet felt like they were going to explode. Feigning thirst, I requested a break. The Prince summoned drinks and led me to a quiet corner where we began chatting.

So far during all my encounters with HRH, he was usually quite proper and formal, much to my disappointment. To my surprise, the Prince began asking several personal questions about my life. He also wanted to know what it felt like to be on stage and hear the applause and appreciation. The Prince seemed envious of our carefree existence and life style. I think in another life he would have ended up on stage too. He even flirted a bit – not that I was interested – but still, to have the future King of England take an interest was quite thrilling. Besides, his current girlfriend is a close friend of mine.

 I glanced over and saw General Trotter glaring at me. He is the Prince’s aide and bodyguard who had lectured me several times to stop asking him questions and being so informal with HRH. The Prince hadn’t complained, so I took a chance. I was just getting him to relax and open up a little, when Adele walked up.

 “Have either of you seen Fred and Bob? They disappeared some ago and I can’t find them anywhere.”

 The Prince, who sometimes surprised us with his rather bizarre sense of humor, said with the most serious of faces, “This is very disturbing news, Adele. People have been disappearing in this castle for centuries never to be heard from again.” Adele’s eyes widened, not sure what to make of his comment.

Turning to the crowd the Prince announced loudly, “Two of our own have disappeared. We must form a search party and discover their whereabouts immediately!”

The Prince took our arms and marched Adele and me out of the drawing room. The other guests looked very confused, but when the future King of England gives a royal command, what is left to do but obey? They all dutifully followed us out into the hallway and down a wide, winding staircase not sure of where they were going or why. The poor servants, not prepared for the sudden exodus of all the guests, scrambled about quickly grabbing trays of Champagne and hurried after the mob in case any of the royal search party got thirsty.  

The Prince guided us through a maze of rooms and hallways, each more spectacular that the last, with no sign of Bob and Fred. I would have preferred lingering in each room taking in the splendor and history than looking for my husband, whom I was quite sure was perfectly okay, but the Prince was on a mission.

After 15 minutes of looking with no success, the Prince held up his hand stopping us in our tracks. He said he heard singing coming from somewhere. Suddenly, from around the far corner, Bob and Fred appeared, arm-in-arm, doing a hop-tap-skip dance in syncopated rhythm down the hallowed halls of St. James Palace and singing a song they had obviously just made up at the top of their lungs.   All I could make out was something about “Tinkling on the royal throne.” As they came closer, the words became clearer and we heard all too clearly a drunken verse of, “Where do you pee in the Palace?”

They were in the height of their idiocy when they looked up and saw the Prince and his startled posse of Princes, Princesses, Dukes, Duchesses, Lords and Ladies staring at them in stunned bewilderment. Bob and Fred froze mid-hop and stared back, equally startled and exceedingly chagrined. There was dead silence for the longest time, until I was absolutely shaking with silent laughter. One look at the dancing duo’s faces and I simply couldn’t hold it in any longer…I burst out in wild, gasping laughter that bounced and echoed off the Palace walls.   The rest of the search party kept their silence until the Prince started laughing so hard his eyes watered. By then, everyone was in hysterics—except General Trotter, of course! Bob and Fred looked greatly relieved as they walked sedately up to join us.  

“Marvelous,” the Prince announced, still grinning and clapping. “Bob, you and Muriel must include that song in your next performance at the Night Light Club. I insist!”  

I had hoped the night would never end, but it was 3:00am and I guess even royals have to get up in the morning and do what ever it is they do, so it was time to say goodnight. The Prince insisted that his personal driver take us back to our hotel. I was hoping our ride would be the Royal Carriage pulled by six beautiful, white stallions, a fitting end to my fairytale night—but alas, it was just in his personal limousine.

During the ride home, I cuddled up next to Bob trying to recall every moment of the magical evening so I could permanently etch them into my mind never to be forgotten. Hard to believe that less than a year ago we were wandering the streets of Paris broke and hungry having no idea what the future had in store for us. Then it suddenly occurred to me. ..


“Yes, darling.”

“Where does one pee in the Palace?”

Bob chuckled, “Not sure. Fred and I never did find a damn bathroom, but there is a ficus plant in one of the bedrooms that won’t need watered for quite some time!”

1 March

Dinner at St. James Palace





Muriel and Bob first met the Prince of Wales in 1925 when he attended their performance at the cabaret Le Boeuf Sur le Toit in Paris. He immediately became a fan and when they began headlining at the Night Lite Club in London in 1926, he often came to see them.

Click here to see Muriel's diary

Click here to read Muriel’s actual diary

The Prince invited them to be the guests of honor to what he described a “small, intimate dinner party” at his residence, St. James Palace in London. Below is Muriel’s diary entry for December 8, 1926, the day after the party. Following is a transcription for ease of reading. We have transcribed it exactly, so you can read first hand Muriel’s exuberant spirit as she recalls the events of the night before. It includes the misspellings, an army of dashes, and with no periods, commas or other clues as to where sentences start and stop! So jump in…you’ll figure it out…and enjoy this highly entertaining journey with Muriel and her own unique take on this remarkable dinner party!  Grab a cup of tea and enjoy!



A description of the dinner party at St James Palace

with H.R.H. (Prince of Wales) as our Host – Dec. 7th 1926.

Bob and I drove through the gate, in the old taxi, with our hearts in our throats – Little did we dream we would ever be driving into this lovely old courtyard of St James Palace, to attend a party as guests of the Prince of Wales – Our taxi came to a halt at a huge door and a servant came slowly up to the cab and with much bowing escorted us into the large reception hall of the Palace – Here he helped us with our (wraps) and with a knowing smile beckoned us to follow. 

Muriel in the dress Coco Chanel designed for her and she wore to the dinner at St. James Palace

Muriel in the silver lame dress Coco Chanel designed for her and that she wore to the dinner at St. James Palace

 Finally we came to two large doors – these were swung open by another butler – dressed in – red coat, black bloomers pants, and low shoes. I felt exactly like “Alice in Wonderland” and expected any minute to waken with a start to find it all a dream – When the doors opened – there before our eyes was a long table – filled with faces all looking our way – glittering jewels on the heads of the elegant woman – and polite smiles on the faces of the “elegant” gentleman. A huge chandelier of brilliant crystals was hanging over the dining table – and this was set into gold – “everything”.

HRH The Prince of Wales

HRH The Prince of Wales

All this I saw as we stood in the doorway waiting for His Royal Highness to come to us and at last he arrived. I curtsied and Bob bowed low. The Prince said things like – “he was delighted we could come” and “hoped we wouldn’t think them too rude for having started before we arrived” – etc etc – (We had to be a little late because of doing a show before this party) So we were seated – Bob at the Prince’s left and I at his right – at the head of this long impressive table. The guests were all of the nobility – with the exception of two – and these were millionaire playboys. Next to Bob sat the Duke and Duchess of York and by me was the Hon. Mrs. Crighten – a charming woman who is one of the leaders in London’s social set. 

I can’t recall what we had to eat but one thing- this was a large, angry looking lobster brought to me on a golden tray. His great “Feelers” or whatever they are – claws I guess – daring me to touch – I did – with golden spoon and fork – and tried to look at ease through it all. (The only place one should eat this wild thing is in your own bathtub completely nude)

Fred Astaire

Fred Astaire

After the “supper” was over the Prince pushed back his chair and we followed him to the doors – there we stood on either side of him as each guest filed by and was formally introduced to us – after much bowing – curtsying – The last in line were Fred and Adele Astaire – We all but fell in each others arms – It was so good to shake a hand & say a simple “Hello”. On up the great stairs we all went to gather in the drawing room for an evening of “plain” fun – There was music – songs and the things that happen at any party at home. But I couldn’t keep from looking around every now and then at all this lovely old splendor – and think of all the history that had been made right in this very room – It was hard to believe that I – Muriel Taylor – was perhaps sitting in the same chair used by one Ann Bolen. (Boleyn)

Adele Astaire

Adele Astaire

 This was an adventure I will keep with me all the rest of my life – It was a most thrilling and beautiful experience – The Prince is a sad little chap – and I believe he would give anything in this world to get out of all the pomp and restrictions – He wants to be a simple human being – His brother the Duke of York – a tall gaunt fellow- who stutters dreadfully trying all the time to make you like him – He wanted to talk with me all evening and at times it was difficult – he would tell me stories – and it would take him so long to get them told – Poor chap – His Duchess – is very charming – a plain looking dumpy little soul – and if you took off all her finery she would be plain Mrs. Brown or Smith from any little town at home – She wanted to know all about my home & life in California. Seemed so interested in things – 

Bob & Muriel

Bob & Muriel

 This evening I will keep in my memories forever and ever – It was something that doesn’t happen to many people in a lifetime – I am a very lucky girl –


Be sure to join us next Monday when we will share another  of the stories from that evening that Muriel didn’t include in her diary, after all all, everyone should know the answer to the age old question, “Where do you pee in the Palace?” 

25 February

Mark your Calendar!


Next Monday, March 2 (Muriel’s 113th birthday) we have a special treat for all you loyal Jazz Age Diva fans who have been so patient while we work on the screenplay of Muriel’s remarkable adventures during the 1920s.

On December 7th, 1926, Muriel and Bob were invited as the guests of honor at a small dinner party given by the Prince of Wales at St. James Palace. The Prince was a big fan and a friend of theirs and frequently attended their nightclub performances, both in London and Paris. He also loved dancing with Muriel.

This Monday we will share for the first time ever Muriel’s diary entry about that dinner. Her thoughts from that night was surprisingly prophetic in terms of the nature and fate of the Prince who 10 years later would become King of England only to abdicate the throne soon after in the name of love. We will also share pictures of Muriel taken by world famous photographer Hugh Cecil, wearing the dress she wore to the St. James dinner – a stunning ensemble designed personally for her by Coco Chanel.

 See you Monday!

19 March

We’ll Be Back

Jazz Age Diva the Movie?

Jazz Age Diva fans will be interested to know that a screenplay of Muriel’s remarkable life is in the works.  We are excited about the thought of Muriel on the big screen and will keep you updated to the progress.

There are still numerous hurdles to jump through before casting begins, but it’s fun to speculate who should play Muriel.  She would need to be beautiful, sexy, sultry, mysterious, a great singer and dancer and a compelling Diva.  Some fans have suggested Katharine McPhee or Anne Hathaway.  Who is your choice?

Who should play Bob?  He would need to be very handsome, debonair, fun loving, charming, and an intellectual.  Leo Dicaprio is an obvious choice, but who else?

And who would be the best director?  Ron Howard?  Tom Hanks?  Spielberg? All excellent choices.

Let us know your favorites at

Thanks to all our fans for being patient with us.    One way or another we will share the rest of Muriel’s story.



16 March

Cousin Sheldon

Cousin Sheldon

August, 1925, Paris, France

I started to laugh, but the rigid expression on Mr. Sheldon’s face made it clear he was being very serious.  He’s an older, occasionally charming, American businessman with a lot more money than hair. During the past few weeks, he’s made frequent appearances at the Boeuf, usually alone, and always wanting to chat with us. Well, really just me. Like so many of the men with more money than hair, I think he is quite taken with me, which is always fun regardless of the source.

When we first met, I asked him if we might be related as he and my mother share the Sheldon surname.  It didn’t take long to discover we were, as our ancestors trace back to John Alden and the Mayflower. His line of the Sheldon family remained in Boston, while mine chose to seek out adventure and fortune in 1850’s California. I really hadn’t given him, or our family connection, much thought until this moment.

“I’m sorry?” I said, sure I had misunderstood him. “Did you say you want to loan us the money to buy le Boeuf sur le Toit?”

“Not the entire Boeuf, just this side of it.  Louis Moyses would retain ownership of the formal dining room and kitchen, and you and Bob would own and manage the bar.”

Evidently, the Boston Sheldons suffer from delusions as well as receding hairlines.  He talked like he was buying a used car.  It was all quite unsettling.       

“Louis wouldn’t part with any of it.  This place is like his child,” I insisted.

“I hope you don’t mind, but Louis and I have already discussed it and agreed to terms.”

Shocked, I took a closer look at this Mr. Sheldon wanting to believe him and wishing I could remember his first name.    

“Look, Moyses has some financial problems and I made him an offer that makes those go away. All that is missing is for you and Bob to agree.”

Breaking eye contact with Mr. Sheldon, I glanced around the room hoping to buy time to allow my head to clear.  The notion of owning our own nightclub, especially the Boeuf, instantly generated a thousand conflicting thoughts that got jumbled into a tangled mess that made my head hurt.  I spotted Bob at a table across the room having a discussion with Sinclair Louis – about writing, no doubt. I glanced around for Moyses, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

Turning my attention back to Mr. Sheldon, “Why would you do this?  You hardly know us.”

“After all, we are family.” He smiled for the first time.  “Muriel, over the years I have made a lot of money recognizing good investments.  You and Bob are a very attractive and talented young couple who have, in a very short period of time, built up an impressive and loyal group of adoring fans.  The Boeuf has a reputation as the place to be in Paris.  Put the two together and I see money waiting to be made.”

“And what’s in it for us?”

“If it is managed and marketed correctly, more money than the two of you can spend.”

“I think you underestimate my ability when it comes to shopping.”

 Mr. Sheldon was all business and ignored my joke. “Do you think Bob will like the idea?”

 “He will love it!”  I lied. “I’ll discuss it with him tonight and let you know tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

“Till tomorrow then.”

The rest of the night on stage passed in a conflicting fog, one second thinking about the excitement of owning part of the Boeuf and the next dreading Bob’s reaction. He had been talking a lot more lately about how the demands of performing didn’t give him a lot of time to write. Hanging out with all the writers that came around the club had reignited his desire to tell stories and get a book published.

After our last number, I came up behind him and planted a kiss on his neck. “How about you and I go to Mitchell’s for breakfast.  Just the two of us.”

“But Scott and Zelda have invited us to a party.”

“I know, but let’s skip it tonight.  We go to parties with them all the time.”  I reached around his waist and gave him a hug.

“Okay,” Bob said, turning around and giving me the look he always does when he gets suspicious.  “What are you up to?”

“Why must I be up to anything?  Maybe I just want to spend time alone with my husband.”

“I know something is on your mind as you forgot your lyrics twice tonight and during our last tune, you added a few notes that weren’t there the last twenty times we’ve performed it.”

I thought I had done an excellent job covering my mistakes, but Bob knows my tricks well – much too well. I shall have to invent new ones.

Frustrated, I blurted out, “Never mind then.  Let’s just go to the stupid party!  Who gives a damn about what I want?”

When I saw Bob’s shoulders drop like a scolded schoolboy, I knew I had said too much, too harshly.  He does try so hard to please me and I feel awful that I hurt him.

“Let me tell Scott to go ahead without us and I’ll meet you out front.”   

“Darling no,” I said in as tender a voice as I could muster.  “I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult evening.  Let’s go to the party and have a grand time.”

“No,” Bob insisted. “Tonight I am all yours.”

As the bright lights of Paris flashed by the taxi’s windows, I explained Mr. Sheldon’s offer to my husband.  I tried to sound neutral on the matter, but felt like I was failing miserably.  Bob’s response was not what I expected.

“How wonderful!  How much are we going to make?”

“I have no idea.  I guess that depends on how much business we do,” I said, completely shocked.  “But what about our dream to travel the world and your writing?”

“We are young and there will be plenty of time for travel.  I will write when we are not at the club and where better to gather inspiration and characters than Paris and le Boeuf sur le Toit?”

“But Bob, we don’t know a damn thing about managing a nightclub.” 

I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth.  My husband had stolen the words I’d been rehearsing all night, and here I was uttering what I expected to be his arguments.

“How hard can it be?  You make sure there is plenty of booze behind the bar and great entertainment on the stage.  And you, my darling, are the greatest entertainment in the world.”

As we exited the taxi, I felt as if I was in the midst of an emotional whirlpool, being sucked lower and lower. I had just gotten what I wanted, but in a way that left me strangely unsettled.  I thought I knew every aspect of my husband’s mind – that I could anticipate what he would think, long before he thought about thinking it.

Before entering Mitchell’s, Bob pulled me close.  “Minkling, this will be a great adventure, a lark like no other.  We’ll save enough money to explore the world in grand style.  Then, when we tire of the grind, we’ll sell our interest and move on to the next chapter. Let’s do this!”

“If you insist, darling.”

We sat in Mitchell’s sipping coffee till dawn, happily chatting about our grand plans for the Boeuf. Our future seemed so bright and gay, it’s hard to believe that less than six months ago we were roaming the streets of Paris broke and hungry.

Thank God those days are over forever!