LOS ANGELES -- If someone told Bernice Altschul nine years ago she and her husband would move in middle age from New York to California she would have said, 'What? Are you crazy?'
Were it further predicted she would become the guiding light of one of the town's best hot spots -- and godmother to Alice Cooper's daughter, Calico -- the answer would have been the same.
And, in the dulcet tones of The Bronx, Bernice would've asked, 'Who's Alice Cooper? I never hoid of her.'
But now you have Magic Johnson, who she sometimes mistakenly calls Magic Mountain, apparently confusing him with a local amusement park, sweeping all 5 feet 2 inches of Bernice off her feet and calling her 'Momma.'
And Magic Johnson, if asked where he takes visitors to L.A., says, 'First, I take them to the Marina, then I take them to Carlos 'n Charlie's.'
Bernice is a bouncy Joan Rivers look-alike and sound-alike who presides over Carlos 'n Charlie's by treating its wide-ranging clientele of show folks, cops, Lakers, starlets, Raiders, newspeople, rockers, punkers, groupies, tourists and Rudy Vallee in a motherly manner.
How she got to be where she is -- manager and part owner of the place -- is the sort of stuff that causes her to 'lay in bed at night and wonder -- is this real? Is this really happening to me?'
Bernice, 58, and George, 63, had been happily ensconced for 29 years in the Fordham Road and Grand Concourse area of the Bronx until their daughter and her film editor husband moved west nine years ago because her son-in-law 'got busy out here.'
At the time, George ran a deli on Manhattan's West Side and Bernice was a bookkeeper in the hardware line. 'We had no money,' Bernice recalls. 'We couldn't afford to retire. But our children were more important to us.
'People said, 'You're crazy to do it,' but we came anyway. We even brought my mother-in-law -- who was 85! Age doesn't matter. We took a chance in life. You've gotta take a chance.'
One of Bernice's friends told her to look up Shep Gordon, manager of singers Alice Cooper and Teddy Pendergrass, among others, because he might need a bookkeeper.
'It was the second job interview of my life,' she said. 'I worked 32 years for the hardware company and I'd never dealt with the public. Sure, I talked on the phone to people, but they were numbers, not people, you know? I played mah jhongg once a week and did charity work. I'm the Jewish grandmother from The Bronx.'
Well, Gordon hired her, later bought into Carlos 'n Charlie's, and brought her along as bookkeeper.
'As things went along, I became manager and then part-owner. And I still do the books! I start early every morning, about 8 o'clock, and I work until one 1 or 1:30 every night. I never leave.'
Now, Joan Rivers tries out new Las Vegas material once a month or so in the upstairs room, El Privado, a private membership-and-dues club. When the Mouth herself is not present, it's someone like comedian Howie Mandel or singer Billy Preston.
El Privado is where actor-comedian Eddie Murphy made news recently when he got a fat lip by walking into a right cross. 'He sent me flowers the next day,' recalled Bernice. 'He was embarrassed.'
In El Privado, they call Bernice 'Grandma Disco.'
'I disco every night. Who would've dreamt! I never felt that I could've ever encouraged anyone in life -- or get a fan letter!' Now, Donna Sommer never forgets Bernice on Mother's Day or Valentine's Day.
Nor does a certain Mr. Shahib of the Sultanate of Oman. 'He calls every week, no matter where he is. Paris or anyplace. He checks in. And remember, I am a member of the Jewish faith,' Bernice says, placing hand to heart.
'And he, of course, is an Arab. But you know what he told me? He said, 'If you ever need a limb, Bernice, or a kidney or anything, it is yours from me.' He's part of our family. That's what this place is. We're all one big family.
'In New York, if the phone rings after 11 o'clock you think someone died. I get calls at 2 or 3 in the morning here. 'Bernice, I am down at the Sheriff's station. Can you come bail me out?' It's just unbelievable. I'm the California mother for everybody.
'Never in a million years, never would I think I'd leave New York. Never. I went from Manischewitz wine to straight tequilla. And I'd do it again!'
Bernice, asked why people flock to Carlos 'n Charlie's, countered incredulously. 'Why? What a question! Because we're very warm. Because we're here to please. What a question.'
Time was when people weren't flocking to the Sunset Strip restaurant, even though Bernice was having the cheesecake shipped from The Bronx.
Bobby Simpson, who was a bartender there for five years, recalls the time. 'The place was on the verge, let's face it,' he said. 'Bernice turned it around. No question about it.'
People like to say that national trends emerge from L.A. and perhaps it's true. If a new trend is emerging, soon to sweep the country, it would probably have something to do with bouncy little bookkeepers from The Bronx who become everybody's Jewish mother.
