colorful crowd to say the least.
“Here’s the deal,” Archie said. “Larry has this room up there on the second floor
and if anyone touches him, or even tries, I will beat the shit out of him.”
“It’s nice to meet all of you,” I added.
And it was. They were great. That mansion was hopping twenty-four hours a day. I was
there for two weeks, then hooked up with Ted Flicker, my friend from college. He had
a nice little flat in Saint John’s Wood and was looking for someone to share the expenses.
It was the perfect arrangement. He went to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art during
the day, and I was in
South Pacific
at night. We seldom got in each other’s way.
* * *
Director Josh Logan, the original director on Broadway, came in for the last week
of rehearsals and gave the show its finishing touches. I had a nice little part. In
a scene when the captain talked to his aide-de-camp, I was to come in through the
door and tell the captain that Ensign Nellie Forbush—Mom—was there to see him. I handled
that with ease—until opening night.
Everything was wonderful. Mother stood behind me in the middle of the stage, concealed
behind the cabin that was the captain’s office. She was bursting with pride as I waited
to go on. I was so goddamn excited. The audience was filled with royalty, famous actors,
and important British dignitaries. I was riding the rush of such a thrilling evening.
Then I heard my cue, opened the door, and walked in front of the audience, and behind
me, at the moment I started to speak, I heard Mother whispering, “No, not yet.”
She was right. Overanxious, I had once again jumped my cue. Theactor playing the captain stared at me like I had lost my mind. He ad-libbed. “Tell
her to wait.” I did an about-face and walked off chagrined. Mother didn’t say anything.
Her laugh was sufficient. A moment later, I opened the door
again
and introduced her at the proper time.
Afterward, the audience applauded thunderously. There were at least two dozen curtain
calls. It was tremendous. They also threw coins onto the stage as was the custom at
Drury Lane and showered Mother with loving shouts of “Mary! Mary!” It was exhilarating
to stand out there.
Then all of us went to the Savoy for the party, where I had one of the thrills of
my life. As Laurence Olivier led Mother across the dance floor, I danced with Vivien
Leigh. My God, talk about a beautiful woman. I was so enamored of her I worried my
knees might give out. Even though I had grown up around celebrities, I was starstruck,
and Mother chuckled about it later.
“How was it, Larry?” she asked.
“Oh my God, Mom, I was dancing with Scarlett O’Hara.”
* * *
After each night’s performance, I got on my bicycle and rode ten minutes to the Irving
Theatre, off Leicester Square, a late-night theater where I earned an extra three
pounds a week by singing and dancing in a musical revue. Around 1 A.M., the tube closed, so I caught a cab back to my flat, using up the money I’d earned
that night. I was always tired and broke. But happy.
“This beats the hell out of getting your ass shot in Korea,” I said to Ted.
Oh my God, was it ever. The Korean War was going full tilt. I’d registered for the
draft in Texas and constantly thought about my chances of being called up for service.
They were higher than I wanted to know. From what I’d heard, the military liked the
boys from Texas. They had a reputation for being good soldiers. While thatwas a reason to be proud, there was also a downside to being a great soldier. Occasionally
you got killed. I wasn’t interested in either fighting hard or getting killed. But
when the letter arrived calling me into service, I couldn’t disregard it.
I went to a U.S. military base in Germany for a physical. The doctor asked about
South Pacific
while reading through my papers.
“So you’re in the theater?” he
“Here’s the deal,” Archie said. “Larry has this room up there on the second floor
and if anyone touches him, or even tries, I will beat the shit out of him.”
“It’s nice to meet all of you,” I added.
And it was. They were great. That mansion was hopping twenty-four hours a day. I was
there for two weeks, then hooked up with Ted Flicker, my friend from college. He had
a nice little flat in Saint John’s Wood and was looking for someone to share the expenses.
It was the perfect arrangement. He went to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art during
the day, and I was in
South Pacific
at night. We seldom got in each other’s way.
* * *
Director Josh Logan, the original director on Broadway, came in for the last week
of rehearsals and gave the show its finishing touches. I had a nice little part. In
a scene when the captain talked to his aide-de-camp, I was to come in through the
door and tell the captain that Ensign Nellie Forbush—Mom—was there to see him. I handled
that with ease—until opening night.
Everything was wonderful. Mother stood behind me in the middle of the stage, concealed
behind the cabin that was the captain’s office. She was bursting with pride as I waited
to go on. I was so goddamn excited. The audience was filled with royalty, famous actors,
and important British dignitaries. I was riding the rush of such a thrilling evening.
Then I heard my cue, opened the door, and walked in front of the audience, and behind
me, at the moment I started to speak, I heard Mother whispering, “No, not yet.”
She was right. Overanxious, I had once again jumped my cue. Theactor playing the captain stared at me like I had lost my mind. He ad-libbed. “Tell
her to wait.” I did an about-face and walked off chagrined. Mother didn’t say anything.
Her laugh was sufficient. A moment later, I opened the door
again
and introduced her at the proper time.
Afterward, the audience applauded thunderously. There were at least two dozen curtain
calls. It was tremendous. They also threw coins onto the stage as was the custom at
Drury Lane and showered Mother with loving shouts of “Mary! Mary!” It was exhilarating
to stand out there.
Then all of us went to the Savoy for the party, where I had one of the thrills of
my life. As Laurence Olivier led Mother across the dance floor, I danced with Vivien
Leigh. My God, talk about a beautiful woman. I was so enamored of her I worried my
knees might give out. Even though I had grown up around celebrities, I was starstruck,
and Mother chuckled about it later.
“How was it, Larry?” she asked.
“Oh my God, Mom, I was dancing with Scarlett O’Hara.”
* * *
After each night’s performance, I got on my bicycle and rode ten minutes to the Irving
Theatre, off Leicester Square, a late-night theater where I earned an extra three
pounds a week by singing and dancing in a musical revue. Around 1 A.M., the tube closed, so I caught a cab back to my flat, using up the money I’d earned
that night. I was always tired and broke. But happy.
“This beats the hell out of getting your ass shot in Korea,” I said to Ted.
Oh my God, was it ever. The Korean War was going full tilt. I’d registered for the
draft in Texas and constantly thought about my chances of being called up for service.
They were higher than I wanted to know. From what I’d heard, the military liked the
boys from Texas. They had a reputation for being good soldiers. While thatwas a reason to be proud, there was also a downside to being a great soldier. Occasionally
you got killed. I wasn’t interested in either fighting hard or getting killed. But
when the letter arrived calling me into service, I couldn’t disregard it.
I went to a U.S. military base in Germany for a physical. The doctor asked about
South Pacific
while reading through my papers.
“So you’re in the theater?” he
Similar Books
