Don Emmons

Prologue

PLAZA 9 - PLAZA HOTEL, New York City, 1973 "CURLEY McDIMPLE" – A satirical journey and tribute to Shirley Temple and the musical films of an era long gone by.

Jimmy, - (the James Dunn role) - a young song and dance man living in a modest boardinghouse in Manhattan, has recently come to the big city to "make the big time".

ACT 1

The action takes place in Sarah’s boardinghouse, a shabby Brownstone in Manhattan’s west 40’s.

Sarah - Jimmy, Jimmy!

Jimmy – What is it Sarah? Any mail for me?

Sarah – Oh, yes there is Jimmy. (They meet center, she hands him a letter, opens one herself and watches as he scans his letter.)

Sarah – Good news, Jimmy?

Jimmy – No Sarah, I’m afraid not. (starts back towards his room)

Alice: (the Alice Faye role, off stage L.) Any good news for me Sarah?

Sarah – (as she goes off L.) No Alice, and not for me either.

(Jimmy meanwhile has gone into his room, tosses letter on bureau. He has been making toast on an old fashioned toaster. He finds the toast burning. He snatches it off, gets knife and starts scraping burnt toast.)

Jimmy – Oh well, - (sings)

(verse)
I never did care to be a millionaire
Theirs is an unhappy lot at best
But if were a millionaire,
That wouldn’t alter my request

(chorus)
All I want in the morning
All I ask of my host is
A cup of coffee, some scrambled eggs
And some (scraping toast) ch ch ch, ch ch ch toast

All I need after dawning
If I get it I boast is
A cup of coffee, some scrambled egg and some
ch ch ch,h ch ch toast.

(The next four lines a la Maurice Chevalier and to pictures on wall.)

Sorry Jeanette, no crepe suzette
in Paree that’s devine,
Sorry Louise, no crackers and cheese
That would be fine on the Rhine but,

All I want when I’m yawning
And to me it’s the most is,
A cup of coffee, some scrambled eggs, and some
ch ch ch, ch ch ch,, – toast (taping foot) a 6-7-8

(He goes into tap routine, all over room and all over the furniture.)

Chapter One

As I slowly began regaining consciousness, I was only aware of leaving the most beautiful place I had ever experienced. The engulfing white light my entire being had been bathing in was slipping away as suddenly as it had arrived. I’ll always remember the disappointment and resentment I felt for its departure, for it had taken me somewhere beyond the wisdom of words to describe. So simple in its total power and knowledge, and so peaceful in its overwhelming purity and perfection. I had a feeling -"I wasn’t in Kansas anymore."

While there were no people in my brilliant white light, it represented everyone and everything I love. There were no material things, yet I felt empowered by a wisdom of understanding all things material. I was all-knowledgeable except for how such intensity of light could be so peaceful.

My light had no tunnel. It was much too magnificent to be contained by boundaries. It was an infinity, as was time. I was there for both an eternity and for a blink of the eye. I wanted to stay in this glorious phenomenon of beauty larger than life, forever. Yes, I was definitely no longer in Kansas. Hmmm, Euphoria, maybe?

As reality became the focus, my next awareness was not nearly so pleasant. My first back to earth recollections were my mother and father being by my side. I was in intensive care and about to be informed that the previous day I had undergone brain surgery. In my state of incoherence I could remember very little of who I was or how I got there. I did however quickly realize that my entire left side could not move. In my effort to put the pieces together, my memory started to return and a never- ending journey in physical therapy began.

Lynn, my wife at the time, and I had recently concluded a short run of a revival of "Curly McDimple", and working on a dance team act. The final performance of the show was the night before and we had been rehearsing much of that following day. We were now home relaxing and watching television. It was a hot, muggy July evening and I remember getting up to turn the air condition on high. As I did, I felt a lightheaded dizziness as though I was about to pass out. Before I could get back to the bed, what seemed like my heart started pulsating very abnormally. By the time I reached the bed, this pulsating had turned into a violent pounding, jerking and thrusting my entire body.

Poor Lynn, I must have scared her half to death. In her hysteria, she jumped on top of me trying to hold me down, while desperately trying to phone for help.

In the pursuit of survival, the body instinctively reacts to trauma. Although my first thoughts were I must have been having a heart attack, I knew to totally relax, go with it and pray that somehow it would go away. After what seemed forever, the thumping subsided and I was being whisked away in an ambulance where it started up again on the way to the hospital.

Polyclinic was not the best choice of hospitals. In the week to follow, practically nothing was done for me. I thought they didn’t know what was wrong, and knew little was being done to find out. As the seizures continued, I grew weaker and became more immobilized. I knew if someone with answers didn’t show up soon, my strength would not continue. The helplessness was overwhelming. I could not understand why I was being ignored. The answer came later.

What showed up on their charts was diagnosed as a brain tumor so massive that their advice was "no need to operate as there is no hope."

Upon hearing what seemed to be my fate, my friend Robert Dahdah called the Regina Laudis monastery and asked the nuns to pray for me. Soon after, another friend, Jerry Orr, told my parents he knew someone, Patricia Riccio at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital and that a second opinion might be in order. I’m not sure how Miss Riccio intervened on my behalf, but immediately after the nuns started their vigilance, my destiny had new meaning.

Suddenly, Dr. Brown, a new doctor, appeared on the scene. Though not very coherent, I’ll never forget the moment of crystal clearness I had the moment I saw him. Before he spoke a word, I felt an awakening and knew something positive was being done on my behalf.

He had me immediately transferred to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital where I was blessed by having Dr. McMurtry, a world-leading neurosurgeon, look at my case. Again, diagnosis came back "massive brain tumor – inoperable – no chance of survival".

The following is what happened according to, and I quote, my mother.

"Dr. McMurtry’s technicians had condemned you and said not to operate. That there was a tumor bigger than the size of a golf ball and that it was hopeless. When informed of this tragic news, your father told Dr. McMurtry "During the war, when he was a little boy, he did everything he could to help. During the service, he went on bond drives and just danced and performed his heart out and now, no one can help him?"

Dr. McMurtry paused and replied, "Is his wife here to sign for him to go to surgery?" Your father said, "She’s not here, I’ll sign for it."

"As they prepared to move you, dad folded your arms because one of them was hanging down over the gurney they were taking you away on and said, "Don, this is the big one, make this your best performance ever." He kissed you and they wheeled you away."

"You went up there about two o’clock in the afternoon and we didn’t see Dr. McMurtry until late that evening. It was a quarter to ten when he finally returned. Your friends had stayed all through this operation. We were all so in prayer, hoping and waiting for word of what was happening. No one even thought of sending out for drinks, sandwiches, or anything."

"I have never seen anything like your friends and people in show business. Everyone there kept telling Lee [my father] and me, the longer it took, the more they believed you were being properly helped.

They thought if it was as hopeless as predicted, they would have brought you back soon. Dr. McMurtry finally came in and asked everyone to leave but your parents. He had an expression on his face and looked like the most beautiful person I ever saw. He looked at me and he didn’t have a smile on his face, but we could tell by his eyes that it wasn’t bad news."

"He said, "The operation is over. It was an abscess that burst. I had a lot of cleaning up to do because it broke before I could get to it, a lot of cleaning up." Lee asked, "Is he going to be alright?" He answered, "He came through the operation, Mr. Emmons. Let’s see what happens now. Your son is alive."

Robert Dahdah, one of those friends who was there throughout, - I quote.  "And that is the miracle that happened. The events that took place and followed. From Jerry Orr suggesting a second opinion to when they brought you back from the operating room, - after we asked the nuns to pray for you."

Chapter 2

In 1949, a movie was made called "Come to the Stable." Starring Loretta Young and Celeste Holm, it is the true story of the trials and tribulations faced by the founding of the Regina Laudis Convent. Directed by Henry Koster, the film received seven Academy Award nominations, including leading actress, best supporting actress, and best song.

Located in Connecticut, my first trip to this beautiful part of the state was in 1970. I was a member of the cast of "Curly McDimple". Robert Dahdah, the writer and director of the show asked me to play George in his presentation of "George M", the show he had chosen that year to take to the fair.

It was a tradition. Once a year in this little town of Bethlehem, they held a fair. The sole purpose was to raise money for the convent. Every year, Bob produced and directed a show for them in support of this worthy cause, often performing himself, as was the case in "George M". He played George’s father. His number of presentations is somewhere around forty. Quite a tribute to Mr. Dahdah. I think he has earned himself a nice little insurance policy.

There are others worthy of being written in on his policy. For example Mary Boylan and Jerry Orr, and of course, all the many performers who have dedicated their services throughout the years.

Mary, the co-writer of "Curly", was there with Bob from the beginning. She was a fine actress and appeared in many movies. I remember her film career best for the role she played in "The Night of the Iguana". She was a lovely lady and one of the purest souls I ever met. Mary had a gift with animals. She could walk into a room, barn, or anywhere and without fail, they would come to her. Mary passed away in 1984. Cashing in her part of the policy must have been very rewarding.

Jerry Orr’s contribution was making sure transportation was provided for all. I first met Jerry in 1970. "George M" was his first for the sisters and he has unselfishly been rendering this service ever since - an honorable and often painstaking task to take on for no other reason than wanting to do something good for a bunch of nuns.

The format for the shows was simple. We did two performances. One for the townspeople, upon conclusion we simply went into the audience and passed the hat. The second show was performed separately for the sisters. Although cloistered, they were allowed to see our show and we had admission to the immediate grounds.

Accommodations for the first performance were a little better than for the second. At least we had a stage. For the nuns, we had to perform on a large path and gateway that leads to the immediate entrance. When Bob puts a show on the road, he puts a show on the road.

From the moment we arrived at this most interesting retreat, there was an awareness of a holy presence. The scent of fresh country vegetation permeates the air along with the sweet smell of homemade bread, cakes, pies, fruit, jellies and jams. Every kind of homemade food, wine, oil and soap can be found. Pottery, woven goods, knitted clothing and farm animals add to the exhilarating country aroma. Everything this productive little community can come up with is on display for this special day in support of their religious order.

From a distance, Gregorian chants can be heard creating an unforgettable heavenly sound. The film captured this sound completely, and the tradition remains. Recently, a CD was released called "Women in Chant" featuring the choir of the Regina Laudis Benedictine nuns singing Gregorian chants. Sales, I understand, are doing well and benefit the work of the Abbey.

As a tribute to organizers of the fair and celebration to the success of the convent, the sisters serve a dinner between shows. The food comes straight from the gardens they attend and the livestock they raise. It is all delicious and one has to be a little careful knowing there’s a second show. Speeches, entertainment, raffle prizes and awards are presented. All giving a better understanding of what this place is all about and the service it provides.

Delores Hart, well-known Hollywood starlet of the late fifties and early sixties entered the convent in 1963. The lure for a new direction in her life began while appearing on Broadway in "The Pleasure of His Company" (1958). After being asked to recreate her role in the film version, she one night discovered Debbie Reynolds in the audience taking notes. She realized she was not going to be in the movie and it was a big disappointment to her. A friend suggested visiting a tranquil place in Connecticut. It was the Regina Laudis Abbey.

In her own words, "After that, whenever I was on the East Coast, I would go there. I began to notice each time I went, it was harder and harder to leave. I had this feeling, I was home."

She continued doing movies, two of which, perhaps by divine design, contributed to her spiritual need to return to the Abbey permanently; "Francis of Assisi" (1961) – the Life of St. Francis and "Lisa" (1962) – dealt with the Holocaust and experiments on prisoners at Auschwitz.

After the second show, we met and spoke to the sisters. I was anxious to let them know how much I appreciated them as an audience. Their awareness, wisdom, and sense of humor provide an experience for the performer. They miss nothing. Meeting Mother Dolores and Lady Superior Abby, the role played by Loretta Young in the movie, made this fulfilling experience complete.

Mother Dolores told me my performance was a perfect blend of the spiritual and physical. Quite a compliment, considering the source. She said she didn’t know how, but in some way would like to use this in a documentary film she was producing for the convent. Knowing we were staying close by overnight, she concluded by saying if it’s meant to be, it would come to her.

Early the following morning, I was delightfully awakened by a knock at my door. It was Bob to tell me he had received a call from her. He said she was anxious to meet and tell us how it came to her and how it could be done.

The meeting centered on her friend, Sister David. Sister David had been at the convent a sufficient amount of time and was at the point of making the most important decision of her life – taking her final vows. I could only imagine how difficult making the monumental decision to live a monastic life might be for a young woman.

Mother Dolores told us that Sister David, in search of guidance and seeking answers, went to the altar in prayer. In the middle of her prayers, the altar collapsed, falling in and landing inches from where she knelt. Bob and I were a little shocked, but Mother Dolores only smiled. In her mind, it was God’s sense of humor saying "What more can I do and what else do you need?"

Mother Dolores wanted to recreate this scene. Without the altar falling in on her, of course. She wanted to see if I, representing a vision, through physical movement, could reach out and touch her spiritually.

Intrigued by the idea and flattered by the thought that Mother Dolores wanted me to be a part of this, it took little convincing. We agreed to come back the next weekend and the two of them were waiting for us as we arrived that following week.

The entire grounds of the monastery is large – 359 acres. You need a car to get to certain parts. After greeting us, Mother Dolores informed us that we would be setting up and shooting at this little log cabin a slight distance away.

Her little Jeep, containing camera, film, phonograph and records, background for walls, and props, was all packed, and rarin’ to go is the best description I have for the way we went flying and bouncing through the countryside. Mother Dolores drives fast – safely, I think, but very- fast. I thought, boy, what a hotrod lady this is. I looked over at Bob and noticed he was clutching the edge of his seat. His knuckles were white. He gave me this sort of nervous little smile. Though I felt safe in their presence, I remember thinking, "I’m glad there’s no traffic."

The moment we got there, she methodically went to work setting up with an authority that insured us all she knew exactly how to complete the picture she had so firmly in mind. I marveled at how professionally she went about her business, dealing on such a small scale. It did not take long before the scene was set.

She wanted whatever happened to be totally spontaneous and improvisational. There would be no rehearsal and no dialogue. It was obvious that she had told Sister David very little about what was going on other than she wanted her to pray for guidance. As she placed her on her knees for the scene to start, I could tell Sister David was going along with something she felt very uncomfortable with.

Telling me to just go with whatever came to me, Mother Dolores put on background music and directed me toward the praying sister.

I took a couple of steps in her direction and extended my hand. With her head bowed, I didn’t know if she saw this gesture. I thought she did but chose to ignore it. This was confirmed when I moved closer, knelt down on her level and again extended my hand. Nothing. I knew I had my work cut out for me. I returned to my feet and started swaying as I had once seen Fred Astaire do to entice Ginger Rogers to dance with him. Proving I’m no Fred Astaire, her reaction to this brilliant idea was less than that of Ginger’s to Fred.

Mother Dolores seemed unconcerned. She rummaged through her long play records and quickly put on another selection. Again, I tried various combinations of reaching, swaying, enticing, and anything I could come up with, including comically pleading at times. If only I could get her to reach back to me. I did realize I was starting to get her attention for she would occasionally glance up at me as if to say, "I don’t like this, it isn’t right."

The process continued through a variety of musical moods, arrangements, and tempos. Bob made suggestions and all of us, except for Sister David, contributed ideas. I even threw in a little soft- shoe at one point thinking it might make her smile. She would have no part of it and was starting to make it clear that she wasn’t buying whatever it was she thought I was trying to sell. However, after tireless attempts, I started to sense she was becoming a little amused by my antics and persistence, but didn’t want to let me know it.

At this point we were all getting a little weary, but Mother Dolores said, "Let’s try one more time", and put on an arrangement of "Embraceable You".

As the music started, I thought, "Please let this be. I’ve done everything I can and want this so very much. Please acknowledge me. What more can I do and what else do you need?"

With this in mind, from her praying position, she slowly and pleasantly looked up at me, establishing first real eye contact. In jest, I momentarily turned away and pretended to ignore her, mocking the way I had been treated. This brought a slight smile to her face and then to mine.

Once again, I extended my hand. From her kneeling position, one hand very subtly reached back to me as the other dropped to her chest. As she reached out a little further, I could have taken her hand, but chose not to. I passed my hand by hers without touching. She returned the gesture, and for a few brief moments a wonderful reaching, circular kind of movement without touching took place, creating a sort of holy flirtation. After so much of this, it was only right for me to take her by the hand and bring her to her feet. As I did, I witnessed the most heavenly smile. I slowly placed my other hand on her waist and in dance position, we started to sway to the music. What followed was like something out of a movie. An old religious movie.

I have no idea, and never asked how she knew how to move like that, but Sister David could dance. Though the improvisational choreography seemed somewhat of a blur afterwards, we had become lost in what felt as natural as something we had been rehearsing for years. We seemed to float on the wings of heaven as I learned the true meaning of ‘tripping the light fantastic’.

For those few minutes, I must have had a little Fred in me after all. She, most certainly, had a lot of Ginger. I don’t know who his favorite partner was, but mine, without question, is Sister David.

I returned her to the altar and placed her back in prayer position as the music faded. At that exact moment, Mother Dolores ran out of film.

In a sort of dream-like splendor, I thought what a magical event I’ve just witnessed and been a part of. I hope the drive back goes as smoothly.

I never hear "Embraceable You" without recalling that very special day with my dear friends Bob Dahdah, Mother Dolores, and now, and for many years now, Mother David.

Something else worthy of mention happened that memorable season. Norma Bigtree, another member from the cast of "Curly McDimple", played George’s sister. Her husband, Jack Matthew, came with us. They also brought their infant son Dell Matthew, who portrayed George as a baby. That performance of George M and being in those spiritual surroundings, inspired Jack and Norma to go into the ministry. With Norma by his side, Jack studied to become a minister and now has one of the most popular parishes in Boulder, Colorado.

Since my illness, my battle with paralysis has been ongoing. The freedom I once felt when performing is no longer there and I have not been on stage since. Except for the sisters. I have returned to the monastery several times, participating in a number of plays.

Chapter Three

After surgery, I was taken to intensive care and no one could see me that night. The next day, my parents were allowed in for five minutes only. Within a few days I was moved to a private room. I’ll always remember how relieved they were. Mom called my friends to tell them I was out of intensive care.

The following six weeks in the hospital presented a physical challenge beyond anything that I had previously faced. I am a trained dancer and have danced all my life. I started ballet at the age of fourteen and studied religiously. I also did character work, jazz, and a little modern. I cannot remember not knowing how to tap. I think the first steps I took were time-steps. I had ten Broadway shows to my credit, thirty-three summer stock productions, several road companies, television, nightclub, and a little movie work. I had knowledge of physical discipline and the next portion of my life was about to put all my training, knowledge, and discipline to the supreme test.

Dr. McMurtry came to my room everyday he was at the hospital. I remember one particularly. It was late in the day and I was starting to wonder if he was going to make it. He usually came in early. I was hoping he would because this was a day I had worked for and planned to surprise him. As I was about to give up on him, in he strolls, keeping his record perfect. After the usual formalities, he asked the question he had been asking everyday, and the one I was waiting for. "Move you toes." I had discovered the night before that there was movement there. He had to look closely, but as he said the words I was waiting for, my big toe did react. "Congratulations", Dr. McMurtry replied, "You’re going to have a foot!"

Although he would not answer my question "would I walk again", he did say, "Considering it’s a miracle you’re alive, I wouldn’t put it past you."

The prayers were working. Even my private nurse, Mrs. Trott, a dear, sweet, middle-aged African-American lady, was there for me as much as she possibly could be, making sure I had the very best of care. Mrs. Trott and my parents developed a close bond and my mother tells fond stories of her. One, particularly.

"One day while I was getting some of your clothes to take home and launder, I noticed a brown bag in the locker. I asked Mrs. Trott what it was. She just shook her head and put her finger to her mouth as though she didn’t want you to hear what I said. So, I took the hint right away. When I was outside the room, she followed me out and said "That’s Don’s hair". They put it in a bag because they think his hair may not grow back again and you can have this to make a wig."

While my dance training was a great asset for recovery, it was also a source of anguish and despair. Retraining a once well-coordinated body to do simple tasks such as getting dressed, holding a knife and fork, and going to the bathroom on my own, led to major frustration and battles with depression.

One day after a productive session at physical therapy, I decided to get to the bathroom all by myself. I knew if I could get out of bed and on my feet, I could lean against the wall and edge myself to the bathroom door. It worked. It took awhile, but I made it. Unfortunately, coming back was a different story. Having completed what I had to do, I became very confused. My energy was suddenly drained and all systems shut down. Even my right side wouldn’t take orders. I had to ring for help. Of course, I was reprimanded by Mrs. Trott and had to promise her I wouldn’t do it again. Exhausted from the attempt, I felt both frustrated at the results and proud of the effort. You know the old expression, "either do it or get off the pot"? Well, I did it and couldn’t get off the pot.

There were a couple of therapists who daily came to my room for treatment. I gained movement in my fingers and hand and eventually could lift my wrist and forearm off the bed. My elbow weighed a ton. One day they said, "this is all we can do for you until you’re ready to go up to the physical therapy department". I told them I’d go up tomorrow. They said, "Speak to your doctor".

When Dr. McMurtry came in the following morning, I could tell he was a little surprised that I should even ask. I still had intravenous bottles and tubes connected to me and I was still confined to a wheelchair when out of bed. He told me he didn’t think I was ready. Somehow, my eagerness and determination convinced him. He said, "Ok, if you really think you’re strong enough, you go for it."

Mrs. Trott hooked the IVs to the wheelchair and away we went. When we got there, she connected them to whatever apparatus I could work on and I felt I was really on my way back. There was so much more they could do for me and I could do for myself.

Dr. McMurtry never put a limit on what he thought I might accomplish or overcome. There were those who said I may never walk again and if so, probably not without the aid of crutches or a cane. Not Dr. McMurtry. His encouragement and belief in me was vital to my one burning motivation – I was going to walk again. Not only was I going to walk again, I told Dr. McMurtry, "I was going to walk out of the hospital".

Before I was released, Dr. McMurtry told my parents he was going to give me a trial run. He knew I was not well enough to return to my Manhattan apartment, but knowing them both quite well by then, decided under their careful watch, I would be alright. They could pick me up on a Friday around 4:00 PM and bring me back the following Sunday before 6:00 PM. They were given a list of things to do, not do, and what to look for. It was made clear that if I had any problems, I should be rushed back. I was given a medical identification bracelet that would allow me immediate entrance should any problems arise. Dr. McMurtry wanted to know if I could handle this because if not, I would have to be put back in rehabilitation. I was determined to never go back. It wasn’t exactly the way I planned it, but when my parents came for me that Friday, with the aid of braces and crutches, I walked out of the hospital. Mom and Dad were living on the second floor of a two-story duplex in Jersey City. Getting up the stairs was the toughest part of the trip home. I had to sit and pull myself up one step at a time. I was never so happy being anywhere as I was when I reached the top.

I did everything by the rules and with the round the clock care I had from my parents, the trial run was a success. When I returned on Sunday, my father told Dr. McMurtry, "We can handle this".

I was so glad to be there. Six weeks in the hospital can have a prison-like effect. I knew my journey on the road to recovery had just begun and had many miles to go. I did not realize the journey would never end.

Lynn couldn’t handle it. Her career, at the time, looked promising and I definitely would have been a burden. She left, my first week out of the hospital. However, her insurance policy turned out to be one more blessing.

I had worked primarily on Broadway for many years and therefore my medical insurance had been covered throughout most of this period. Unfortunately, at the time, this was not the case. My last equity job policy had elapsed and I had invested a great deal of time and money on the act I was working on with Lynn. Between jobs, would be a nice way of putting it. My financial situation was about as critical as my health when faced with medical bills that read like the size of a small town telephone directory.

Lynn had just enough employment that year through Screen Actor’s Guild to be covered by health insurance. As her spouse, I qualified. My parents had been planning to move back to Missouri and buy a home. They were preparing to sacrifice everything when news of her insurance came through.

Those were dark days. I was down and had to battle depression continuously. I worked hard and never gave up. There were also moments of great exaltation when results of the physical therapy programs I set for myself through my dance training, paid off.

Mom told me later that one of the things the doctors told her to watch for was a sign of depression. During one of my ‘feeling sorry for myself’ moods, my mother taking notice said, "Come on, Don, straighten up, you’re slumping. Come on, sit up straight." I said, "What have I got to straighten up for, Mom? My health is gone, my career is over, my wife has left me, I have nothing." She said, "You have your father and me, you have your sister and family members who love you, you have friends who believe in you and are pulling for you. You’ve got to straighten up!" I thought, "Well spoken, Mom. I have no time for self-pity."

Soon, I was moving around the apartment pretty well and getting anxious to not be so dependent on my parents. I had been out a few times, but never without the support of my father. There was a large apartment complex next door with a fence running the entire length of the building. I knew that once I got to the fence, I could walk the entire length with the fence by my side.

One afternoon, Dad came in, lunched, and had been gone about thirty minutes. I told Mom I wanted to go out and walk. She said, "Let’s wait until your father gets back." I said, "No, Mom, I want to do this on my own".

I still had to sit and lower myself one step at a time. Stairs were a nightmare. When I reached the bottom, she helped me to my feet and handed me my cane. I said, "No, I don’t want the cane." She said, "You need something to support you". I told her, "I’m going to walk in front of this apartment building. The fence is there and if I have to, I can hold onto it".

As she started to go with me, I said, "Mom, I really want to do this by myself". Understanding how important this was to me, she escorted me to the fence and stepped back to watch the adventure.

Staying close to the fence, I made it all the way to the end without much difficulty. On the way back, with the fence on my opposite side, I did have a little trouble and had to lean, grab, and hold onto it a few times.

When I finally made it all the way back, there was a burst of applause. I looked up and there were people at the windows of the building. Friends of my parents, who knew my situation and were concerned, had been watching and were rewarding my effort. The applause was rather thunderous considering so few people, and for a moment, it was like being back on stage.

I took a grand classical bow equal to having completed the greatest performance of any Shakespearean play. Of course, I almost fell on my face, but the moment was quite exhilarating. Once a ham, always a ham.

Chapter Four

Luigi Faccuito, a fellow dancer, choreographer and teacher, is someone I had known for many years. Simply known as Luigi, he is well known in the dance world for his style, technique, and many contributions. He is truly one of modern jazz dance’s great innovators. For me personally, he turned out to be much more.

Now on my feet and wanting to get out in the world a little, I went to Luigi’s studio to see an old friend and perhaps, watch him teach a class. Mom was with me as I was still not able to go about alone. I had traded my crutches for a cane, but still needed the aid of leg braces.

Luigi had no idea of what had happened to me and as much as he tired to hide it, I’ll never forget the expression on his face when he first saw me. He was between classes and almost immediately had me in his office doing his exercises. Contractions, tightening the buttocks, and pulling out of the hips. He invited me as his guest to come to his beginner class. It took a little convincing to realize how valuable this would be for me. I told him as soon as I was able to get there on my own; I would be there.

The encounter was quite inspiring, but after thinking it over, I realized I would be going nowhere on my own in leg braces. I called Luigi and thanked him for the invitation, but told him it might be weeks, maybe months, before I no longer needed braces. He said, "So have someone come with you and take class with the braces."

I wasted about a week considering this and getting the courage to actually go. Could I go in there among students and fellow dancers and have them see me stumble around in leg braces? I had to come face to face with a very stubborn dancer’s ego that for years had served me well, but was now standing in my way. Suddenly, it dawned on me how foolish I was being. How dare I allow what others might think stand in the way and prevent me from doing the very thing I love and needed most.

I went to the studio the following day. During that first class, Luigi did so much to make me feel at ease and restore my confidence. I stayed all the way in back of the class. Because of my lack of coordination, I needed to stay close to the wall. Also, I wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. As I would stumble or trip, the students would occasionally turn around and look because they could see me in the mirror. They weren’t being rude, they were just curious and wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to stumble and run into them. Luigi let it go for a while, but because it continued, he finally said, "The next one that turns around and looks is out!" No more heads turned.

So there I was back in dance class. Somewhere that had been a major part of my existence and a place that I had to face serious doubts as to ever being able to return to. I was lucky to have had wonderful teachers. From Lalla Bauman back in St. Louis, to ballet masters, such as Edgar Caton, Igor Swetzoff, and Nanette Charise to mention a few here in New York. I was fortunate again to have someone like Luigi helping me now.

I had always been a bit of a showoff in class, demanding attention whenever possible. Trying to jump higher, turn better, and out dance everyone else, and that was something pretty hard to do, and seldom achieved in the classes I mentioned. Now, here I was struggling to stay on my feet, desperately trying to keep up, not look like a cripple and hope no one is watching. Thank God determination outweighed the frustration and despair I was going through. Believing I could triumph over this demon that had invaded my body was my major weapon against sometimes-suicidal thoughts.

No one could have understood my situation better than Luigi, for he too had been through it. As a young man and successful dancer in Hollywood, he was in an almost fatal automobile accident, resulting in paralysis on his right side. Along with his knowledge of dance before the accident, his work is founded and based on a technique he developed to overcome and deal with this problem. Only one who has experienced paralysis can truly understand what another who has paralysis is going through.

Luigi’s studio became my home away from home. I was there every day in his beginner 4:30 PM or 11:00 AM style class. It was the perfect place to be for the kind of therapy and rehabilitation I still desperately needed. Except for moments of total depression, I never quit and never gave up. I couldn’t – I didn’t know how. Those first few years with Luigi, I became a relentless warrior, determined to regain what I had lost.

Anxious as I was to return to my apartment and prove that I could manage on my own, once achieved, I found it a lonely and desolate place. I had lived there with Lynn for the past two years and returning just reminded me of how much my life had changed.

Through hard work and Luigi’s help, my progress continued. My commitment to the work got me through some rough times, particularly that first year. Through it all, I honestly believed my body would heal completely. It took a long time for me to admit – it doesn’t work that way and the problem was never going to go away, just like they had told me in the hospital and I refused to believe. I learned to work around it as much as humanly possible, but the body never fully recovers from this kind of surgery and damage to brain cells. It was a good thing I didn’t understand this in the beginning. My motivation to work so hard would not have been as strong. As this fact finally dawned on me, I was often torn between being grateful I was alive and making progress, and wishing I were dead and buried.

Fortunately by then, I was totally dedicated to the work I knew still had to be done. A need to feel worthy of the prayers from Connecticut and an obligation to family and those who had stuck by me, believed in me and never lost faith in me, helped keep me going.

One day after class, Luigi came to me and said, "That little room in the back is hardly ever being used. When you’re ready, why don’t you get together a tap class and see what you can do with it?" I did and it worked out quite well. Although now I only teach private lessons, I have been teaching ever since.

A final word about Luigi. As long as he had that studio on West 54^th Street, he never accepted a penny from me, even when I tried to insist.

Chapter Five

I stayed on hold for years expecting to return to the stage. While content with the progress I had made and the pride I took for being able to teach, an anger and frustration was festering inside. Why, with all my work and dedication, was my coordination no longer improving? It took returning to Bethlehem, Connecticut to find answers I wasn’t aware of searching for.

One season, Mr. Dahdah’s production for the monastery consisted of a compilation of scenes, sketches, and musical numbers. When asked if I might be able to contribute, I thought, "What better opportunity will I ever have to not only thank the sisters, but prove the power of their prayers, by performing for them".

The motivation for letting them know my gratitude outweighed the sheer torture of my efforts to execute my very simple and carefully thought out choreography. Had you seen my performance, you would agree, "execute" is the correct word for my rendition of "Doin the Grizzly Bear."

As I finished the self-imposed assignment, I was never so proud for having gotten through it, and never so happy for its conclusion. I have always considered performing a mysterious safe haven for finding comfort and justification for what you do and believe in. I’ve experienced a physical and spiritual freedom from performing and value it as the ultimate reward for the honest pursuit of the arts.

During that performance and I use the word loosely, I realized that that physical freedom and its relationship to the spiritual was lost forever. The portals of that attainable sacred domain that awaits rare entrance to the believer of hopes and dreams in noble pursuit of the arts, I was to never pass through again.

For the sisters, it was the right thing to do. For me, a self-prophesizing debt I needed to fulfill. But never again would I put myself through that kind of agony. Along with the nervousness, pain, and uncomfortable concentration, all I could think of was, will it ever end, and how much more there is before it does? When it finally did, I couldn’t help but reflect on Mother Dolores’ first words to me when we met many years ago; "Your performance was a perfect blend of the physical and the spiritual." I’d come a long way to an ending journey.

No one loved performing more than I. Maybe as much, but not more. Now a voice loud and clear was telling me it was time to abandon any still lingering hopes of dancing for an audience. I had held on to this hope for several years, and letting go, in many ways, was a relief that led to specific decisions. Though the message was clear and those portals gone, the will that had brought me beyond medical expert’s expectations would not desert me now. Not now, and certainly not here at the convent. on the contrary.

The experience more than ever made me realize there is a self-confidence that comes from believing in what you love doing that cannot be turned off. Knowing how you’ve labored at it, sacrificed for it, and become a loving slave to it, except for family and loved ones, is all that matters. Learning to accept the results of your efforts can produce an inner peace and pride for your exploratory venture into the creative process. Believing your commitment was worthwhile is who you really are and all you can really be. To some, we’re nothing without it. With, we must never turn it off.

In my darkest days, quitting was not an option. It wasn’t an option then. It would not be an option now. My work would continue. Who I am and what I believe in was more important than performing or the results of any physical setback. I was about to become a better teacher. How much more might I have to offer if I thoroughly concentrated on my own brand of teaching without the obligation of thinking I had to perform again. With my background and having gone through my own reconstruction program, could I go further and use my knowledge to develop technique, discipline, style, and body movement for others?

No more classes. I would work with private students only and do more to embellish creative ideas. I could continue being who I am and do the work I had dedicated my life to.

I have adoring students and am pleased with my accomplishments. Some of which have developed into whole bodies of work that I’m proud to show. My path was changed, but not my profession.

We all have something within that comes from a higher power if only we’re in touch with it. Something to believe in with all your heart and soul. Never stop the pursuit of this belief. Never quit regardless of how hopeless the situation may be and most important, let the love for what you believe in, be more important than the results. Nothing fills the soul with satisfaction more than being proud of creative work. If you have a dream, never let it go. Such dreams should not be awakened until they become a reality. The curtain never falls.

How ironic that the message for peace of mind would come from Bethlehem, Connecticut. In fairness to the last performance, it really wasn’t as bad as I made it sound. It just felt that way.

Chapter Six

Mom and dad’s life together was truly a love story. Their meeting, courtship and struggles through the depression years were never without romance. Growing up, I never gave it much thought but looking back, their relationship seems like something out of a fairy tale book. Especially when I compare it to some of mine.

Every year up until my father’s death in 1981 seemed to see them fall deeper in love. ("She was a pearl and the only girl that daddy ever had"). I cannot remember them fighting, disagreeing, even arguing, yes. Mom tells me they never went to sleep at night angry with one another.

To have a woman like my mother, now ninety-two years old, tell stories of how rich their life together was, even through the hardships they faced, is a real tribute to my father, and one his son will never know.

Married in Independence, Missouri in 1933, dad found employment with the Prudential Insurance Company and was transferred to one of their offices in Chicago where I was born one year later - October 19, 1934.

My introduction to the world of Terpsichore began when I was three years old. One day while passing by, my mother, out of curiosity, and with me in stroller, stopped by at the Johnson Dance Studio. Mrs. Johnson greeted her at the door and invited us in. She convinced my mother to bring me back after having me sit with a bunch of other little kids and beat on a long wooden board with drumsticks. Of course, I remember nothing about this, but so the story goes. Can you handle the excitement? I do have a vague memory of the Johnson school recital. I remember big feet and being alone on stage. Mom tells a "penguin story".

"You were the youngest one there. The next age was six years old. The studio was going to have a recital and Mrs. Johnson said, "I know Don can do this because it’s just marching around and it’s little penguins". I thought, well that would be nice for you to do and you could handle it. There were about ten children in the number. You came in and did your little routine and were supposed to make a big circle before going off stage. There was a six or seven year old boy who was the leader and they told the children to just follow him. You did everything right but you didn’t follow him. He forgot to make the circle and you, only three years old realized this. While the other kids followed him off, you knew you were supposed to make that circle. So here you were with this beak, great big feet and little tiny head out there all by yourself marching around making this great big circle on the stage. You looked so little and it seemed to take forever. There were two ladies there I knew from our apartment building. They almost rolled in the aisle laughing. They thought it was supposed to be that way. The costumes were beautiful."

Around this time, my sister Marcia was born. Times were tough, as the depression had taken its toll. Dad, being one of the newest salespersons with the firm, was let go along with others and the family was left without a job. Unfortunately, after my incredible stage debut, my brilliant career had to be put on hold.

Thinking our situation might improve, we moved to New Boston, Texas for a while where dad’s father, brother, and family lived. Instead of making decent money as he had when he was with the Prudential Company, he had to start work for a dollar a day. His brother was earning a dollar a day and their father was making two dollars a day putting roofs on houses.

Knowing he was a good salesman and hearing conditions were starting to improve in big cities, dad hitched a ride from a trucker passing through and went to St. Louis. He found work and within a few weeks, sent for the family.

"Dad met us at the train station and after paying the cab fare to take us to our living quarters, had five dollars in his pocket. But the rent was paid for one week and he had a job."

"The one room had a little kitchenette with a hotplate and an icebox with a pan underneath to catch the water when the ice melted. There was a ceiling light, which consisted of a light bulb and one lamp without a lampshade. It was a two-story walkup and we had to share the bathroom with three other people living on that floor. There was an old green wicker table and two chairs. Dad had bought two little beds for Marcia and me and the place was already starting to look crowded. Mom describes their bed as "something like sleeping in a hammock."

"Before we went in, dad stopped us at the door. He momentarily blocked it and told my mother, "I just want you to know, this is temporary."

Dad kept his word and soon we moved to a nice, middle- income family house in the suburbs of St. Louis – Overland, Missouri – where I look back at my childhood and growing up with as fond of memories as one can have.

Marcia, my sister, was painfully shy as a child and starting school didn’t help. Mom thought, perhaps dance would help her relate and mingle with other children her age. So, off we were again to dance school. Only this time, it was my sister taking lessons. I don’t know why I wasn’t included. Maybe it was because of my incredible stage debut?

I would go along with my mother and sit there and watch. When we come home, mom would say, "Marcia, why don’t you practice what you learned." She’d start to do the things she thought she was supposed to do and I’d say, "Marcia, it doesn’t go like that, it goes like this". I was a big help to her and she eventually outgrew her shyness. This went on for some time and pretty soon I was able to do steps as well, or better, than many in the class. The teacher taking notice said, "Why don’t you give him lessons", he really picks this stuff up". Mom, as she tells the story, said, "well, why not?" I took two or three lessons in the class Marcia was in and the teacher, Meryll, I remember her well, she was beautiful and I thought I was in love, said, "I’m gonna put him in another class." I went into a more advanced class and wasn’t there very long before she put me with boys and girls that were much older than I was. I kept up with them and I loved it.

Meryll had a little dance troop that provided entertainment for different groups and organizations around the city. One I remember well was performing on the Admiral. The Admiral was a giant riverboat on the Mississippi River. It was a beautiful ship and a technological marvel in its day. We did many shows on the Admiral.

When news got around that I could dance, I was asked to perform at school functions and activities. Mainly, what was then called Parent Teachers’ meetings? I was never teased, called sissy, made fun of or given a rough time about my dancing by my classmates. In fact, in general, I had their respect.

World War II was going on and it was a very patriotic time. From the front window of our house hung a banner with three stars representing relatives in active duty. On my mother’s side, I had three uncles in the service. One in the Navy, one in the Air Corps, and one in the infantry.

I couldn’t have been more than seven or eight at the time when the dance school was asked to perform at bond drives. I was more than anxious to participate and along with planting a victory garden, thought I was doing something wonderful for my country.

We became very much in demand and my parents, because of my age and school, had to put a limit on the amount I could do.

One of the numbers we did was to "The Lady in Red". I was featured in Spanish attire, morocco’s, and four – count em – four eight to ten year old gorgeous chorus girls in Carmen Miranda costumes.

Besides school and dancing, I helped with the family income. I sold fishing worms on the highway; caddied when I was barely big enough to carry a golf bag, car hopped at a drive-in restaurant, and worked as bellboy at the old American Hotel and Theater. I also found time to spend at the local movie house, fascinated by the wonderful musical movies of that era.

Dad was a good bowler and often took me along with him on tournaments. He did pretty well. Winning quite a few and often placing in the money. His crowning glory came in 1947. I wasn’t with him this time. He had taken a couple of days off work to enter a tournament in Chicago. It was around midnight when we received the long distance call. It was dad calling to let us know he had just taken first place in "The Marigold".

Marcia and I got excited for a while and went back to sleep. Mom says she was up all night thinking of all we could do with the money if he won.

We had to wait a couple of weeks until the tournament was over. His score held up and on May 30, 1947, dad won "The Marigold", which at the time was one of the biggest bowling tournaments in the country. His earnings for the win came to $3,250. It was a fortune to us.

By the time I reached high school, my ambition was to work at the St. Louis Municipal Opera. "The Muny" as it is referred to, in the fifties was a great place for a young performer (or for an old performer) to work. I can’t imagine coming to New York without the experience I gained there. In those days, they put on eleven rather elaborate musical productions a season. They retained a resident company of singers, dancers, and stock players while bringing in the leads and featured roles from New York. Many of the resident dancers were also from New York, but they gave local talent a chance and held auditions each season in St. Louis.

Standards were high. For male dancers, pirouettes, double air tours, a good jump (elevation), and a general knowledge of tap was essential. I had only studied ballet a couple of years when I first auditioned. I knew they liked my tap, but the ballet master, Anthony Nelle, decided my ballet was not strong enough and when it came to those double air tours, I was in big trouble. A double air tour is exactly what it sounds like - two turns in the air. From both feet (ballet fifth position) jump straight up, two times around and land cleanly. Su-sous is a preparation for double air tours.

In spite of my lack of air tours, Mr. Nelle did grant me a scholarship that provided me with all the dance classes I could take. The provision being that I would work for them the following season. Of course, I would still have to pass the audition when that time came and my double air tours would most certainly have to improve.

I was fortunate enough to have the finest teacher in St. Louis, and possibly, the entire Mid-west - Lalla Bauman, who was in the business of producing professional quality dancers. For example, Deni Lamont, who after the Muny, came to New York and had a thirty-three year career with New York City Ballet. Deni’s technique served well as an inspiration. Particularly, his pirouettes and double air tours.

I wasted no time taking advantage of the scholarship and was religiously in class every day after school. My grandfather built a wooden platform in our basement for me to practice on. When I wasn’t in school, dance class or at the movies, I could most likely be found in the basement on that platform.

Working the Muny that following season became an obsession. Every evening, hour after hour, preparation: second, fourth, pirouette or su-sous, double air tour. Pirouettes came rather natural to me and I was turning pretty well before I mastered double air tours. The idea of falling on my face and all other body parts became second nature.

Then one day, like magic, su-sous, double air tour and I nailed it on a dime. The shock was overwhelming. I had to stop, sit down, and think about it for a while. I remember thinking, "Wow! Just like Deni!" Of course, I tried it again and repeatedly did so with the same results. From that moment on, I knew I could do double air tours anytime and anywhere I wanted to. They were mine. I had found that secret place where double air tours dwell.

That incident was one of my most private and rewarding moments. The experience of conquering double air tours and the role it played - getting me in the Muny that following season and serving me well as a dancer would be of great value when later faced with the task of learning to walk again.

The idea of going to New York after the Muny was exciting and looked forward to with great anticipation. I don’t know how we did it considering the hectic schedule at the Muny, but two other dancers, Michael Calin, Berkeley Mertz, and I put together an act while working there. Of course, we were going to take New York by storm, with one stipulation: we all agreed that if we got a Broadway show, all bets were off.

During those first few weeks in New York, there was an audition for "The Boyfriend". The company from England had their cast except for one swing boy and one swing girl. A swing is someone who covers certain roles should they be out – a dance understudy so to speak.

We all three auditioned and out of hundreds, Mickey and Berkeley got the jobs. Happy as I was for them, there went the act. The predicted "take New York by storm" turned out to be a faulty forecast.

Fortunately, I had auditioned for another Broadway show "Ankles Aweigh" and getting a call back to the finals did a lot to relieve my disappointment. I don’t remember that first audition, but the final stands out in my mind because it was so bizarre.

I didn’t know it, but Sandi Bonner, another dancer from the Muny, also had a call back to the finals. We were real good friends. In fact, I don’t think she ever knew it because in those days I was too shy to let her know, but I had a real schoolboy crush on her. Anyway, we hadn’t seen each other since the season ended.

With great excitement, I arrived at the Mark Hellinger Theater early in order to warm up and relax. While doing so, I looked to the other side of the stage, and lo and behold, there’s my fellow dancer and friend from St. Louis. Very discretely (I thought), I whispered very loudly "Sandi!" She looked up and evidently feeling the same surprise, cried out "Don!" We ran to each other and ended up in each other’s arms, congratulating one another, dead center stage. You would have thought we hadn’t seen each other in years. The Muny had closed just a few weeks prior to this. During the brief moments of our embrace, we heard a voice from out front and in total darkness, say, "You two redheaded kids, would you walk downstage and stand?" I think both our instincts were saying, "Oh my God, what have we done now?"

Hoping they liked us, but also wondering if we were going to be reprimanded for causing a scene at a final Broadway audition, we slowly walked downstage. I don’t know about Sandi, but I’ll always remember how both awkward and exhilarated I felt standing there trying to relax and do nothing until we finally heard the voice from the dark say, "Congratulations kids, you got the job." Well, our first embrace was quite mild compared to the one that followed upon hearing these words. We went out front and watched everyone else audition.

There was a scene in the show, which called for an American movie company shooting on location in Italy. They were looking for an all-American looking couple to be featured in the big Italian tarantella production number "La Fiesta".

The idea (I think) was, we were supposed to represent some kind of inside Hollywood joke. Evidently Sandi and I fit the bill. Unfortunately, the whole show turned out to be somewhat of a joke and I have the reviews to prove it.

I particularly enjoyed working with Tony Charmoli, the choreographer, and had great respect for his work, which was very physical. Especially, "The Code Dance", a show-stopping number in which six male dancers dressed as hoods, performed a secret Mafia underworld dance to Morse-code rhythms. This was my introduction to what was popular at the time and referred to as knee work.

We did everything from knee slides, belly and hip slides, to knee walks, even single air tours from both knees to both knees. Maybe twice were we all on our feet at the same time. This was not a number you would attempt without kneepads.

One night during our Philadelphia pre-Broadway tryout, while waiting in the wings for my entrance, (run in from stage right, aerial barrel roll, tuck shoulder coming down and roll over back, up and into pirouettes to one knee – huh?) I was aware of someone standing behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to discover Bob Fosse. At that same moment, I realized I had forgotten my kneepads. Fortunately, or maybe miraculously, and gingerly, I got through it without casualty. Mr. Fosse definitely did not see one of my finer performances.

One evening at the Variety Club in Philly, I met a couple of dancers from another show that was having their out-of-town tryout. They were discouraged because they thought their show wasn’t doing well and their reviews had been less than encouraging. How fortunate and lucky I felt. There I was, new in New York, about to open in an elaborate Broadway show that many were predicting to be the hit of the season, and these poor kids were probably going to be out of work very soon.

That other show was "Damn Yankees", which proceeded to have a two and a half year run on Broadway. "Ankles Aweigh", in spite of being shredded by the critics, ran twenty-three weeks.

Gabriel Dell, a principal in the show, was one of the original "Dead End Kids" (The Bowery Boys). I would watch and study his performance from the wings. His talent, honesty, and commitment to the character he portrayed fascinated me. A few years later, I had the privilege of working with him again in a revival of "Can Can" at New York City Center. His "Boris Adzindzinadze" was brilliant!

We lived in the same apartment building and after my surgery, his concern for my well being was a big help. He would stop by occasionally just to check on me and see how I was doing. I had only been back in my apartment a few days when he stopped by and said, "If you’re up to it, I’d like to invite you to my show." He was playing the male lead in "The Prisoner of Second Avenue" at the Eugene O’Neill Theater. I took him up on it and had the time of my life.

I hadn’t had much to laugh about for a long time, but that night I laughed so hard I thought they were going to have to take me back to the hospital.

Gabe passed away a few years ago. I think he knew, but I regret never telling him, just how much his concern meant to me. He was a true artist and a dear friend.

"Ankles Aweigh" was a big, fun, musical extravaganza and at the time, I couldn’t’ understand why it wasn’t a smashing success. (Perhaps had I seen it from out front?)

ANKLES AWEIGH

Dance Music - Roger Adams

Knowing the show was on borrowed time, I heard of an audition for the national company of "Plain and Fancy". I would have preferred staying in New York, but I needed a job.

Helen Tameris, the choreographer, had us so some simple step across the floor and from this, those she chose, were asked to do pirouettes. I did them well enough for her to say, "Fine. Wait in the wings", and proceeded with another combination. This scenario continued another two or three times. All I did was watch from the wings while being called upon occasionally to come center stage and do as many pirouettes as I could.

I later discovered what was going on. While she was basically looking for dancers for the national company, she also needed one replacement for the New York production. Someone to be in the show and cover the two turners.

In the original choreography, the number "Plenty of Pennsylvania" had two male dancers challenge each other. The first does one pirouette; the second – two; the first – three; then both, as many times as they could. Upon completion, they shook hands and joined the other dancers in a big moving circle.

The one who started the challenge usually won because he was the better turner and secondly, because after having completed three pirouettes, he started later when both did as many as possible together.

Both dancers, Billy Weslow and Bobby Lindgren, were like human tops. Especially Billy Weslow. On several occasions, I counted him going around as many as fifteen times.

Aside from the many wonderful acquaintances I made, my favorite memory of "Plain and Fancy" is one of the nights I went on for Billy and hit my turns like never before. I still occasionally walk by the Winter Garden Theater and think "one night on that stage – thirteen pirouettes."

I stayed with the show approximately one year and felt like I had it made. I was in a successful Broadway show, making good money (Equity scale $90 a week plus $5 for covering the turners) and not a problem in the world.

Opened January 27, 1955 Closed April 14, 1956

Orchestra and Choral Directed by Franz Allers

My following venture, although shortly lived, was a pleasant one with a show that few, if any, will or will want to remember. "Strip for Action". It was about backstage burlesque and its people.

I loved it. It had a fine score by Jimmy McHugh, elaborate costumes, good choreography by Jimmy Starbuck, funny burlesque sketches, and beautiful girls. Of course, I loved it.

Unfortunately, the critics didn’t agree. We closed in Pittsburgh and were almost shut down in Boston. There was a number called "Monkey on My Back". Showgirls paraded around in flesh colored tights, which made them look nude except for the Ziegfield-type showgirl hats and the monkeys built into their costumes on their back. The idea was quite clever and the costumes were incredible. One had a monkey looking over a shoulder with its hands covering the breasts and its tail curled up between the legs and covering the crotch. Another with the tail over one breast, a hand over the other, and one hand covers the crotch. Each costume, a variation on this idea.

There were also two showgirls in flesh colored tights, nude from the waist up, posed, looking completely nude, upstage on a pedestal. (How’s that for putting women on a pedestal?).

Shortly after our opening, city authorities informed the management that if either nude moves, they shut us down. We came very close to the old adage, "Banned in Boston?".

It was in "Strip for Action" that I met my first love - Adrian Rogers – one of the showgirls. Adrian was a fine dancer and a stunning beauty. There was a mutual attraction and we had a great relationship. Adrian and I were together for the following six years.

From their first meeting, my parents took to Adrian immediately. She and my mother have kept in close correspondence throughout the years. We still keep in touch and will always be very close although she lives in Los Angeles and I haven’t seen her in years. We joke about being possibly the first unmarried couple to live together. In the fifties, that just wasn’t done. Adrian jokingly insists that we started a whole revolution.

I will always remember the good times and wonderful years we spent together. Adrian is a family. We are planning a family reunion in Missouri sometime next summer.

Book Director - Don Hershey

I went to the equity audition for "Bells Are Ringing" and Bob Fosse eliminated me immediately with his standard step-step soute, attitude front, across the floor (forgetting those kneepads in Philly didn’t help). I was so frustrated by this that I decided to hang around and watch the rest of the audition. Basically, knowing I might be asked to "please leave" at any given moment, I was sneaking around backstage trying

to pick up as much of the combinations as I could with the intention of coming back the next day to the open call.

I did pretty well with this unorthodox effort and no one kicked me out. Later that day I rented a rehearsal studio at Variety Arts for a couple of hours and practiced the combinations as best I could remember them, over and over again.

The next day I wore something completely different so that Fosse wouldn’t remember me. Something else was different. While warming up, I noticed Jerry Robbins, who was to direct the show, sitting half way back in the theater. Jerry had come in on "Ankles Aweigh" to doctor the show when they first suspected trouble out of town. He came in with the agreement not to touch Tony Charmoli's dance numbers, but he watched them a lot and I had a feeling he liked my work. At least, I was hoping so when I spotted him out front.

I made through the soutes across the floor and Fosse proceeded with the first combination. When it came time for my group to go, I did well, and damn well should have. I had gone through it maybe a hundred times by then.

At Fosse’s auditions, it was the custom to do the combinations in small groups of six or eight and upon completion, stand in line as Fosse walked by and said to each dancer either "thank you" or "stay". After my group went, we stood there for a long time as Fosse went out front and talked to Mr. Robbins. I suspected much of it was about me. Finally, Fosse came on stage. I was third or fourth in line and he said, "thank you" at least two or three times before he got to me. When he did, he hesitated for a moment and said "stay". Starting to proceed down the line, he came back and said, "Oh, by the way, you’re dancing much better today."

I got the job and "Bells" was a tremendous success running 925 performances at the Schubert Theater.

Produced for Records by Goddard Lieberson

Early in the run, I received a note backstage from Jerry Robbins requesting I audition for his new show. I did not want to. I was quite content with "Bells" being a big hit and I was going to be able to study the way I wanted to. Also, for reasons concerning my own insecurity, I was extremely intimidated by him. I felt he was never quite satisfied with my work. I was never one of those he picked on and tortured as I had seen him do with certain members of the company. Nor was I one he ever had so much as a smile for. Maybe if I had been one of those he seemed to take delight in destroying, I would have been better off. At least, I would have had something to stand up against. He simply left me alone in a difficult to describe, degrading and sadistic way. Sort of like I wasn’t really there but he’d be ready to pounce if he ever discovered I was. A pat on the back from Jerry would have gone a long way. It never happened.

I take full responsibility for my intimidation. I allowed him to make me feel totally inadequate. The problem got so bad that if anyone in the company were to say, "Jerry’s out front tonight", I would experience nervous tension, anxiety, and stage fright like I’d never know before. I had always felt comfortable on stage and looking back, I think how ridiculous I was allowing anyone to make me feel such paranoia.

After opening night, I was pleased knowing he wouldn’t be around for a while, and here he is, asking me to audition for his next show. I simply was not ready for him – a dilemma indeed. I could hardly say, "No thank you, Jerry. I don’t want to be in your ol’ show", and I didn’t want to purposely give a bad audition. What I did, thinking at the time was very shrewd, turned out to be a major career mistake.

Knowing the show was going to be something about teenage gangs in New York, I decided to audition with a song and dance man routine. In fact, the name of it was - I Just Want To Be A Song And Dance Man, a number from "Strip for Action" performed by Jack Whiting and right out of the old vaudeville textbook. I did it quite well and it was all wrong for Mr. Robbins new show. I did not get the job. I walked out thinking how clever I was for outfoxing Jerome Robbins.

Interesting side note. My good friend from the Muny in St. Louis, Michael Calin, got the role of Riff in West Side Story. We lived in the same apartment building and I witnessed Mickey come home in tears. Jerry made his life miserable throughout rehearsals and right up to opening night. Mickey survived it and was excellent in the role.

In spite of my ill-chosen, brilliant audition for West Side Story, Mr. Robbins hired me for his next show, "Gypsy", where aside from being one of the farm boys, my main claim to fame was understudying a cow (both ends). I was never considered for even the understudy to Tulsa, a role I was very right for. I often wondered if it was Jerry’s way of punishing me for my West Side Story audition. If so, I was still grateful for the job and was a great understudy to a cow.

Dance Music Arranged by John Kander

Adrian and I were no longer living together and things were not working out the way we had once planned. We were still friends and agreed on seeing other people. I didn’t like the idea, but it was obvious that we were drifting apart and our relationship had run its course.

I was not used to not having her around and what followed was a wasteful and destructive period. Too many women and too much drinking and chasing around. I was still in "Gypsy" and unhappy with the show. Being a straight male dancer may have put me in a minority group, but it certainly had its advantages when it came to the ladies.

A call from choreographer Peter Genarro asking me to join the cast of "The Unsinkable Molly Brown" did wonders for bringing my behavior, at least for the time being, to an abrupt halt. I couldn’t wait to get started and immerse myself in something new. I had been disappointed the week before having gone to the final call for the show and being told I would be first alternate, after giving an audition I knew was as good as I get.

Being a part of Molly Brown not only was timely for me personally, but resulted in one of my favorite show business experiences. Memories of the show are etched in fondness. How nice it was working with Peter Gerarro again and how inspiring, the book and musical score. The cast had a family-like atmosphere headed by its godfather, director Dore Schary. I met a talented and wonderful girl, Lynn Gay Lorino, my dance partner, and we had a terrific relationship.

Working under the direction of Dore Schary was a complete contrast to working for Jerry Robbins. If Mr. Robbins made me feel insecure, Mr. Schary definitely brought out the best in me. He gave me much to do in the show and after understudying a cow for two years, this was a welcomed treat. The days of Molly Brown were an enjoyable and productive time.

Ballet Music Arranged by Sol Berkowitz

Following Molly Brown, was the limited run engagement of "Can Can" I did before going into "How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying".

Zany is the word that comes to mind when I think of "How To Succeed. Those wonderful cartoonish characters portrayed by Robert Morse, Charles Nelson Reilly, Rudy Vallee, Bonnie Scott, and Michelle Lee, Virginia Martin and Sammy Smith, had a certain theatrical madness that any revival will find difficult to equal. Not just the above mentioned, everyone in the show was perfectly typecast.

The original choreography and staging by Hugh Lambert and Bob Fosse was satirically and cleverly constructed. The brilliant direction of Abe Burrows along with the unique musical score by Frank Loesser, made the entire production come together in perfect harmony.

Directed by ABE BURROWS

With me in New York and my sister attending Missouri University, mom and dad decided to move to Kansas City where my grandmother on my mother’s side was living. They were concerned about her ill health and thought it would be better for them to go there rather than stay in St. Louis and worry about her. They bought a home and took care of her in her remaining years.

After she was gone, they wanted the family closer and moved to New York to be with their son. They stayed with me at my apartment before dad, wanting to go into business for himself, found a shop for rent in Jersey City. They moved close to the shop and dad opened his own slipcovers, draperies, and reupholstering business. Because of the pollution at that time, plastic slipcovers were popular, particularly in Jersey City and dad did pretty well with his little shop,- Don’s Slipcovers,

During "How to Succeed", Hugh Lambert asked me to be in a number he was to choreograph for the Ed Sullivan show. I had done the Sullivan show before. While in "Ankles Aweigh", we were invited to do a number from the show shortly after we opened. Mr. Lambert needed three male dancers, Gene Castle, Elliot Feld, and myself, to work with Liza Minelli.

I knew Liza pretty well as she used to come by the theater quite often. She was dating one of the dancers in the company,-Tracy Everett – and we became good friends. In fact, Liza may have recommended me for the job.

She had recently opened in her first New York stage show, "The Boys From Syracuse", and the Sullivan show was to be her big television debut. She was seventeen at the time.

The project, a medley of train songs, "I’m Alabama Bound" and "When That Midnight Choo Choo Leaves for Alabam", stopped the show. So much so that Mr. Sullivan called us back on stage, had us introduce ourselves and say where we were from. Of course, Elliot Feld got the biggest applause when he said "Brooklyn".

I was told that this was the first time Ed Sullivan (not being a fan of male dancers) had ever introduced them individually on his "rrrreeaaallly big shewwww". The number was repeated a few months later.

Unfortunately, it was in "How to Succeed" that a series of knee injuries began. The "If I Can’t Take My Coffee Break" number had a sight gag in which I jumped into the orchestra pit signifying one committing suicide if one can’t take their coffee break. It was a funny

Bit and although the pit in what was then the 46^th Street Theater is a long way down, I enjoyed doing it. One evening performance as I landed, I felt a slight twinge in my right knee. It was so minor that I paid it little attention. What I didn’t realize was that subconsciously I started favoring it, therefore putting a strain on the other knee, which was about to put me out of commission for the next six months.

Fosse hired a few of us from "How to Succeed" for his new Broadway bound "Pleasures and Palaces" debacle. The book was something about Potemkin and Catherine the Great and her lovers. I think? I was never quite sure. The choreography was all, or almost all Russian character dancing.

The first dress rehearsal and day before our pre-Broadway tryout opening in Detroit found me excited and rarin to go in my traditional Moseiev costume. As I completed one of my big Russian character jumps, the last thing I remember, except for the pain when I landed, was the lights going out (my lights, that is). I regained conscious seconds to maybe a minute later with my head in Gwen Verdon’s arms, the entire ensemble surrounding me and smelling salts being waved in my face (The head in Gwen Verdon’s arms part wasn’t so bad).

I had very badly damaged the cartilage in my left knee and later had to have it removed (the cartilage,- that is). I told Fosse, "the doctor said my chances of opening with the show in New York were slim ‘. He was very kind and said, "I like you work, stay on anyway".

It was indeed a miserable time. I would sit out front taking notes thinking I might be able to help in anyway possible (I didn’t). The only part of me being in the cast was my leg. The weather was bitterly cold, I got the flu, and the girl I was going with, one of the dancers also from "How to Succeed", had an affair with the stage manager. Might be said of Detroit that season; "T’was the winter of my discontent".

I never made it back into the show and the show never made it back to Broadway. It turned out that its chances for opening in New York were slimmer than mine. We closed in Detroit, a monumental bomb! One redeeming factor; it may have given me a shot at the Guinness Book of World Records. I just might be the first person in showbiz history to have been a member of an original Broadway cast, stayed with it its entire run, and never did a single performance.

PLEASURES AND PALACES

A New Musical Comedy

HY HAGEL JOHN MCMARTIN

with

Orchestrations - Philip J. Lang

Six months later I was ready to go back to work and had the privilege of working for Gene Kelly. He hired me as his dance-in for a television special. My audition for Mr. Kelly, unlike others, may have been the easiest I ever attended and took no more than five minutes. Participants went into a studio one at a time and sitting on a stool, he never demonstrated a single step. He asked for time-steps, traveling time-steps, shim-sham, maxi-ford, and a double pirouette. Things I’d been doing since I was a kid. Being an ardent fan and student of his films was also an advantage, although I did have to seriously concentrate during the audition from thinking "THAT’S GENE KELLY" Upon completion of two very clean pirouettes, he said, "fine Don. Go sign a contract."

Working for Mr. Kelly was a learning experience. I marveled at his perfection and use of the camera. Watching what he could demand from a camera, I quickly understood my role and his need for a dance-in.

"Curley McDimple", the brainchild of Robert Dahdah, having written the book, music and lyrics with Mary Boylan, directed and produced, was a charming satire on Shirley Temple and the films of the thirties. In black and white, it cleverly pays homage to the silver screen and presents a valentine to that wonderful musical era.

The role of Jimmy (James Dunn), a young song and dance man coming to the big city to make the "big time", was one that needed little character study or motivation. I was Jimmy. There were a number of little girls in the role of Curley (Shirley Temple) and I enjoyed working with all of them. The original, Bayn Johnson, was one of the most exceptional and natural talents I’ve ever been on stage with. If I thought I was Jimmy, Bayn, for sure, was Shirley Temple.

I replaced the actor who did the part originally under somewhat hectic conditions. For reasons beyond my control, I had one week to learn the role. It was a large role that included much singing, dancing, and dialogue. After endless rehearsals and living with the script those full seven days, I was still unsure of myself. Bayn, with her gifted stage presence and encouragement, was right there doing or saying something to keep and sometimes put me back on script, song, or dance. She had much to do with the success of my opening night and I have serious doubts that I could have gotten through it without her. We had a very special rapport on stage.

Much of the show’s success was due to a very loyal audience. Many people who saw the show came back several times. Even critics who had reviewed the show originally, did so again after it had run for a while. For this I was grateful since I wasn’t with it when it opened.

I had been with several shows that had favorable mention, even praise for the dancing, but this was the first time I received personal reviews from New York critics.

Curley played at the old Bert Wheeler Theater in the Dixie Hotel between 42^nd and 43^rd Streets. Clive Barnes of the New York Times (directly across the street), was not one of those who came back a second time. For some reason, he had never seen the show and refused to do so even though he had an open invitation.

The show had been running for some time and knowing how much a good review from Clive Barnes would help, Bob Dahdah became persistent, even relentless, with his invitations. Tiring of the constant badgering, Mr. Barnes finally and reluctantly replied with, "I’ll see your show if you will do a special midnight performance on a

Saturday." Saturday, being a matinee day, I think he felt safe knowing the chances of us doing a third show were unlikely. With special advertising, a partially papered house, and in general, a great audience, Bob set it up. The cast responded with one of our most memorable performances.

We were rewarded for our efforts. Mr. Barnes gave us an excellent review and business picked up considerably.

Percussion Richard Cook

Original cast except for Jimmy, and Curley alternate Robbi Morgan. Paul Cahill was the original Jimmy and Sunny Leigh was the first alternate to Bayn Johnson – Curley McDimple.

Jimmy - Don Emmons

Sarah - Helen Blount

Alice - Bernadette Peters

Curley - Bayn Johnson

Bill - George Hillman

Miss Hamilton - Norma Bigtree

Mr. Gillingwater - Gene Galvin

(Butterfly McQueen joined the company later in the run.)

I met Lynn in 1970 and we were married the following June 1971. I did an East Coast touring company of "Co Co" (one of the buyers roles) with Ginger Rogers, followed by a revue at Plaza 9 of "Look Me Up" October 6, 1971. Curley Mc Dimple followed "Look Me Up" at the Plaza Hotel and Lynn played Alice (the Alice Faye role) in the revival. We were also working on a dance team act and doing backers auditions for "Up In The Air Boys", a musical spoof and tribute to Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.