by Donald Bogle
As always, work invigorated her. Or perhaps it helped her ignore or forget other anxieties. But the rehearsal period proved both physically and psychologically grueling. She still hadn’t officially called it quits with Eddie, and it was hard to be around him. She needed space to think, to reflect, and of course, to prepare for the show, which soon consumed her thoughts. Finally, she sent Matthews and Algretta to Atlantic City to stay with friends. Still, she was so nervous and anxiety-ridden that she became ill. “I couldn’t sleep252,” she said. “I was sick every night and suffering from psychic insomnia.” Too much was riding on this production. As always, she also had stomach problems. Then on a visit to Atlantic City, she discovered that Algretta had taken ill. After consulting a physician, she was stunned to learn that the prognosis was infantile paralysis. Ethel sank into a depression but somehow quickly rebounded. From Atlantic City, Pearl, who had accompanied her, wrote Van Vechten: “Thought you’d like to253 know that Ethel is feeling greatly improved. It’s lonely here. Hope you are well.” Frightened yet aware that she had to return to New York for the ongoing rehearsals, she sent Algretta to stay with her friends the Websters in Cambridge, Massachusetts. In time, Algretta recovered but remained in Cambridge, where she later went to school. The fact that she might have failed as a mother was apparently something Ethel either pushed to the back of her mind or didn’t think about at all. Most important was the fact that she had a show to do.
If the offstage tensions kept her awake at night, so did her conflicts at the theater. As Thousands Cheer proved demanding and often nerve-racking, primarily because Ethel found herself in a professional situation that was wholly new to her. For one thing, there was none of the camaraderie that she had found in Black shows, where, from her vantage point, everyone spoke the same language. Never did she have to think about any kind of discrimination with her fellow Black cast members. If anything, the Black actors and actresses were unified in their awareness of the discrimination they might face from white theater owners or managers. But in As Thousands Cheer, she was repeatedly subjected to slights and snubs from other cast members. Had she been their maid or had she been playing a small role as a maid, they might have been able to patronize her. But Ethel carried herself like a star who wasn’t about to eat humble pie. That famous smile could instantly turn into a scowl. She was aware that the other performers did not want to socialize with her, and none appeared eager to be seen in public with her. Often theater folk might go out to a restaurant after a rehearsal or a performance and hash over the events of the day, but Ethel was never made to feel she was a part of that kind of theater camaraderie. Not that she really cared about that, but the sheer presumptuousness of it irritated her.
“Her attitude to her254 white co-workers in As Thousands Cheer was sane and intelligent,” said the writer Marvel Cooke. “She realized that she was a distinct addition to the show—that the producers weren’t doing her a favor, but even though she contributed in great measure to the show’s success, she knew that her co-workers weren’t overly anxious to eat with her. Even though they recognized her as a talented, finished artist they still [were] not sure that she [wouldn’t] shame them in public by eating with a knife. They were particularly anxious to get on with her backstage. When they found out she could do that, they were satisfied.” Ethel recalled that one actor “with a dash of255 lavender,” meaning he was gay, greeted her daily by saying, “Hello, Topsy!”
Finally, Ethel had enough and responded to his greeting by saying, “Hello, Nellie!” He never called her Topsy again.
Hart and Berlin, however, extended themselves—and their homes—to Ethel. Columnist Earl Wilson recalled that they would invite Ethel to the weekly parties they gave for important theater folk. But by then Ethel had become defensive, and she would never attend. “Hart asked her why. Miss Waters replied in effect, ‘If it is important to you, I’ll be glad to come and sing and entertain your guests, providing you do not consider it objectionable if I have to leave immediately afterward.’ ”
In a short time, the daily grind of the rehearsals got to her. Her temper frequently flared up. Her understudy, the tall and elegant Maude Russell, called the Slim Princess in Black theater circles, recalled that she could be impossible to work with. Now she lashed out at just about anyone. “You might just as256 well get used to sitting in this dressing room,” she told Russell, “ ’cause ’tis as close as you’ll ever get to the stage.” In time, her white costars knew to stay out of her way, which was just the way she wanted it. “I’m the kind of257 woman, if I was mad at you, I’d just as leave kill you as look at you,” Ethel said. “I can fight and love to fight. I got a look that’s poison ivy and will gorge you.” The explosions from this woman of God could be fierce. “She was very religious258. She talked about God all the time,” said Russell, “until she got ready to curse you out. Then when she was ready to curse you out, she’d lay God on the side. And curse you out. And then she’d go back and get Him.”
The situation became even more difficult when the cast went to Philadelphia for tryouts at the Forrest Theatre prior to the New York opening. Tryouts, of course, were often as intense as Broadway opening nights, sometimes more so because audience reactions had to be carefully watched, studied, and analyzed; problems had to be worked out; artistic disputes resolved; individual rivalries, if possible, put on hold. One unresolved issue for Berlin and Hart was the song “Supper Time.” What exactly should they do with it? Some involved with the show believed the song just was not right for a lighthearted romp. Who wanted to come to the theater—to a white show—and have to think about the issue of race? Producer Harris insisted that the song stay in the show until Philadelphia. If there were problems at this point, then it would be dropped.
Ethel grew tenser. The song drained her and recalled scorching memories of the time she had seen the body of the boy who had been lynched and then dumped into the lobby of the theater in Georgia. Nightly, she would have to relive that terrifying experience. “The song is a259 very moving, plaintive cry sung by a woman who has just learned that her husband has been lynched. She receives the news just as she is making his dinner and she is confronted with the fact that he ain’t coming home no more. I was so emotionally moved when I first let myself go at the dress rehearsal, that I sobbed uncontrollably for 10 minutes after the number was finished. Seems like I found myself pouring out the soul of the whole colored race.” No matter how painful, she remained committed to performing the song. In her view, it could not and should not be cut. She knew she had to make it work in the show.
Audiences proved the cynics wrong about “Supper Time.” They were openly moved by Waters’ performance. In fact, Ethel stopped the show. The two-week run at the Forrest was sold out. But there was a new problem, namely Clifton Webb, who had to follow the Waters number with a sketch on Walter Winchell. Infuriated, he felt—rightly—that he couldn’t compete with “Supper Time.” Moss Hart and Irving Berlin now had to deal with an irate Webb, who threatened to leave the show if the order of the numbers was not changed—or if he were not given a better number. “It’s your show260,” an exasperated Sam Harris told Hart and Berlin. They’d have to make the decisions. Finally, Hart, Berlin, and Harris were in agreement: “Supper Time” would stay. Actually, because of Ethel’s performance, the three men became passionate about the matter. “You go back and tell [Webb],” Harris informed the actor’s agent, Louis Schurr, “that he not only doesn’t have to open in New York on Saturday, he doesn’t even have to play the show here tomorrow night.” Webb stayed in the show, but Berlin and Hart gave him a new number to sing, as it turned out one of Berlin’s most memorable songs, “Easter Parade,” which closed the first act.
According to another story, the three white stars did not want to take curtain calls with Ethel. Whether true or not, the behind-the-scenes conflicts were resolved, although none of the principals involved were likely to forget them. But Ethel was already clearly bruised by the production. No matter how high sh
e might climb in entertainment, some things might never change, the old prejudices, the long-standing racism. Maybe it would be a grip backstage who didn’t want to take an order from her. Or a stage manager who thought she was uppity. She had never trusted ofays—why should she start now? She also knew that her talent was too big to be bogged down by their limitations. As for having to follow somebody else’s act, she didn’t care one iota who it was. Hadn’t she already performed after Jolson at that tribute to him? Nothing could daunt her now. “There’s nothing I like261 better than workin’ on a hot stage,” she said.
On Saturday, September 30, 1933, As Thousands Cheer opened at Broadway’s Music Box Theatre, which Berlin and Sam Harris owned. Webb’s number “Easter Parade,” which was the first-act finale, gave him the kind of hit he wanted. The other performers were also scintillating and sparkling in their sketches. Still, it was undeniable that while many theatergoers came to see the white stars, especially Marilyn Miller, they left talking about Ethel. The sketch for her song “Harlem on My Mind” had the headline “Josephine Baker Still the Rage of Paris.” Here Waters performed a tale of an expatriate star, dining with dukes and earls, but longing for the folks back home. Wearing a silky wig with a spit curl, with eyes darkly made up, and dressed in a glamorous gown, Waters might easily have turned the song into an attack on the pretensions of her one-time rival. Instead, aware of her own homesickness while in Europe just a few years before, “Harlem on My Mind” became a wistful, at times somber, yet dreamy song of yearning; a reminiscence of the things a star might have to leave behind in order to become a star; a tale as well, as performed by Ethel, of cultural dislocation—similar to what she experienced with the white cast of As Thousands Cheer. Entertainer Bobby Short said that Greta Garbo, a Hollywood star who never forgot her Swedish roots, took a liking to the song, which touched on her longings for home no doubt as much as it had touched on Ethel’s.
Then there was the “Heat Wave Hits New York” sketch, in which Waters, dressed in a red-and-gold outfit and wearing a colorful turban, unleashed her high-voltage sexy energy. Here she showed her ability to invite an audience to join in for an evening of fun. Following an instrumental introduction, Waters began her performance in a low, husky register: “A heat wave arrived into town last week / She came from the isle of Martinique.” From there she went into a higher register as she told her audience: “We’re having a heat wave / A tropical heat wave / The temperature’s rising / It isn’t surprising / She certainly can can-can.” Swaying her hips and shoulders and moving across the stage with her lanky long-legged dancer’s strides—her movements every bit as glamorous and distinct as those of Garbo when the movie goddess walked across the screen with her distinctive rhythmic thrust—Waters was a marvel to behold. Sexy in a sometimes subtle, sometimes bold way. Inviting as all get-out. And seemingly having the time of her life. Her years as a blues singer were apparent in this pop tune (as they were in “Harlem on My Mind”). With her love of language and playing with words and sounds, Ethel openly relished the lyrics “She started the heat wave / By letting her seat wave / And in such a way / That the customers say / That she certainly can can-can.”
Later in the song—which was recorded on October 10, 1933, with Benny Goodman on clarinet—she imaginatively mixed musical styles as she delivered the lyric “Gee, her anatomy / made the mercury / Jump to ninety-three.” She stretched the “Geeeeee,” then quickly moved into a blues singer growl as she sang the word “her” and shifted to play with the pronunciation of the Broadway-style lyrics “anatomy, made the mercury / Jump to ninety-three.” Then she closed it with a modified street yell, “Yeah man!” The little girl from Chester seemed to delight in showing her mastery of different styles and the uncanny way that she could fuse all those styles to put a song across in a totally new, unexpected way.
Years later Berlin would insist that Twentieth Century Fox have Marilyn Monroe sing “Heat Wave” in an overproduced segment for the film There’s No Business Like Show Business. Monroe’s version would be slower and sultrier and more blatantly sexy. But even Monroe no doubt would have appreciated the way Waters put her brand on “Heat Wave.” No one would ever surpass Ethel’s enthusiasm for Berlin’s song itself, her pleasure in the cleverness of its lyrics, her sheer delight in the utter breeziness of its melody.
In the sketch built around the number “To Be or Not to Be,” she performed with comic actor Hamtree Harrington, who played her lazy good-for-nothin’ husband. But that sketch—and its familiar racial stereotyping—seemed to get lost and become forgotten because of the daring “Supper Time” in the second act. “Unknown Negro Lynched by Frenzied Mob” was the headline for the sketch. Ethel was seen preparing dinner for her family. “Supper time / I should set the table / ’Cause it’s supper time,” she sang. “Somehow I’m not able / ’Cause that man of mine / Ain’t comin’ home no more.” The typical Broadway audience was being asked to think about the country it lived in and the torment of its second-class citizens who were often invisible. Her rendition may have brought to mind the first 1931 trial of the Scottsboro boys, nine young Black men accused of raping two white women on a freight train. Many feared the young men might not even make it through the trial. Lynchings were very much on the minds—and part of the protests—of the NAACP. James Weldon Johnson had long fought for an anti-lynching bill. The struggle for legislation would continue into the next decade when the NAACP’s Walter White repeatedly appealed to President Roosevelt for an anti-lynching bill. Too many African American men had already been left hanging from a rope. “If one song can262 tell the whole tragic history of a race, ‘Supper Time’ was that song. In singing it,” recalled Waters, “I was telling my comfortable, well-fed, well-dressed listeners about my people.”
“Supper Time” marked an important shift in mainstream culture. Here in popular song, a social, racial, and political issue received comment. “Supper Time” may not have been a searing protest song, but it was an acknowledgment of festering racial disparities and injustices. Some might argue that the song itself raised questions only because of the context (the sketch) in which it was presented; that on its own, “Supper Time” could be performed without any thoughts of race in America. But few would ever think of this song in any other context than that of the sketch. Six years later, Billie Holiday would perform the haunting “Strange Fruit,” the story of a Southern lynching, which would be considered the first race protest song with explicit lyrics. But Waters may have felt all the fuss about “Strange Fruit” tended to overlook the fact that her “Supper Time” had signaled the first social and racial commentary in popular song. She would never like Billie Holiday, for a number of reasons other than “Strange Fruit,” but Holiday’s “Strange Fruit” didn’t help matters for Waters, a woman who took pride in her accomplishments and the way she repeatedly broke new ground in entertainment. “Supper Time” became part of her race work.
“Supper Time” also revealed the power of Waters as an actress. In song, she had created a compelling character, mournful, angry, devastated, altogether moving. For her, the song may also have been a sign of the dramatic powers within herself—and the dramatic possibilities she hoped would come in the future. Among those who saw Ethel perform the song was a little girl who would grow up to be an important entertainer herself, Carol Channing. It marked the first time she had ever seen a musical. Having persuaded her family to take her to see it, Channing remembered that as Ethel “moved slowly down to263 the footlights, my heart started to pound . . . when she began to sing I got so thrilled it was embarrassing. I looked around and no one else seemed to be reacting that way. And I looked at Ethel Waters and lost my breath. I was throbbing all over. It was like being in love—and you can’t criticize a person when you’re in love—it’s beyond judgment. And I was hooked.” Channing became a lifelong fan of Waters and her brilliant rendition of the Berlin song.
Patrons leaving the Music Box Theatre knew they had seen a major new musical. Reviewing As Thous
ands Cheer in the New York Times, Brooks Atkinson called it “a superb panorama of264 entertainment.” “As for Berlin, he has never written better tunes or more sparkling lyrics; and Mr. Hart has never turned his wit with such economical precision.” Of the performers, Atkinson commended Webb, “the king of the decadent pants,” who “sings and dances with a master’s dexterity.” He commented that Miller “brings to the show not only the effulgence of her personality but a sense of humor.” Broderick was “the perfect stage wit.” And what of the woman whose name was below the title? “Ethel Waters takes full control of the audience and the show whenever she appears. Her abandon to the ruddy tune of ‘Heat Wave Hits New York,’ her rowdy comedy as the wife of a stage-struck ‘Green Pastures’ actor and her pathos in a deep-toned song about a lynching give some notion of the broad range she can encompass.”
Despite the show’s rave reviews, backstage attitudes had not changed. “Once the show got265 to New York, that same attitude prevailed among her white co-stars,” said Marvel Cooke. “So as soon as work was over, she came ‘Home to Harlem’—that is unless she was asked specifically to go to some affair in which the entire cast was invited.” Still, everyone was now aware of an undeniable fact. Broadway already knew the likes of great musical stars like Ethel Merman and Mary Martin, whose careers would span decades. With As Thousands Cheer the colored girl from Chester had made a permanent place for herself among Broadway immortals.
