You know the fabulous Mamie Van Doren, yes? I’ve interviewed her and written about her a few times, and our Stephen Rutledge has made her the subject of #BornThisDay here on The Wow Report. She the 50s/60s actress and sex symbol that is now 80-something, and better than ever. She posts a lot on Facebook (I’m lucky to be friends with her there) she’s sharp as a tack and a really good writer. She posted this tale in reaction to all of the sexual assault accusations flying around. It’s kind of funny, not really traumatic, but lest you think she’s making light of what women (and men) have gone through (she’s been there too) she also posted the text in the pink box above…
“Scorecard: KISSINGER 7 / PUSSY GRABBER 5
“In 1973, I hadn’t been back from Vietnam very long when I received an invitation from the Richard Nixon White House to a dinner party honoring German Chancellor Willy Brandt. My first response to this sort of thing has always been to go buy a new dress, which I did. I packed my new frock, flew to Washington, and checked into Willard’s Hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue.
My date for the evening turned out to be none other than Secretary of State, Henry Kissinger. I know there’s a lot of back-and-forth about Kissinger and the relative merits of his accomplishments. Though I agree with much of the criticism, I have to say he was a charming dinner companion, even though he cavalierly massaged my knee under the table.
Probably no one remembers today, but back then Kissinger was regarded as quite the ladies man. At some point in the dinner, the conversation turned to his efforts at detent with the Russians. He confided to me,
‘The Russians believe I am a sex fiend. Whenever I arrive in Moscow, there are always seven robust Russian ladies–all in military uniform, of course–waiting to, um, serve me.‘
‘And what do you do with those seven ladies, Henry?‘ I teased.
He chuckled roguishly,
In case you’ve never been to a White House dinner, there are many, many courses of food served by white-gloved stewards, and many, MANY accompanying courses of wine and champagne to wash them down. By the time the dessert dishes were cleared away, and brandy and cigars brought, I was, to use Sam Peckinpah’s lovely phrase, “ripped to the tits.”
Henry and I slipped away from dinner and he gave me a tour of the West Wing. We sneaked into the Oval Office and Henry spun me around in the president’s chair. He pointed out the the historic artifacts and paintings, and name dropped the world figures who had momentously visited there.
Truth be told, when I’ve had that much to drink, I’m not a very exciting date. I decided it was time for me to leave. With the kind of persuasiveness you could expect from someone negotiating world peace, Henry convinced me to get rid of my limo and let him take me back to the hotel in his car. Oh, but first he needed to make a quick stop at his Georgetown townhouse.
When we went inside, it was clearly some kind of a signal to Henry. He led me into his bedroom, grabbed me by the shoulders, and shoved me against the wall. He pressed against me and I side stepped away. He pushed me back onto the bed and threw himself on top of me. We wrestled around for what seemed like eternity, him grappling at me, me repeatedly pushing him away. However, I am really strong, and I finally tired him out enough that he gave up. We got back into his car and his driver took me back to Willard’s.
He said he would call me the next day, but I think he felt it was a lost cause. But he was a horny little devil, that I can attest to. I’m not sure he could do justice to seven Russian military women, but if you put him up against the PUSSY GRABBER and his five Russian women, my money’s on Henry the K.”