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The Double Life of Alice Cooper

Out of an estimated three million words written about Alice Cooper every year, none of them explain how a man so savage on stage leads so peaceful a life at home. Circus takes a look inside Alice Cooper.

The Eastman "Valley Faucet" rolled thirty feet across the green and into the cup like a homing pigeon returning to its nest. It was an amazing putt, and no less amazing is that the golfer was Alice Cooper, attired in an orange Ban-Ion shirt, plaid pants, and brown and white golf shoes. As straight as Ozzie Nelson, Alice is actually Mr. Nice Guy in real life. And, like Spot the dog, the former cross-country runner from Arizona has not been spoiled by good fortune. He is more surprised by his own success than anyone else.

In fact, contrasting his onstage savagery, the killer's private life is most bizarre for its normalcy. Alice off-stage is sometimes as perplexing and fascinating as he is when performing. In an exclusive interview with Circus, some of the people who live with the snake-master on a daily basis sketched out the peculiarities:

The man who wings through the heavens with a dollar-sign on his tail almost ten months out of the year doesn't have a permanent residence. Alice rents or owns several abodes around the world. There's a penthouse on New York's fashionable East Side, when he tires of his mansion in the Greenwich, Connecticut countryside. Out in California there's a Malibu beach house. Down South, Alice rents a cabin in Montego Bay. And when he wants to stay hear his parents (of course he has parents, everybody has parents), he cloisters himself in a desert home in Paradise Valley, Arizona, where eventually he'd like to retire. If he ever retires.

When on the road, Alice usually finds himself in a Hilton Hotel. During most of his early career, when the Cooper-troopers were down and out, a Holiday Inn or worse had to do for accommodations. But the successful Alice prefers to guest with Conrad Hilton's billion dollar baby. The difference between a Hilton and a Holiday, according to Alice's confidants, is that "Hilton's have better toilet paper, the sheets don't have crabs, and the Hilton's funiitµre is a grade better than the kino given away on television quiz shows." As for privacy, either at home or in a hotel, all Mr. Cooper needs is "about two feet."

Alice's other needs seem to be equally simple. He is addicted to television, and refuses to travel anywhere there isn't a TV, or where the reception is poor. He gets up early, not because he's basically an early riser, but because he doesn't want to miss any of the television game shows, "Hollywood Squares" being his favorite.

The man is also addicted to beer (Budweiser is a strong preference), which he consumes at the incredible rate of one case per day. Says Alice's roommate, "The longest period of time I've ever seen him go without a beer is seven minutes, the time it took him to leave the airport terminal until the plane took off and the stewardess was allowed to serve liquor." His accountants estimate that he spent between $30,000 and $32,000 for beer in 1972. Yet never a penny is spent on drugs. "At least with booze you know you have thirty years before you go, but with drugs," Alice warns, "you can go in one night." It should also be added that Alice likes Seagrams V.O., and there is a clause in each of his contracts that there must be two sealed bottles of V.O. and six cases of Budweiser in his dressing room at every performance.

He never eats lavishly, preferring to eat out rather than at home — particularly if it's at a MacDonald's or a White Tower. Friends say he's very happy with a taco, dorrito, or a bagel with lox. He is a veritable connoisseur of junk foods. He has never been inside a supermarket, however, and if he were to enter one, it would probably be for the Muzak, which he adores. At home he never listens to his own music, but prefers John Barry, who writes the theme music for James Bond movies and "I Spy."

As for Alice's love life, her name is Cindy. Besides being his girlfriend, she is his best friend. They met in Detroit seven years ago, before Alice was Alice and before he had a penny to his name. The first question he asked her was "What's your sign?" On their first date they went to an all-night movie in downtown Detroit that was showing three motorcycle movies. A more recent favorite of the couple was The Poseidon Adventure.

Besides golf, the rock king's favorite pastimes are fishing and baseball. On the streets, Alice usually disguises himself by tucking his hair under a Tigers or Yankees baseball cap and dons a black and white Dodgers jacket. Presumably because of his "I Spy" viewing experience, he also wears sunglasses, and a penciled-in Errol Flynn moustache. He may or may not have shaved, since he's already lost five electric shavers in the last five months. The only thing he can't disguise on the street is his beer-belly. For indoor sport, Alice favors shooting pool with Cindy at a place called "Guys and Dolls" poll hall in New York. Their favorite entertainment spot in The City is an arcade called "Playland."

Although he has several thousand acquaintances, the deadly pool shark has few close friends. If the phone rings, Cindy answers it since Alice never answers the phone. No one, not Cindy, not even his mother, calls Alice anything but Alice.

Such is the life of the world's most famous rock star. A man who has six gold records, who outgrossed the Beatles on tour, and who's as easily recognized as Jackie Onassis, actually leads a life-style no more glamorous than any one of his midwestern fans. Yet that is the puzzle of Alice, the enigma that makes him the fascinating force he is.