Read Online Rita Moreno: A Memoir by Rita Moreno - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rita Moreno
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call—“Icashclothes”—translated as, “I will buy your old clothes to resell.” Other men offered knife sharpening. A hunched little man yelled up, “Umbrellas! Got any umbrellas to fix today?” Even better was, “Ice! Ice! Ice!” in summer. And best of all was a trip to the corner soda fountain for my addictive favorite: a strawberry shake. Mami was relaxed and amiable in supplying necessary dimes and Indian-head nickels, sometimes even shining quarters (big money) to purchase treats.
On the city street, I played the sidewalk games—potsy, stickball, ring-a-levio, red light/green light, punchball, hopscotch. I made friends with other little girls who liked to dance; we put on costumes and spun through our living room. We even “entertained” on the rooftop; there are photos that demonstrate our high-flying kicks and deep pliés. We wore slave-girl costumes that proved prophetic of the roles I would play later in films.
Eventually I started doing a Carmen Miranda act at bar mitzvahs and wedding halls. My mother sewed me the costume and varnished the fake fruit for my headdress. I danced and sang “Tico Tico” like a miniature Carmen. Those were happy days. So content! So alive!
Even World War II was not perceived by me as the threat it was. As long as I could be cocooned in my apartment with Mami and Papo and mentally enter the magic world of my dollhouse, I felt safe. The war, to me, meant blackout drapes, radio broadcasts, and duck-and-cover drills in school. At the sound of a test siren, we would all fall to the classroom floor and crawl under our desks. As nothing ever happened, I perceived this more as a dramatic recess from the ongoing quizzes—which I dreaded more than the unknown war. The war meant opportunity—more jobs through the USO, the private, nonprofit, nonpartisan organization whose mission was to support the troops by providing entertainment “until everyone comes home.”
I would dance on the docks to entertain the troops waiting to ship out overseas. Sometimes, a gong rang to summon the sailors or the marines, and they had to get up and leave midnumber to board their ships and prepare to sail. I would be twirling around in a banana headdress and singing “Rum and Coca-Cola” for a packed house and suddenly the uniformed audience would bolt, leaving me clicking my castanets for only a few strays. The last bit of American entertainment many of those boys saw was little Rosita, with her varnished banana-and-pineapple towering temple of a headdress, a little girl who danced and sang as a miniature Carmen Miranda. I hope this helped. Now, it is poignant to realize many of those boys never did come home and I danced for kids who would die. At ten, I was oblivious to the true meaning of war and what tragedy would follow.
My show business career continued, undaunted by Hitler overseas. If anything, I took a flying leap forward—onto the stage and screen….
Soon Mami and I had secured booking agents of various types—agents who booked me to sing in clubs; agents whobooked me to speak the roles in radio plays. I started with The Ave Maria Hour , which was in English on radio. My mother seemed to make friends quickly at the stations, and that probably helped get me some callbacks. I didn’t realize it at the time, but she also started a romance with one of the radio announcers, Edward Moreno. I was intent on the new career opportunities.
Soon I branched out. When popular movies played in Spanish-speaking neighborhood theaters, they needed a Spanish-language dubbing, just as if they played in a foreign country. I was the Spanish-dubbed voice to many great English-speaking films, which probably planted the seed: Why not me? Why couldn’t a little Latina be a leading lady, too?
Maybe the seed that sprouted later was planted then: Why couldn’t I play child star parts like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz for real? Movie dubbing and radio were my first acting schools, and I must have shown
On the city street, I played the sidewalk games—potsy, stickball, ring-a-levio, red light/green light, punchball, hopscotch. I made friends with other little girls who liked to dance; we put on costumes and spun through our living room. We even “entertained” on the rooftop; there are photos that demonstrate our high-flying kicks and deep pliés. We wore slave-girl costumes that proved prophetic of the roles I would play later in films.
Eventually I started doing a Carmen Miranda act at bar mitzvahs and wedding halls. My mother sewed me the costume and varnished the fake fruit for my headdress. I danced and sang “Tico Tico” like a miniature Carmen. Those were happy days. So content! So alive!
Even World War II was not perceived by me as the threat it was. As long as I could be cocooned in my apartment with Mami and Papo and mentally enter the magic world of my dollhouse, I felt safe. The war, to me, meant blackout drapes, radio broadcasts, and duck-and-cover drills in school. At the sound of a test siren, we would all fall to the classroom floor and crawl under our desks. As nothing ever happened, I perceived this more as a dramatic recess from the ongoing quizzes—which I dreaded more than the unknown war. The war meant opportunity—more jobs through the USO, the private, nonprofit, nonpartisan organization whose mission was to support the troops by providing entertainment “until everyone comes home.”
I would dance on the docks to entertain the troops waiting to ship out overseas. Sometimes, a gong rang to summon the sailors or the marines, and they had to get up and leave midnumber to board their ships and prepare to sail. I would be twirling around in a banana headdress and singing “Rum and Coca-Cola” for a packed house and suddenly the uniformed audience would bolt, leaving me clicking my castanets for only a few strays. The last bit of American entertainment many of those boys saw was little Rosita, with her varnished banana-and-pineapple towering temple of a headdress, a little girl who danced and sang as a miniature Carmen Miranda. I hope this helped. Now, it is poignant to realize many of those boys never did come home and I danced for kids who would die. At ten, I was oblivious to the true meaning of war and what tragedy would follow.
My show business career continued, undaunted by Hitler overseas. If anything, I took a flying leap forward—onto the stage and screen….
Soon Mami and I had secured booking agents of various types—agents who booked me to sing in clubs; agents whobooked me to speak the roles in radio plays. I started with The Ave Maria Hour , which was in English on radio. My mother seemed to make friends quickly at the stations, and that probably helped get me some callbacks. I didn’t realize it at the time, but she also started a romance with one of the radio announcers, Edward Moreno. I was intent on the new career opportunities.
Soon I branched out. When popular movies played in Spanish-speaking neighborhood theaters, they needed a Spanish-language dubbing, just as if they played in a foreign country. I was the Spanish-dubbed voice to many great English-speaking films, which probably planted the seed: Why not me? Why couldn’t a little Latina be a leading lady, too?
Maybe the seed that sprouted later was planted then: Why couldn’t I play child star parts like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz for real? Movie dubbing and radio were my first acting schools, and I must have shown
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