Read Online Then and Now by Barbara Cook - Free Book Online Page A

the surface. She did things other singers wouldn’t—she would really lay into consonants instead of vowels. Mabel would sing the word “wonderful” and layinto that “n” in the middle of the word, which gave it a completely different sound and meaning than a smoothly sung, skimming-the-surface “wonderful.” My own attention to consonants really comes from Mabel’s influence—I always want to be understood and never want to overdo.
    At some point I started singing for fun at the Gold Key Club, and one night the composer Sammy Fain stopped me after my performance and mentioned that he was working on a show that I’d be perfect for— Flahooley . It was well after this encounter at the Gold Key that I actually auditioned for Flahooley , and because the audition had gone so well, I was not completely surprised when Charlie Baker called and said, “Are you sitting down? You got the show! ” I’d been in New York three years by now, and my dream of performing in a Broadway musical was going to come true.
    I had no idea, however, of how painful I’d find the process of putting a new show together. When rehearsals began early in 1951 I was so awkward and green that I was embarrassed to even mime picking up a glass or opening a door. What saved me was that I could sing the hell out of that score—I knew just what I was doing with the singing. The acting was a completely different story.
    As a result of my insecurities I started developing all sorts of nervous ailments when we took the show out of town. I decided that every other girl in the show was prettier than I was, that every other girl could act better than I could (which may have been true), and that every other girl could sing better than I could (which definitely was not the case). By the time we arrived in Philadelphia for the out-of-town tryout, I was positive they were going to fire me any day and move somebody from the chorus into my ingénue role. Net result? Physical ailments started springing up, and I developed a hypersensitivity on my hip and leg, to the point where I had tosleep on top of the covers. This all became so emotionally painful that I remember coming back to my hotel one night in Philadelphia and saying to myself, “If this is what it means to do musical comedy, I don’t want any part of it. I will never do this again.”
    I was so beset by anxiety over my total lack of acting experience that rehearsals continued to be a trial by fire. How did I overcome my fears? I didn’t. I simply distracted myself from them by eating. By this point in my life I had already been struggling with my weight for several years, finding it, as most people do, a lot easier to put on than take off. By the time I was in rehearsal for Flahooley I had already acquired the habit of knowing exactly what I weighed at any point in my life. Flahooley , 136 pounds. A chubby 136 at that. A photo announcing my casting in the show found me looking decidedly more zaftig than the ideal Broadway ingénue.
    I found a White Castle burger joint in Philadelphia and made it my secret refuge. Whenever my nerves over my inexperience got the better of me, that’s where I ran. I’d tell myself, “You know you shouldn’t be doing this. You know you cannot afford to gain any weight.” And then I’d order a sack full of those little White Castle hamburgers. The next night I’d do the same.
    The problem became acute. I was a little too big to begin with, and I started getting bigger. And then I heard about a doctor who could help out with this kind of problem, and I was introduced to Dexedrine. At the time it seemed a godsend: here was a little pill that didn’t just help curb your appetite, it also put you in a state of great creative ferment. You know how some days you feel particularly creative, your mind is clicking, and you have incredible energy? Energy-to-clean-your-entire-house