I said, confidently, “George won’t care about that — I’ll ask him.”
The producers rolled their eyes at my youthful naiveté, and said, “Go ahead, Susan, you ask him.”
I visited George in his dressing room before the performance that night. “Big George, you know that tab sign at the top of the theatre?”
“What sign?”
“Trust me. There is a big sign up there with your name on it. Do you care if we remove your name a few days early so it can be ready when Bob Preston goes into the show?”
His response, “Sure, go ahead. Who cares?”
SLY FOX was a happy company and during the very successful run of the comedy, George and Trish invited the entire cast and crew to their home in Greenwich for a party. The invitation was issued in the name of their two huge mastiff dogs and included a bus to transport all of us to and from their Connecticut estate. Jack Gilford, his wife Madeline and I sang show tunes on the bus like campers. Except, of course, unlike most campers I knew, Jack had starred in several of those Broadway shows. George and Trish graciously hosted the lavish dinner party, including a tour of the house and grounds. George even played his prized antique organ for us. At one point during the party he couldn’t find his glasses so he borrowed mine. From then on, whenever he saw me, he’d borrow my glasses, announcing he preferred my prescription over his. After that, we could often be found in his dressing room wearing each other’s glasses, neither of us able to see very well.
Wearing our own glasses at the opening of ALL GOD’S CHILLUN GOT WINGS, which Scott directed at the Circle in the Square.
(From the author’s photo collection)
Long before the Julia Roberts film Pretty Woman put him on the map, Hector Elizondo rightly felt over-shadowed by George C. Scott in SLY FOX. The role of Able was equal in size and importance to Scott’s role of Sly, but Scott dominated Larry Gelbart’s play with his comic flair and oversized personality. Elizondo, always grumpy backstage, never bothered to learn my name so he called me “Hey You” during the entire Broadway run of the hit comedy. There was a young character actor playing one of Sly’s servants who had only one line in the show. He always got a laugh on his brief crossovers, and that laugh grew longer and louder during the run. He didn’t seem to do anything except walk across the stage yet it was hysterical. His name was Jeffrey Tambor. He later replaced Hector as Able and eventually gained considerable TV fame on The Larry Sanders Show and Arrested Development. More recently, Jeffrey was noted to be Pope Francis’ look-alike.
‘HANDLING’ THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES
On Tuesday, March 10, 1981, the influential industry newsletter, Celebrity Bulletin, ran the following item:
PRESIDENT RONALD REAGAN & NANCY REAGAN will be in town to attend “Diana Ross & The Joffrey Ballet at the Met” gala on 3/15 for the benefit of the Joffrey. Mrs. Reagan is Honorary Chairman.
PR Contact: Susan L. Schulman & Assoc. 221-5985
It’s not every day you are listed as the press contact for the President of the United States and leader of the free world. I had been hired by Robert Joffrey to handle the Joffrey Ballet’s huge benefit at the Metropolitan Opera House at Lincoln Center, starring legendary entertainer Diana Ross and featuring, not incidentally, The Joffrey II Company, in which a young dancer named Ron Reagan would appear. Little Ronnie Reagan, as we began calling him, was considered a late bloomer and an under-achiever in the ballet world. When asked by friends if Ron was any good, I’d joke, “He’s the best son of a President in the company.” And he was — not a great dancer, but he never dropped his partner or tripped on stage. His greatest asset as a member of the Joffrey’s training company was his mother, who agreed to be Honorary Chairman of The Joffrey Ballet’s Gala benefit at The Met, virtually guaranteeing the Reagans’ attendance and the extensive media coverage it would generate for the company. It was a win-win situation except that everyone at the Joffrey was terrified of dealing with the Reagans and with The White House.
So I was asked to be the Joffrey’s sole point person with The White House. I began getting calls from The West Wing (the President’s press aide) or The East Wing (Mrs. Reagan’s social secretary.) My associate, Sandi Kimmel, and I had to provide our date and place of birth, social security numbers and other personal data to be vetted by the Secret Service. It was pretty heady stuff. We decided the Schul-man publicity office also had an East and West Wing. Our East Wing boasted the refrigerator and the copy machine and our West Wing contained the checkbook — a fair distribution of assets and power in our minds.
As the day of the Gala approached, I was dealing with the head of the White House press office, negotiating the photo ops for the President and First Lady and, with the Secret Service, setting the path the President would take upon entering the Met, enroute to the Presidential Box. I was impressed with the complicated logistics required to move the President from point A to point B within a fairly secure building like the Met, that frequently hosted Royalty and heads of state. I was also dazzled by the communications center they established for the three hours the President would be “in the house”— extra telephone lines, electricity, etc., all installed prior to and then removed after the event.
We must have had 300 calls back and forth between my office and The White House prior to the Joffrey Gala. On the night of the benefit, I met the motorcade in Lincoln Center’s underground driveway and led the presidential party into the Metropolitan Opera House. I handed the President and First Lady off to the Met house manager who escorted them through the underground labyrinth to their box. The presidential entourage was seated around him and throughout the huge theatre. Those 50 free seats could have been sold for the benefit of the dance company, however, the publicity President Reagan’s attendance would generate, far out weighed the loss in ticket sales.
My agreement with the head of the White Press press office was that I’d run the photo session with the President, First Lady, Robert Joffrey and Little Ronnie during the intermission. I told Robert Joffrey that his primary goal at this photo op was to stand in the middle of the group, not at the end. If he was positioned at the edge of this family line-up, he would almost certainly be cropped out of all the press photos. I told Mr. Joffrey I’d do everything in my power to see that he was situated in the middle of the photo line-up but that he also had to be personally assertive so he wouldn’t get lost in the shuffle. We had also prepared a large mounted commemorative Joffrey Ballet poster for him to present to the Reagans, providing a visual reminder of where, when and why this photo was being taken. But there were no guarantees that it would go as I planned.
As the first act ended, I organized the White House press photographers in the elegant room off the mezzanine, and reminded them that I would be setting up the all-important final shot. The Reagans and Robert Joffrey were ushered into the room, greeted their son who had just come off stage, and the photo op began. I realized that the Reagan family was too spread out and needed to be gathered into a tighter grouping for the photos. I looked around for the Chief White House press officer but he wasn’t available.
So, I took a deep breath and said to the most powerful man in the universe, “President Reagan, could you and your family possibly get a little closer?” Like the actor he was, he grinned, nudged the First Lady and their son, and gathered his family into a tighter, more suitable grouping. He was a pro. And Robert Joffrey, clutching his large Joffrey poster, was standing right between Nancy and Little Ronnie. That photo ran on the front page of every major newspaper in the country giving the Joffrey Ballet invaluable free publicity.
When the photo shoot was over one of the White House staff members sidled up to me, reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a long, thin jewelry box.
He said, “The President is grateful for your assistance and would like you to have this.” He said, “It’s better than a tie tack or a pen in the pecking order of White House goodies.”
It was a gold bracelet with a round bangle
bearing the Presidential seal on one side and Reagan’s engraved signature on the other. I was actually very impressed with my new goody, displaying it at every opportunity. There was no ‘K’ stamped anywhere on it, so I knew its only value was to commemorate a special event. My associate, Sandi Kimmel, crestfallen that she hadn’t received a Presidential goody, made a Xerox copy of my bracelet and ceremoniously taped it to her wrist.
Susan’s gold bracelet from Ronald Reagan
(From the author’s photo collection)
The White House aide who gave me the bracelet asked if I’d like to continue assisting the President by “riding the press bus” when the President visited Little Italy the following day. I learned that The White House press office often invited local PR people to assist with these events, pro bono. It sounded like fun, so I spent a second day in close proximity to President Reagan, watching him charm everyone with his easy manner and ready smile. His instincts were impeccable — he knew just when to stop, turn, smile and wave to incite the crowd to even louder cheers. I was amazed at how physically close to him I was allowed to be on both days. Often I stood right next to him, gently taking his arm to guide him in the right direction or introducing him to people. One month later, almost to the day, Reagan was shot along with his esteemed Press Secretary James Brady. Brady had been standing in almost exactly the same spot that I had occupied during those two heady days with the President.
In the weeks following the shooting, I received many phone calls from friends guessing that the value of my gold tone Presidential bracelet had sky rocketed. Ghoulish but probably true. Years later, when President Reagan died, several friends asked if I was planning to sell my Reagan bracelet on eBay. I did not — it remains in my safe deposit box. Sandi’s Xeroxed copy is still in her files.
COMPANY & FOLLIES
While working as press associate to Mary Bryant, I was lucky enough to briefly represent two landmark Stephen Sondheim musicals: COMPANY and FOLLIES. At the time, COMPANY was on its second cast with Jane Russell playing the caustic Joanne, the role originated by Elaine Stritch. Russell was still a beautiful and forceful performer but a little vague about the specifics of appearing in a Broadway show. Her assistant was a handsome blond young man who made sure she showed up at the right place at the right time. He also stood behind her in the wings and gave her a gentle shove when it was time for her to make her stage entrance. When I’d ask her if she’d prefer doing an interview before or after a matinée, she’d casually ask, “What time do matinées start?” But once on stage, Russell delivered, and that is what counted.
Dorothy Collins was co-starring with Alexis Smith in FOLLIES, a show that was both adored and despised by theatre-goers and critics. I was on the adoring team. I found the Sondheim musical complex, touching and visually stunning. In my opinion, Dorothy Collins was giving one of the most heartbreakingly truthful performances on Broadway. When she sang ‘Losing My Mind’ in her slinky Jean Harlow dress, the perky band singer and TV personality we knew and loved, simply disappeared. As the wistful, disillusioned Sally Durant, Dorothy touched anyone who had ever loved and lost.
Fairly or unfairly, the statuesque Alexis Smith stole Dorothy’s thunder with her long legs and striking good looks and was often featured in newspaper and magazine stories while Dorothy was overlooked or merely mentioned in passing. Writers and critics couldn’t get over the fact that Smith, the willowy, still beautiful movie actress, could actually sing and dance.
Alexis Smith had longed to appear in a Broadway musical. She had studied for years with famed musical theatre coach David Craig and knew how to put over a song. While her vocal range was limited, she was a commanding and stylish presence on stage. She was also aloof and didn’t mix with the cast and crew. After years of being overlooked in Hollywood, Smith enjoyed being the Queen Bee of FOLLIES.
The fact that Dorothy was a trained singer with years of stage experience wasn’t as compelling a story. Being a good soldier, Dorothy never flexed her muscles and demanded equal attention or special perks. She knew Hal Prince and Stephen Sondheim had given her the role of a lifetime and she relished every minute of FOLLIES. Years earlier, Hal Prince wavered between casting Dorothy Collins or Barbara Cook in the original Broadway production of SHE LOVES ME and had reportedly flipped a coin to decide. Barbara Cook won the coin toss and went on to major fame on Broadway and, later, in cabaret and concerts. Prince promised Dorothy that one day he’d create a part just for her and now, seven years later, he had.
In 2011 a revival of FOLLIES was presented on Broadway starring Bernadette Peters in the Dorothy Collins role and Jan Maxwell in the Alexis Smith role. Eric Grode wrote a full page article for the New York Sunday Times (August 28, 2011) about the original Broadway production of FOLLIES. He interviewed a variety of theatrical celebrities, including Elaine Stritch, Tommy Tune, Barbara Cook, John Guare, and Sheldon Harnick, about their memories of the production as audience members. The New York Times writer also wanted to include the memories of someone who had actually worked on the original production and asked to interview me. Not knowing who else he had spoken with, I was surprised and delighted to find myself included in such heady company when the article appeared. My quote: “FOLLIES was only the second big show I had worked on. I was the kid in the office and Dorothy Collins (who played Sally) and I became friends during the run. She was supposed to be the star of the evening but then people rediscovered Alexis Smith, this aging B actress with these great gams. And Alexis (who played Phyllis) was terrific, but the attention kind of moved away from Dorothy. Still, she said it was the happiest time of her life. She’d spent her whole life acting and singing and she felt that despite being overshadowed in some ways, this was the icing on the cake for her.” And, to my surprise, the Times used my quote for the headline which was MEMORIES OF GREAT GAMS OF THE PAST.
In 1981, Diana Ross had recently taken the famed EST training which taught her to take responsibility for her life — every single detail of her very complicated Big Star life. All decisions, without exception, were now made by her. Nothing was delegated to her staff. As the press agent for The Joffrey Ballet, I wanted to schedule a photo session with Diana Ross and Robert Joffrey to publicize their up-coming benefit at the Metropolitan Opera House as well as the TV special they were doing together. Her office told me to call Miss Ross at the Beverly Hills Hotel but when I called the hotel they said they had no Diana Ross registered. I insisted she had an office in one of the bungalows and they insisted they didn’t know what I was talking about. When I called her ‘people’ back, they said she was, indeed, registered at the famed hotel but under a different name — they just failed to tell me what name. Was I supposed to guess? When the hotel operator finally connected me with her bungalow, Diana Ross answered the phone herself (that EST training) and said, angrily, “Why do you keep bothering me???” As I’d never spoken to her before, I was a little stunned. I mumbled, “I’m so sorry — I was told you wanted to arrange this photo session personally.” After another tirade from her and more apologies from me, she allowed our photographer to take a very quick photo of her with Bob Joffrey between rehearsals at the TV studio. What I got was a poorly-lit photo of a make-up-free diva and the ballet master in sloppy rehearsal clothes. It did not make the cover of TV Guide. I never bothered Miss Ross again.
MARY MARTIN:
A FAN AND HER IDOL COME FULL CIRCLE
Like many kids raised in the 1950s, I knew Mary Martin could crow and fly and had a shadow she could roll up and put in her pocket. As a tough Jewish teenager growing up in Harlem, my father had seen the original James Barrie play and had unashamedly clapped to keep Tinkerbelle alive. So when my mother bought Wednesday matinée tickets for the musical PETER PAN on Broadway, she insisted he skip work and make it a family outing. Sitting in the balcony at age six, I was unsure if the tiny characters on the stage were alive or on a TV set that was very far away. I learned all the Comden and Green songs from the ‘78 original cast album and, for months I lea
ped off the arm of our living room couch ‘thinking lovely thoughts’ and trying to fly. I also saw the two TV specials Mary Martin performed live one Easter Sunday — an afternoon kids program with The Little Orchestra and an evening show reprising songs from her Broadway shows.
The first time I saw THE SOUND OF MUSIC, there was a huge snowstorm in New York City but we managed to get to The Lunt-Fontanne Theatre in time for the 2 pm matinee. Some of the actors and musicians did not make it and there were a few empty seats, but stars like Mary Martin and Ethel Merman never missed a performance. At the end of the matinée, Mary stopped the applause and made a curtain speech. She thanked the audience for ‘climbing every mountain’ to reach the theatre. I was mesmerized. At age 14, I’d been to many Broadway shows, but I’d never seen anyone make a curtain speech. I thought she was speaking directly and specifically to me.
When I got home, I wrote Mary Martin a letter, telling her how much I’d enjoyed her performance and how touched I’d been by her curtain speech. She answered my letter. I wrote again. She answered again. I bought a ticket to see the show a second time and sent her a note asking if I could come backstage and meet her. She replied, saying she would leave my name at the stage door. I could barely speak when we met in her dressing room. She was adorable and funny ,and thanked me for my notes. I subsequently saw THE SOUND OF MUSIC six times, visiting with her after each performance.
Backstage Pass To Broadway Page 10
