Teak Lewis portrait, New York, NY, c. late 1930s, early 1940s. Image subject to copyright laws. Courtesy Teak Lewis. Please do not appropriate.
I was born in Barcelona, Spain, just as the Spanish Civil War was breaking out. I was two years old then. I have a brother—well, I had a brother; he passed away recently. Mama wanted to return to the United States, but she couldn’t manage a three-year-old and a two-year-old at the same time. The embassy advised her to bring me first since I was a Spanish citizen. That’s how I ended up crossing the Atlantic with her in 1936, while my brother had to stay behind. It wasn’t until 1945 that he finally made it to the States.
When we arrived, Mama found work out on Long Island as a maid. I only know this from stories and old photographs—too young to remember much. Later, Mama got a job in the city, working as a receptionist in a dentist’s office. While she worked, I stayed with an Italian family, the Pumas. There was Josephine, Giuseppe, and their daughter Josephine. I don’t remember much, but I do have one vivid memory—my birthday, sitting under a piano, hugging their Great Dane for dear life. I’m unsure why that memory stuck.
I grew up in New York City, mostly in Manhattan. We moved constantly to new apartments almost every year: Delancey Street, the Lower East Side, 87th Street, 93rd, you name it.
My mother and stepfather were fabulous ballroom dancers, completely self-taught. They would come home from Latin clubs on weekends with trophies in hand. Still, I had no idea yet that dance would be my future.
The real spark came when I became an usher at the Roxy Theater. Watching the stage shows and films night after night, I started to memorize the dance sequences. There was something about the eccentric choreography of Jack Cole that stuck with me— I found out about a teacher named La Meri, who specialized in what was called “ethnic dance”, and although her classes were too advanced for me at the time, a seed had been planted.
Watch Teak Lewis tell his story in this video oral history interview. Recorded in 2024 at the Actors Fund Home, Englewood, NJ. Courtesy John Hemmer Archive. Please do not appropriate. Copyright 2024.
Portrait, Teak Lewis’ mother, Rosa Julia, Barcelona, Spain, c. 1930s. Image subject to copyright laws. Courtesy Teak Lewis. Please do not appropriate.
I was in my mid-teens then. Around the same time, I discovered Katherine Dunham’s School of Dance on 43rd Street, just off Seventh Avenue. I went down and asked about taking classes but explained that I had no money. We made a deal: I would run the elevator after school to ferry people up to the studio. Once the class began, I could jump in and take it. That’s how my formal dance training started. My mother refused to pay for lessons—she was already paying for my cousin’s—but I didn’t hold it against her. I had started so many things and quit before. Maybe she thought this would be just another phase. But this time was different.
Dance really took hold of me when I was attending George Washington High School. I belonged to the Latin American Club, and when it came time for our talent show, everyone volunteered to sing or read poetry. When it was my turn, I said, “I’ll dance.” I gathered six girls, pulled from memories of the Roxy’s performances, and choreographed a number full of hip movements and lifts. We staged it perfectly—the girls came out first to warm up the audience before I joined in. It worked like magic.
Mrs. Don, the head of the music department, pulled me aside and asked if I would perform with the seniors the next semester. The plan was to do Rhapsody in Blue, which meant I needed ballet training. I enrolled at Ballet Arts at Carnegie Hall and immersed myself in classes. When it turned out we couldn’t get the rights for Rhapsody in Blue, I pivoted—I performed a solo to the Saber Dance instead, creating my own costume with a sun glued to my chest and metallic lamé pants.
On the day of the performance, everything went hilariously wrong. The sun decoration poked me in the chin, and the shoulder pieces twisted and swung wildly around my body. One-by-one, I tore them off mid-performance, and the audience cheered, “Take it off, take it off”, thinking it was all part of the act. That thrill, that connection to an audience—I knew then: this was what I wanted to do.
Life, however, had other plans first. I ended up joining the Air Force in December 1952, just as the Korean War was ongoing. I was lucky enough to be stationed in Europe rather than Korea. After a brief stay in Germany, my unit was reassigned to Nancy, France. I didn’t speak French or German when I arrived, but necessity is a great teacher. I learned quickly, mostly through trial and error—pointing at things, repeating words, absorbing the languages around me.
While stationed there, I met a fellow airman from California who was theatrically inclined, and we put together a singing and dancing act to “I’ve Got Rhythm.” We toured around Germany, performing on air bases, and even though I eventually lost a talent competition to a tap dancer (I always lost to tap dancers!), it deepened my commitment to the stage.
Portrait, Teak Lewis, New York, NY, c. 1950s. Image subject to copyright laws. Courtesy Teak Lewis. Please do not appropriate.
I stayed in the service until December 1956, rising to Airman First Class. When I returned to the States, the GI Bill funded my dance education. I left behind schools that weren’t a good fit, like one that focused more on acting than movement, and went back to Ballet Arts. I also sought out Peter Gennaro, a teacher I deeply admired.
I spent close to a year training intensely before I started auditioning. Finally, I got my first professional job at the Pittsburgh Civic Light Opera. It was a crash course: five shows in seven weeks, staged in a football stadium, with a platform set up in the middle and dressing rooms under the bleachers. I remember racing to the stage, half-dressed for my entrance in Happy Hunting, pin curls still tucked under my hat from a hasty hairdo. Somehow, it all worked out.
From there my dance life go very busy, very quickly.
I played the Prince in Cinderella. We went to Philadelphia to rehearse, and it was a great group of people in the ensemble. We spent a week rehearsing there, and then we moved out to the tent.
After that, we rehearsed again for Oklahoma! with a new choreographer, Mavis Ray. She hated us at first because none of us were true ballet dancers, and she needed ballet dancers for the dream ballet sequence. But we worked it out, and funnily enough, I ended up working with Mavis again later.
Photograph: Teak Lewis and fellow dancer cast members of a Guber, a Ford and Gross Carousel production, 1960. Image subject to copyright laws. Courtesy Teak Lewis. Please do not appropriate.
Between that time and my next big move, I worked on Redhead and Carousel. After Carousel, I made a decision: if I wasn’t working at least 24 weeks a year, I was going to find something else. I saw an ad in Backstage looking for a boy singer-dancer who could sing, so I auditioned.
Scrapbook detail: Program credits, Teak Lewis on stage, a Guber, Ford & Gross Redhead production, 1960. Image subject to copyright laws. Courtesy Teak Lewis. Please do not appropriate.
They asked if I could leave for California that Friday. I packed my bags in a hurry. Then another call came: the star of the show was driving down from Canada and needed someone to ride with him to San Francisco. They asked if I would go. I said yes, of course.
Scrapbook detail: Production still, Teak Lewis (center) will fellow dancers, Guber, a Ford and Gross Carousel production, 1960. Image subject to copyright laws. Courtesy Teak Lewis. Please do not appropriate.
When I showed up to meet the star. The two girls who also got the job, including a good friend of mine, climbed into the back seat, squeezing in among feathers, tulle, and all kinds of finery. I sat in the front passenger seat. In came the driver — with a Chihuahua perched right between us. His name was John Guilda.
As we drove, Guilda asked about our resumes, and the girls asked to see his photos. He handed them a scrapbook. As they flipped through the glamorous shots of a woman performer, they asked, “But where are you?” He said, “They’re all me.” Silence fell in the car. “No one told you?” he asked. “I’m a female impersonator.”
None of us knew. But I shrugged and said, “A job’s a job.”
The trip was eventful: torrential rains, dangerous fogs that forced me to walk in front of the car to guide him, and a crash in Colorado that left us stranded until the car was towed. Guilda even had to go to court immediately after the accident. But somehow, we made it to San Francisco.
Teak Lewis scrapbook pages showcasing work in the Guber, Ford and Gross Carousel production, and John Guilda’s Bon Jour Paris! show’s publicity images and ad, 1960. Image subject to copyright laws. Courtesy Teak Lewis. Please do not appropriate.
We opened the show after just three days of rehearsal. But after the first week, when it was time to be paid, they handed us $50 to split among the cast. I stepped up and said, “Excuse me, I’m making a hundred dollars a week. The girls are making seventy-five. This isn’t enough.”
The girls started crying — and if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s tears. I promised them I’d fix it. The next morning, I went straight to the union. They knew the club — Ann’s 440 on Broadway — by heart. After some angry phone calls, they made arrangements to pay us from the nightly door money. For the next few weeks, that’s how we got by.
Guilda was a fantastic performer. He wore foam rubber pads to soften his muscular legs, had incredible wigs, and did a hilarious number with a bra that popped open mid-act — one “boob” shot up while the other dropped down, and the rest of the act was him trying to get them back together. He was talented, funny, and, despite everything, kind.
Three weeks into that gig, I heard that Destry Rides Again was opening nearby. I managed to get a ticket — the mayor’s seat, front row center — and spotted a friend, Bob Howard, in the cast. After the show, he waved me backstage. When he heard about my miserable situation, he told me one of his dancers had just quit. He introduced me to the assistant dance captain, and they told me to come to auditions the next morning.
I showed up early, stretched, and — surprise — I was the only dancer who came. They auditioned me, had me sing for the conductor, and offered me the job on the spot.
I realized then I still had a contract with the nightclub. I figured I’d give them a week’s notice — if they even deserved that. When I went in to resign, they fired me first — for being “uncooperative.” Perfect.
That’s how I got into Desrty Rides Again, working with an amazing cast. It turned out to be one of the best moves of my career. That was in the National Company with John Raitt and Ann Jeffreys.
When the tour closed in San Francisco, we had Gretchen Wyler and Stephen Douglas and we played five cities, and then the tour closed, and we went back to New York City A few weeks later. It was time to audition again for the music fairs. And again, they hired me and we were going to do Pajama Game with Julia Meade, and then we were going to do Gentlemen Prefer Blondes with Jane Morgan. And I was lucky enough that I got to do the Steam Heat number. And one of the other boys, had negotiated for the $15 extra for doing a specialty. I didn’t ask for anything, but Lee Cooper said, if Larry gets $15, then Teak gets $15. And so, I didn’t say a word, but I got my money. And for the next show, I again was picked to be featured, but this time we were foursome two singers and two dancers to sing.
Scrapbook pages, Carousel production with choreography by Gower Champion, c. 1960s. Image subject to copyright laws. Courtesy Teak Lewis. Please do not appropriate.
Now came my lucky break. One of the people that I admired most, As a dancer, it was Gower Champion. Whenever I saw that Gower and Marge Champion were going to dance, I would find them and watch them. And now, Gower Champion was going to take the second company, the first national company of Carnival on the road, and I went to audition for them. I was the fourth person to get there, got warmed up, learned the combination. And Gower had us do the combination four at a time. He would tell us to go stand on the side. Next four, he’d go through the entire group of people that were there, and there were many. Then he’d go back to the beginning again, first four, and this time he’d say, “Oscar, come forward.” That was me.
I stepped forward, expecting to hear “Go home.” Instead, Gower Champion said, “Please stay.” I was one of the few selected to be part of a production, and that moment shaped much of my journey.
At that moment, the stage manager approached me with a request. “Gower wants to know if you can grow a goatee,” he said. I replied without hesitation, “I’ll color it purple if he wants.” Sure enough, I grew both a mustache and goatee as requested. I was ready for whatever came my way.
I was cast in Carnival for a full year, a production that allowed me to refine my craft. But it wasn’t just about dancing; it was about creating a character. Our lead lady had played Kim Macfee in Bye Bye Birdie and was very talented. However, there was one thing that always struck me—she never fully convinced me of being European. It was subtle but important, and I could feel the difference, especially when Anna Maria Alberghetti walked in, embodying the essence of her character with ease.
During my time with Carnival, I began to reconsider who I was, particularly the name I went by. Jonathan Lucas, one of the leads, once remarked that I didn’t look Latin enough for the name “Oscar Torres.” So, I decided to make a change. Oscar Torres was gone, and in its place came Teak Lewis. The inspiration for the name “Teak” came from Morton DaCosta, a famous director known for his work on The Music Man. Teak was his nickname, and I liked the way it sounded. It felt strong, powerful—exactly what I wanted to embody. “Lewis” was a simple choice that added rhythm to the name, and it stuck with me from that moment forward.
Photo-postcard, Eleanor Powell portrait, 1930s, by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (photographer unknown). Wiki source.
Teak became my identity, and even my family began calling me by the new name. My brother, however, couldn’t quite get the pronunciation right and called me “Tuts” instead.
After Carnival wrapped, Jonathan Lucas called and invited me to perform on The Bell Telephone Hour, a prestigious show that aired twice a month. It was a variety show, blending opera, ballet, pop music, and more. As we spoke on the phone, Johnathan casually asked, “You do tap, don’t you?” I quickly replied, “Oh, yes, absolutely.” I had only taken three tap lessons.
All I could think was that I’m going to be fired before I’m even hired. And something said, just stick it out. Stick it out, stick it out. One episode starred the great Eleanor Powell, a hero of mine. And she was a sweetheart. She didn’t behave like a star at all. She was one of us. And one of the last days at rehearsal, we were rehearsing on sixth Avenue, and I remember somebody comes into the rehearsal hall and tells Jonathan, he’s got a phone call. He says, I got to take this. It’s very important. Before he steps out, he said to us, I want to take one section of steps out, and I want to put in cramp rolls. I didn’t know what a cramp roll was. And as he went to take the call, I asked another dancer, what’s a cramp roll? And they did a cramp roll, and what? It happened so fast I couldn’t see it.
Johnathan returns from his call and says he just got a job in California – the Dean Martin Show. And I said, shit, he’s going to go to Dean Martin with The Golddiggers. So I was never going to have a job. And he tells us to take a break and leaves the room. I’m trying to figure out the step. And Eleanor Powell comes over and says to me, listen to the rhythm. Listen to the rhythm. And she starts vocally. And then she did it with her feet and with the tap shoes. And she goes, “da-da-da da da da, da da da da.” She grabs my hand and starts me doing the step with her, and we vocalize and move together. I’ve heard the rhythm. It makes sense to me now. And I’m doing it. And she picks up the rhythm and she says, you got it. And I said, oh, thank you so much. They came back from lunch, and we go into the number. We get to that one section and we all go into the cramp rolls. And it was great. I’ll never forget it.
Another experience from the Bell Telephone Hour that I’ll never forget is when I was working a lift with a partner, and she just wouldn’t jump. Other boys tried too, and nobody could pick her up. It proved it wasn’t me—it was her. But before we taped the show, they warned me: they were going to cut me out of the lifts. I promised I’d get her up. When the time came, I pressed as low as I could, got her up, and carried her across the floor. She was so excited—too excited. I noticed she was peeing all the way across the stage!
I did four Bell Telephone Hours. I had gained so much from the experience. As I worked with various choreographers on different productions, including Guys and Dolls, I began to find my footing as not just a dancer but a choreographer.
After working on the Carnival, I saw there was a posting. They were going to do a summer production of Carnival, and Wally Seibert was going to choreograph it.
When I arrived at the studio, I could hear the music, and they were playing A Sword, and a Rose and a Cape, and the dancer George Marcy was inside, and he was trying to get it to fit the music, and it wasn’t working out. I raised my hand and said, excuse me, but if you start eight counts earlier in the music, it’ll work. You were in the wrong place. And they did that, and it worked. Afterwards he came up to me and asked if I knew the number. I said, yes. I was in the show on the road, and I watched the number every night. He asked me if I thought I could choreograph it? I said, I could. He said, You’ve got the job. I stipulated that the playbill had to say, “original choreography by Gower Champion restaged by Teak Lewis” since I was using Gower Champion’s original choreography.
After that, a friend of mine needed a replacement for a show in Canada. I figured, why not? It would be my first time working for George Reich. I headed up to Montreal, checked into the Y, and waited at the studio. Finally, dancers trickled in. George met me, barely gave me a glance, and told me where to go. The production was just starting—one of those tits and feathers shows. Muriel Millard was the star. Most of the dancers were Canadian hires, but George had a few favorites.
Photograph, Mary Tyler Moore and Richard Chamberlain with composer Bob Merrill rehearsing for stage musical Holly Golightly, unknown location, 1966. Wiki source.
I did the show, learned it fast, and he asked me back for another. I agreed, but life pulled me back to New York, where I landed a role in a Broadway show Holly GoLightly. Michael Kidd was choreographing, Mary Tyler Moore and Richard Chamberlain were starring. With such a powerhouse team, it had every reason to be a hit.
I found out about the audition through friends. Michael Kidd’s assistant—Chita Rivera’s husband, Tony Mordente—ran the audition. He asked everyone to do the Charleston. I threw everything into it—eyes, smile, energy—and he pointed at me immediately: “You. You’ve got the job.” Signed my contract right above Sardi’s and started rehearsals at a hotel on Eighth Avenue.
Michael Kidd made a dramatic entrance—he switched on a giant fan, and it sent everyone flying into the walls. Except me. I stood there. He looked at me and said, “You don’t have a partner.” He called over Judy Dunford, and just like that, I was paired up.
Holly Go Lightly turned out to be a mess. Mary Tyler Moore worked harder than anyone, but every fix was aimed at her—haircuts, costume changes—you name it. Criticisms in Boston were the opposite of Philadelphia. On our way there, I overheard someone say the second act hadn’t even been written yet, I knew we were in trouble.
In New York, they cut dancers left and right. We had too many dancers and no real numbers left. A big dance number that used to stop the show was cut. They brought in Larry Kert from West Side Story to boost things, but after three preview performances, the show closed before officially opening. Mary was developing diabetes from the stress—it was a heartbreak.
Afterward, I reconnected with George Reich for a new project at Expo 67 in Montreal, The Garden of Stars. It was an outdoor show on a triangular stage surrounded by “dancing waters” fountains that drowned out our music every time we passed by. George hired tons of dancers—if we had 12 boys, there were at least 18 girls. It was all about beauty and showmanship, featuring the Canadian star Muriel Millard, who was also the producer.
We performed three main numbers, a graceful waltz, an Indian-inspired dance in minimal costumes, and a futuristic silver lamé number. Muriel eventually claimed she lost a fortune, but really, it was money she didn’t make, not money she lost.
Scrapbook page: Program, cast photos, newspaper clippings featuring Muriel Millard in Terre des Femmes at Expo 67, Montreal, Canada, 1967. Image subject to copyright laws. Courtesy Teak Lewis. Please do not appropriate.
The show was later adapted for a theater setting across the street, and eventually toured six cities around Quebec. At the end of the tour, George asked if I wanted to be part of a new production at the Latin Quarter nightclub in New York City. I jumped at it—the Latin Quarter was right on Broadway between 47th and 48th Streets, and I had always dreamed of being back in New York.
Photograph: Center stage boy dancers Robert Rayow (far left) and Teak Lewis (second from left) and others frame showgirl, Terre des Femmes production, the Latin Quarter nightclub, New York, NY, 1968. Courtesy Robert Rayow. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Dancing at the Latin Quarter was a huge deal for me. Growing up, it had been one of the top places for a night out—alongside the Copacabana. I had visited once with my family, sitting ringside among the Moorish-style arches and heavy draped decor. The stage had a big circular curtain that opened dramatically at showtime, and some headliners wouldn’t even allow drinks to be served during their acts to avoid distraction. They got the best, The Everly Brothers, The Four Aces, the top-tier performers.
Working there as a dancer was a notch below Broadway, but still a win—and the pay was solid. I made $100 a week, which kept me there almost a year, from just before Thanksgiving to Labor Day the next year.
Photograph: Center stage boy dancers Robert Rayow (left) and Teak Lewis (right) frame showgirl, Terre des Femmes production, the Latin Quarter nightclub, New York, NY, 1968. Courtesy Robert Rayow. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Helping George with auditions for the Latin Quarter was an education, too. I learned that for the semi-nude and nude performers, there were very strict guidelines. In New York, even the nudes had to wear pasties—unlike in other places. And when it came to hiring, it didn’t matter your size as much as your stance—everything had to point straight ahead. It was about illusion, more than exposure.
Portrait: Teak Lewis, location unknown, c. 1960s. Image subject to copyright laws. Courtesy Teak Lewis. Please do not appropriate.
I used to get off the train at 50th Street and walk right into the heart of Times Square. The stage entrance for us at the Latin Quarter was right on Broadway, just next to the Dollar Tie Shop. You’d walk up a flight of stairs, then down a long corridor lined with doors. Some of those doors were for the headliner, others for the chorus boys and the girls, so that people couldn’t just wander in by mistake. At the end of the corridor were double doors that led onto the stage. Once you were through those, you were actually in the club. Otherwise, you were just out in the hallways.
I don’t think I was there during the so-called “dangerous” Times Square years. I think I was there during the Golden Age of Broadway. It really was a wonderful time. I always wished I’d gotten into a Broadway show, but things didn’t go that way for me back then.
The original owner of the Latin Quarter, Lou Walters, had sold the building and the rights to a couple. The woman would come around with different choreographers, I think partly to intimidate us. One day, she brought in two people and introduced me to one of them—Bob Fournier. I looked at him and said, “Were you in the Air Force in Topeka, Kansas?” And he said, “Yes.” I told him I’d been stationed there too, for my last six months.
Anyway, Bob called up again about a week later. He was holding auditions for a nightclub show at the El San Juan Hotel in Puerto Rico. I got the job. The show was called the Tropicoro—classic “tits and feathers.” We rehearsed in New York at a studio in Brooklyn, then all flew to Puerto Rico and stayed at the hotel.
Originally, the contract was for one month, with options. But the hotel kept us for four months because the show was such a hit. They only let us go when Sammy Davis Jr. was booked for the New Year’s show. Years later, I went back to Puerto Rico with my friend Dennis. The place was packed, but when I mentioned I’d been part of that show, they snapped their fingers and gave me a table at ringside. That’s how well we were remembered.
When we came back to New York, I didn’t know what was next. They were trying to book the show in Vegas and meet with Lee Guber—he was married to Barbara Walters at one point. We actually ran into him at a movie theater. He came walking up the aisle, saw me, and said, “Hi Oscar,” because that’s what he knew me as. My friends were stunned. They asked, “You know him?” I said, “No, they know me.”
Scrapbook detail: Fiddler program collage from Fiddler on the Roof national tour, 1973. Image subject to copyright laws. Courtesy Teak Lewis. Please do not appropriate.
After that, I joined the bus and truck tour of Fiddler on the Roof. Annie Reinking [Ann Reinking] was in that company—her very first show. She understudied the three daughters, even though she towered over them. I was one of the four bottle dancers. We even had our caricatures done in the newspaper. I also understudied the role of Mordcha the Innkeeper. When we opened in Los Angeles, the new guy hired for the role wasn’t ready, so I went on.
After a year with Fiddler, I quit. I’d had enough. I took my mother to Spain to visit my brother. It was a lovely trip. He took time off and showed her the south of Spain, which she’d never seen. At one point, I took a side trip by myself to Tangier, with the plan to meet my mother back in Paris at the airport. So that’s what we did. But the night before I get to Madrid, saw in the paper an ad for a George Reich show. So I got dressed up and went over there to find George. And so we started talking and he asked what I was doing there. Oh, I told him that I had left a Fiddler and was here with family. He said, you speak Spanish, don’t you? I said, yes. And he knew I spoke French. He asked me if I would consider taking out a show, another company. And I said, yeah, sure, why not. He said, Great. You can go back to New York to audition girls. He liked tall girls, if possible.
So, I returned to New York. I found two, three girls. One of them, I may say, went into the original Chorus Line and went into it until they went to California and she had an accident. I went back, recommended these three girls. He said, okay, send him telegrams and tickets. In the meantime, we talked about what we were going to do. And of course, we’re doing the same numbers that we were doing at the Latin Quarter. We did add a new number. It was supposed to be a Jean Harlow number. I had six girls, plus my girl lead, a male singer and two boy dancers. And myself. That was the company, of course, I didn’t realize it until much, much later, but my billing the ads read, “Tea Klewis.”
The name of the production finally was Flesh. We toured all over Europe, Portugal, Italy, Germany, Greece, Egypt. And these were all month stays at all of these places.
Scrapbook page detail: International Tour of Flesh! production ads & luggage tags & tickets. Image subject to copyright laws. Courtesy Teak Lewis. Please do not appropriate.
When I got back to the States, I stumbled into an audition George Reich was holding. He saw me and said, “Oh, you’re back?” I said yes. “You want to work?” “Yes.” “You’re hired.” Just like that. He sent me to Freeport in the Bahamas to replace the lead dancer at the casino there. I was also the company manager, responsible for everything—laundry, transportation, the works. Still only made $100 a week.
After a few months—maybe five—I asked for a raise. I said, “I want $125.” He came back and said the best they could do was $120. I held my ground. $125 or nothing. They wouldn’t budge, so I did something I’d never done before: I walked out. For $2.50 a day, I walked away from the job. I left right after the Saturday night show, got on a plane Sunday morning, and went to Disneyland.
After that, I went to North Carolina to work with my old friend Eddie Green. We’d worked together in Li’l Abner years earlier. Sometimes when I was out of work, he’d hire me to help out at his parents’ art gallery—painting walls, little things, just to keep me going. Now he offered me $300 a week, plus room, to be his assistant. I had to be up at 8 a.m. to vacuum the store and be on call for whatever he needed. I did it all.
I took off my dancing shoes that Saturday night and never put them back on.
While in North Carolina, I worked as an assistant in an art gallery and gift shop—one of the first year-round Christmas stores. It was beautifully curated, everything displayed individually rather than packed away in boxes. When the cook left, I offered to step in temporarily, but it turned into a permanent thing. I started preparing meals every day, doing the shopping, cooking, and eating with them. Eventually, the owner asked me to manage a restaurant he wanted to open nearby. I told him I didn’t know anything about restaurants, but if he was serious, I’d need to go to school.
Scrapbook page detail: Lil’ Abner program cover, 1959. Image subject to copyright laws. Courtesy Teak Lewis. Please do not appropriate.
That’s how I ended up back in New York, enrolling in a two-year course at New York City Community College in Brooklyn. I studied restaurant and hotel management, and cooking was part of the curriculum. I learned how to handle everything—cash registers, closing out hotel books at night, the works. But after two years, I realized I couldn’t go back to the rhythm of North Carolina life—busy in summer and dead in winter.
Thanks to my professors’ recommendation, I landed my first job in food service at American Express. It wasn’t a typical job interview; the head chef invited me to his home, where he taught classes. I helped him out one evening, and that was enough to prove I knew what I was doing. I started out making salads and desserts for the company’s senior executives—not for general employees, but the top-tier vice presidents. Over time, as others left, I was given more responsibility and moved up through the kitchen hierarchy.
After a while, they brought in a new head cook, and I saw that my chances for advancement had hit a ceiling. I left and went to work for a fashion house called Sally G., where I cooked for the staff and executives. Word got around, and other employees from nearby businesses started coming in to eat too. It reached a point where the company’s bank warned them to shut down the kitchen before they started losing money. When they did, I was out of a job.
I dropped by American Express to say hello to the person now in charge of the kitchen, Danielle, who told me they were moving into a new building on Vesey Street. They needed someone to manage four executive dining rooms and asked if I could do it. I said yes. She had me start as a waiter to learn the routines—who wanted what, how they liked things done. One executive, for example, refused to use teaspoons and expected a box of cigars with his coffee. I documented everything, so when we hired more staff, I could train them accordingly. It was important to know who sat where: lower-ranked employees got wall seats, higher-ups got the windows. I had to memorize it all.
Portrait: Teak Lewis, unknown location, c. 1970s. Image subject to copyright laws. Courtesy Teak Lewis. Please do not appropriate.
Eventually, I was given an assistant. She was excellent—did everything I asked and more. But my boss didn’t like her, and when she pressured me to fire her, I refused. I told her, “If you want her gone, you fire her. You’re the boss.” She didn’t. Instead, she kept badgering me, and I finally quit.
I took nine months off and went to the country house Dennis and I had put together. When I came back to the city, I applied for a night manager position at Lincoln Center and got it. The woman who hired me liked that I spoke both English and Spanish. I worked in the dining areas of Avery Fisher Hall—initially in the Allegro and Adagio rooms, which later became Panino and Café Vienna. Café Vienna started as a dessert and coffee spot, then transitioned into a buffet. Panino offered a full menu.
I was often stationed at the podium, managing reservations and walk-ins. For regulars, I made them feel at home. I’d spot them in line and say, “Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so, your table is ready,” and they loved that. They felt comfortable. Joanne Woodward used to come in often. I’d seat her in a corner where no one else would be near her, so she could talk in peace. I didn’t try to make anyone feel important—I wanted them to feel at ease, like they were coming home.
Eventually, I started training staff, mostly women working night shifts. Many of them landed better jobs and came back to thank me. But the stress was mounting. I had been diagnosed with AIDS, and I couldn’t handle the pace any longer. So when I turned 65, I handed in my notice. People asked why I was retiring, and I said simply, “Because I can.”
I danced for 15 years, then worked in food service for a little over 20. Years later, I got into the Actors Fund Home in Englewood, New Jersey. I’ve been here now for over a decade.
I feel pretty good, but I’m living with kidney disease, and I go in for dialysis three times a week—Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. But every single morning when I wake up, I decide that it’s going to be a good day. And I make it a good day. I don’t let anything interfere with that.
Photograph: Visiting dancers Adelle Gordon Cohen (left) & Margo Mayor with Teak Lewis, movie matinee event hosted by Teak Lewis, the Actors Fund Home, Englewood, NJ, 2019. Image subject to copyright law. Courtesy John Hemmer Archive. Please do not appropriate.
When I first arrived here, someone mentioned there wasn’t much to do at night. So I brought out my collection of DVDs—mostly theater-related. I’ve always loved the history of the stage, so I started showing programs that explored where theater came from, who built it, and how it evolved.
A lot of people don’t realize that without the Jewish community, we wouldn’t have what we think of as American musical theater. Among the greats, there were only two major gentile composers: Cole Porter and George M. Cohan—he wrote “You’re a Grand Old Flag,” remember? There’s a statue of him right on 46th Street in New York. The rest? All Jewish. And brilliant.
I usually introduce the films, give a little spiel about what we’re about to see. Some nights I keep it short, especially if the movie is two hours—people start drifting off around the halfway mark to catch Jeopardy or head back to their rooms. But I always end up with a loyal few who stick around. Lately, I’ve been screening musicals from the ’40s and ’50s. They don’t make ’em like that anymore.
And then when I’m by myself, I knit. And once a year, I have a sale and I sell my product. By holiday season I have many scarves and hats ready and people seem to like to buy for family, friends and themselves. I knit all year long. Even when I was dancing, I was knitting between acts.
Thinking back on my dance career, there were two high points that meant the world to me. One was working for Gower Champion—he had such elegance and energy in his movement. The other was dancing with Eleanor Powell. If I’m ever feeling low, I put on that old clip—Fred Astaire and Eleanor Powell dancing to “Begin the Beguine” in Broadway Melody of 1940. Their timing, their counterpoint—it’s exquisite. Watching that lifts me right out of any slump. It reminds me of what I’ve been a part of, and how lucky I was to be in that world.
I don’t have time for depression. Not at this stage. I’m turning 90 in April. And wouldn’t you know, I met someone here whose birthday is the same day—so we’re planning a bash. I have things to celebrate.
Photograph: Teak Lewis and videographer Nicolas Jenkins apply microphone in preparation for oral history interview, the Actors Fund Home, Englewood, NJ, 2024. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Of course, it wasn’t always easy. The hardest part of being a professional dancer was getting the job. Some people are natural performers; they can sell it at an audition. I was more of a thinker—I needed to know the step, know where I was supposed to be. Then, once I had it, then I could sell it. That made auditions tough though. But I’ll tell you this—people I worked for always hired me back. Because once I was in, they knew my work. They knew I would show up, learn the choreography, and bring it to life on stage.
Looking back, I wouldn’t trade any of it. I’ve said that if I finish writing a book, it would be called, “With Few Regrets.”
This article and oral history video was created from interviews conducted with Teak Lewis at the Actors Fund Home in two sessions during 2024. Please check out related articles Teak Lewis Remembers Lawrence Merritt and Supper Club Recipes: Teak Lewis
Photographic print: Mona Crawford, headshot, New York, NY, c. 1950s/1960s. Courtesy Mona Crawford. Image is subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
The 1943 Miss Delaware, who received her pageant title at age 14 after entering the competition on a dare, would go to dance and sing in many nightclubs around the country, appear on television, as well as The Great White Way.
Mona Crawford, a native of Wilmington, Delaware, remembers an inspiration to perform at the early age of 7. Later, as a working model in New York City, Mona was first approached by choreographer Boots McKenna outside the Brill Building while waiting for a lunch date. McKenna was looking for dancers for a production at The Clover Club on Biscayane Boulevard in Miami, Florida.
Jack Goldman was owner. The Clover Club was one of the top supper clubs in the US and also one of the first major nightclubs to employ and showcase Black performers, including Cab Calloway. Stars such as Patti Page and Johnny Ray also performed. Goldman who became a famous impresario, brought the act The Vagabonds to the club. They became a major attraction and enjoyed a long stint.
Paper cover photo souvenir: The Clover Club, Miami, Florida, c. 1940s. Courtesy John Hemmer Archive.
Before a modeling and dance career took off, at age 14, Mona entered the Miss Delaware contest on a dare and won the title. Reportedly, “While the Miss America people were not happy with their underage contestant, they allowed her to compete—with the understanding she wouldn’t be able to win anything.”
After arriving in New York City, Mona studied dance with June Taylor and acting with Stella Adler. Mona recalls June Taylor always wearing fanciful hats. She would rarely dance but gave instruction from her chair. “We rehearsed for June Taylor in a nightclub – I’m not sure where or which one – but she loved hats. She was always wearing a different hat. Jackie Gleason would come and watch. The June Taylor Dancers performed on his show. June Taylor was Jackie’s sister-in-law. He was married to Marilyn Taylor Gleason. “
As a dancer, her career would take Mona to Boston, New York and Palm Island, Miami Beach, Florida. “My sister Beverly Crawford was a showgirl, and I was a dancer. We performed in one production together at the Boston Latin Quarter nightclub location. I went on to perform at the Latin Quarter in New York City [in the production Folies Parisiennes] and Miami. Beverly went to New York also but got into modeling. She invented the practice of modeling for lunchtime cafe goers. Mainly women who would lunch together at upscale restaurants in Manhattan. The models would walk around the tables, displaying the latest fashions while patrons ate their lunch.” One place was the well known The Sign of the Dove, a fine dining restaurant on the Upper East Side along 3rd Avenue. Later Beverly moved to Israel where she brought cafe modeling to the famous King David Hotel in Jerusalem, Israel, which has hosted many royalty and other public figures over the decades.
Paper program: Mona Crawford and other performers featured, Beaumont Petroleum Club, c. 1960s, Beaumont, Texas. Courtesy Mona Crawford. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
“I performed at many nightclubs. Iceland and La Martinique in New York City come to mind, and others across the country. Grossingers in the Catskills, Golden Door in Rochester, New York, Petroleum Club, Beaumont, Texas, Balinese Room in Galveston, Texas, Le Bistro in Atlantic City, New Jersey. There was also Fontainebleau and El Patio in Miami Beach, Florida, and Chez Paree in Montreal, Canada. Others along with way.”
Photographic print: Publicity portrait, Mona Crawford, New York, NY, c. 1950s/1950s. Courtesy Mona Crawford. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Iceland was popular in the 1940s. It was located at 1680 Broadway, between 52nd and 53rd Street. The restaurant-theatre staged regular entertainment and its menu offered Scandinavian dishes by way of “Our Famous Smorgasbord Dinner” priced at $1.49 in 1946.
Postcard: Exterior Golden Key Club, New York, NY, 1940s. Courtesy John Hemmer Archive.
La Martinique was a small club that was part of Hotel Martinique which that operated from the 1940s through the early 1950s before the restaurant was replaced by another establishment. It was located in the basement of 57 West 57th Street. The nightclub was owned by Dario Goldfarb and Jim Vernon. There were stand-up comics, a lead, and a chorus line. The club brought in many famous names to perform including Danny Kaye and Zero Mostel.
Mona remembers, “There was a place called Gold Key Club. It wasn’t a nightclub. It was in a 3 or 4 story townhouse at 26 West 56 Street. You had to have a gold key to get in. One night Judy Garland and Frank Sinatra were there. I used to visit a friend at the Gold Key Club. He was a gangster. His name was Tony Bender {birth name, Anthony C. Strollo [1899 – disappeared 1962]. I’d sit and have coffee with him. His wife was Jewish and so am I, so he was kind of protective of me. Tony once he told me he was going to turn state evidence to protect his children, but he disappeared before that happened. I guess someone found him out.
When I danced at The Quarter, Lou Walters wanted me to go to join one of his productions in Vegas, but I would have had to be topless, and I decided that wasn’t for me.”
As a dancer, singer and actress, Mona toured with comedian’s Ben Blue and Sid (Syd) Slate.
Singer, Musician, Actor, Ben Blue (1901-1975) began his career in vaudeville. By the 1940s he was making his way into Hollywood films in different comedic roles. Blue grew to be a top attraction at nightclubs around the country. Known as the “sad-faced comedian”, Blue was a pantomime in the early years of his career. Later he performed on many television shows.
“I did a lot of skits – singing – that sort of thing. Ben let everyone think we were having an affair! I didn’t care. I knew he loved his wife and he never touched me.” Sid [sometimes credited as Syd] was a Broadway, film and television performer from the 1930s through the 1960s.
Mona’s television work includes appearances on the variety and talk shows of the 1940s and ‘50s such as The Celeste Holmes Show, The Milton Berle Show, and The Jimmy Durante Show.
Photographic print: Vikki LaMotta, Jimmy Durante, Mona Crawford, backstage, Fontainebleau, Miami Beach, Florida, c. 1950s. Courtesy Mona Crawford. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
“The choreographer, Doug Coudy, from the Copa also choreographed some of these shows. I can’t recall which, it could have been The Jimmy Durante Show too. Doug was a Broadway dancer and choreographer.”
Behind the camera, Mona acted as Associate Producer on the Emmy award-winning Ladies of the Press Eleanor Roosevelt episode. “Rhoda Diamond and I were producers on the show which was aired on Channel 13. It was an interview conducted by Faye Emmerson who won the Emmy for this interview with Eleanor Roosevelt. It was something”, Mona recounts.
When asked about her fondest memory of her career in entertainment, Mona says, “Being on stage in New York City with Robert Preston. He was the lead in Ben Franklin in Paris, a Broadway show that wasn’t around for long, but a great cast. I was thrilled to be part of it. Robert Preston was a gentleman and very nice person and so was his wife.” The show opened at the Lunt-Fontanne Theatre and was directed and choreographed by Michael Kidd.
“Throughout my career I met some wonderful people. I have been fortunate.”
Today Mona enjoys her life in Florida. This story is based on a phone interview between the John Hemmer Archive and Mona Crawford in late 2023 and early 2024.
Photograph: Portrait, Teak Lewis, Circa 1950s. Courtesy Teak Lewis. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
I met Larry in 1999, the year that I retired. I knew who he was all along since he was the guy who always got the jobs that I wanted. He was tall, he had a good singing voice, and he was a hell of a dancer. More you couldn’t ask for.
After twenty-five years or so I had retired. I had time on my hands and started looking for a group called Dancers Over 40. I found them and went to their very next meeting. It was the first meeting of the year for Dancer’s Over 40 and there we were sitting in a circle. Chris Nelson, the president of the organization had asked the question, why were we there. The answer was always almost the same and that was that we were looking for family, people that we had worked with, people that had been part of our lives.
Across from me was a very attractive gentleman, totally gray hair, tall and with a slight limp. He was introduced to me as Lawrence Merritt. He later explained that he was now working as an actor and he felt that “Lawrence” gave a little more dignity to the name, but that I could call him “Larry.”
Scrapbook page: Collage of actors Lawrence Merritt and Melissa Brown, Little Foxes production, Albany Civic Theatre, Albany, NY, 1997-1998. Courtesy the Lawrence Merritt Estate. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Larry’s answer [during the DO40 meet up] had been almost the same as mine, so when the meeting was over he came to me and we started talking. Talking about our careers and we found that there were lots of similarities. We agreed to meet again and perhaps take in a movie and a bite to eat. That weekend we took in a James Bond movie and went across the street for a meal. It turned out that we both had gone into the food business after we stopped dancing. We both criticized the movie and when we were tired of that, we criticized the food. It was such fun, and in talking more, I found out we had both worked in Europe. We both knew the same contact in Paris, and both knew the same joints there. We had such a great time that we agreed to meet again and that was the start of a wonderful and long friendship.
Photograph: Portrait, Lawrence Merritt circa 1950s. Courtesy the Lawrence Merritt Estate. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
The occasion came that Larry knew someone who was going out to The Lillian Booth Actors Home [The Actors Fund Home] in Englewood New Jersey. He asked if I was interested in making the trip. I said, “Yes”, and we went out. We liked it so much that the following year we went again, but this time we each picked up applications. I filled out and gathered all the paperwork required and called up to make an appointment with the Director of Admissions. Nine months later I got a call saying that a room was available, and was I interested.
Lawrence was a good actor and was getting a lot of little gigs. I took the available room at The Actors Home, but Larry held out. Every time he came to see me, and that was quite often, we would discuss his joining me at the Home. He always had an excuse as to why he wasn’t ready, and over time I began to notice his legs were beginning to give him problems. Eventually I greeted him at the door with a wheelchair and wheeled him around. Then came a repeated period of time when I would not hear from Larry, only to find out from someone else that he had been in the hospital for one thing or another. That started to happen more and more and my heart began to sink, not knowing sometimes where he was, and with the feeling that this was the beginning of something worse.
I felt bad that there was nothing that I could do to help him. Then the last time that we spoke his voice was weak. And so it came to pass that when I got the phone call, and heard a friend say, “I have bad news“, I said, “I know, I know.”
I will always remember Lawrence, and besides my own memories, there are several videos of him on YouTube that I can always watch. Him dancing with Anne Bancroft or Ann-Margret, among others, and see the marvel that was my friend, Larry Merritt.
Photograph: Dancer Lawrence Merritt performs along with fellow casemates in Casino De Paris, Paris, France, 1963. Courtesy the Lawrence Merritt Estate. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Photograph: Portrait/Headshot, Carla Meyer Arndt, Latin Quarter showgirls, c. 1960s. Image provided by Darlene Larson. Courtesy Carla Meyer Arndt. Special thanks to Paul Hartis. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Carla Meyer Arndt was born in Elizabeth, New Jersey to a Marge and Carl Meyer. Marge worked for Prudential Insurance in Newark, while Carla’s father was employed in the Garment District of Manhattan. As an adolescent, Carla assisted a dance instructor in the instructor’s basement of their local housing development. She would continue to help the dance teacher while babysitting for families in her neighborhood. Upon graduating from high school she worked at Prudential. It was in Newark where Carla began entering beauty pageants. Her first contest won her 5th place. The next moved her to 2nd place out of 54 contestants. Soon she would take the title of “Miss Tall Doll” at Rockaway Beach, New York.
During this time Carla studied dance at the June Taylor Dance Studio in New York City. While there, she learned of a June Taylor Dancers audition, but when too few dancers turned out for the call, Carla found through a trade paper a listing for Lou Walters’ Latin Quarter. Carla auditioned at the nightclub for Donn Arden. She was asked back twice before telling Arden, “I’m taking time off from my job to come to these auditions”. He took a liking to her and said to come back tomorrow. At 6 feet in height, and 19 years of age, Carla became a Latin Quarter showgirl.
Magazine page: Carla Meyer Arndt, performing at the Latin Quarter nightclub, printed in periodical as a Kodak Kodachrome promotion, New York, NY, c. mid-1960s.
In 1962, Carla performed at the Latin Quarter and stayed through 1965 before leaving to get married and start a family. Venus Touch (1962) was her first production, produced and directed by Donn Arden, costumed by Bill Campbell. “This was a wonderful time in my life. We were like family. There was no competition.“
“The band was up high on stage and there were stairs on either side. The dancers and showgirls entered by descending the stairs. Then the stairs were pulled back when the audience would take over the stage for dancing after the show. When I performed there on New Years Eve in 1963 and ’64, I stood on the top tier of the stage holding the “6” [of “1963” and “1964”] when the clock struck midnight.”
Photograph photocopy: Carla Meyer Arndt, Wonder Woman Costume, Kmart, Point Pleasant, NJ, c. 1990s. Image provided by Darlene Larson. Courtesy Carla Meyer Arndt. Special thanks to Paul Hartis. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Some of the headliners who made appearances the during her time the Quarter include Sophie Tucker, Eddie Albert, Van Johnson, Norm Crosby, Rip Taylor, Jack Durant, Francois Szony and Nancy Claire, the Barry Sisters, and others.“New York City was incredible”, Carla remembers. “All show people. Those of us who worked at night in showbiz – we owned the city then.”
Carla left the Quarter to marry in 1965, became a homemaker and shortly thereafter a mother to son, Carl. Her second marriage came in 1991, after meeting future her husband Rudy. For 38 years, Rudy worked as a Guidance Director for the Toms River High School, as well as Chair for the First Financial Credit Union in Tom River, New Jersey. “Rudy passed in 2018. A lovely man. He was the light at the end of the tunnel for me.”
Eventually Carla worked at their local Kmart where she enjoyed dressing up as Wonder Woman for Halloween, greeting customers who still remember her as the superhero’s doppelgänger. Years after her work at Kmart, Carla recalls an older gentleman approaching her at a grocery store. “I remember you,” he said. Carla replied, “I am the Kmart lady.” “No,” the man responded, “you’re Wonder Woman.”
This story is based on a phone interview between the John Hemmer Archive and Carla Meyer Arndt in February of 2023.
It is with deep sadness that while finalizing this article and working with Lawrence to document his story and memorabilia, we lost a great dancer. A wonderful friend and storyteller with a quick sense of timing and incredible experiences, Lawrence entertained as many while off stage as he did on. The John Hemmer Archive, and other organizations, such as Dancers Over 40, will ensure his legacy continues. Please keep reading for Part III of this article series on a gifted performer who will be greatly missed.
If you missed earlier installments, please visit these link to read the full story in chronological order:
To read Part I, https://www.johnhemmerarchive.org/a-dancers-life-meet-lawrence-merritt-part-i/
To read Part II, https://www.johnhemmerarchive.org/a-dancers-life-meet-lawrence-merritt-part-ii/
Part III:
Scrapbook Page: Walton Hall postcard, newspaper clipping, Lawrence Merritt partnering Ginger Rogers, London Palladium, UK. Courtesy Lawrence Merritt Estate. Images subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
JHA: At this time you meet Larry Fuller in London after partnering Ginger Rogers at the Palladium. Take me to this point in time. What happens now?
LM: Okay. Larry Fuller – Into the Woods, Sweeney Todd, that’s our [Harold] Prince. I said, “What the hell are you doing? You’re in London?” He said, “Well I worked in New York with this chap and now I have his flat and his sports car. And I’m here doing research on a new show I’m going to be doing with Harold Prince. Based on the life story of Eva Peron. Beginning of a journey, okay. And you’re closing tomorrow, and I’ve been invited this weekend to go up to a place called Walton Hall.” Walton Hall at the time was owned and run by Danny La Rue.
Postcard: Photograph, Walton Hall, Warwickshire, United Kingdom, unknown date. Courtesy John Hemmer Archive. Image subject to copyright law. Please do not appropriate.
Danny La Rue was the most famous female impersonator in England. He had his own club at one point, Noel Coward, Marlon Dietrich, among others used to go there. Okay, so we get in a sports car Larry has, we join up with a friend of mine that I met, who was one of the writers on Dames at Sea with Ann-Margret – television special. Don’t ask. So, we’re going up the highway – the super-highway, we make a right turn where all of a sudden we’re in fields, with the stones and forests and sheep. We took a corner and there’s this place Walton Hall. It was like Downtown Abbey, a little smaller. With its own chapel, a stone bridge, cattails, swans, okay. I said, “This is like we’re in some technicolor musical.” So, here’s Larry Merritt staying for the weekend. First night, we go to Stratford. Thank you, Harold Prince. Center seats in the mezzanine for the very famous Peter Brook production of Midsummer Night’s Dream. I didn’t know. I wasn’t that into acting then, as an actor. We see that at the interval, very lah-di-dah. We have drinks with the theatre manager in his office. Back to Walton Hall. The next night we go to Coventry, to see Danny La Rue’s show.
It’s fabulous. He’s amazing. He’s got a chorus and his boyfriend played the piano. Amazing. For the last number he says, “Ladies and gentlemen…lights up, please.” Larry Fuller and I are dressed to the teeth. I buy a velvety new jacket on bow tie, whatever. We’re like five rows back from the stage on the right. He goes, “Ladies and gentlemen, a very well-known famous American dancer is here who just closed at the Palladium with Ginger Rogers. Please stand up.” So, up I go.
Paper note: List of notable Evita reception guests at Chasen’s, Los Angeles, CA, written by Lawrence Merritt. Courtesy Lawrence Merritt Estate. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Danny goes on, “And we have a famous American choreographer, Larry Fuller. Please stand up.” Okay. “And ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure you’ll know the next person. Liberace.” And there’s Liberace up in the balcony. He was staying at the Walton Hall too. We had no idea. We get into the cars, all of us go back… Danny and his boyfriend who played the piano says, ” We’re hungry.” It’s after a show. It’s late. So, they called one of the chefs, and a waitress and there weren’t any issues. They wouldn’t have anything huge, but there were like twelve of us including Liberace, and Larry, and me, and Danny, and a few other people we went to the dining room and had food. It was wonderful.
And then I had been to LA and Evita opens. I had seen the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion production. Patti [LuPone] was out that night, but I saw it. And a few months later Larry Fuller calls, he says, “Hi, I want you to be the lead dancer at Evita. We’re doing the first national company. We’re going to rehearse out in LA and we’re going to open the Shubert Theater in Century City. Do you want to do it?” I was like, yeah. He said, “Well, come on so-and-so day. You don’t have to audition dear. You’ll be lead dancer, just come dressed up cute. You’ll meet the musical director.” I asked, “Who’s that?” He replied, “Rene Wiegert“ who had done Dear World or Pivot, one of those.
And so, I show up and the boys had auditioned that morning and they’d gone to lunch, and they’re sweaty and nasty and I’m standing there. A voice said, “Lawrence could you stand up? Boys line up according to height next to Lawrence.” So, I was 43 and I was the lead dancer in Evita. And I just studied the role of Magaldi. And that would be my last Off-Broadway show, whatever. I got hurt on stage, however. Anyway, opening night was at Chasen’s. You went through the restaurant to this special room and there’s Harold Prince dancing with Lauren Bacall. In the restaurant was Michael York, Rita Hayworth, Charles Bronson and Jean Simmons. It was incredible.
You were injured in Evita. What happened?
Evita. Yes, the understudy girl, we did the Tango, and I did a big overhead lift, and my regular partner was out, and the understudy girl had done it several times. So, I went to lift her over my head, and she took a wrong preparation, and she was coming down as I was struggling and it tore my back out and it was like, “Okay bye.” I’ll just take my workman’s comp settlement. Luckily at that point, I had already started catering, another successful reincarnation, or whatever. Because for the life of a dancer, being the lead dancer at 43-
That’s a long run
Yep. That was a long career. That’s 22 years.
Scrapbook page: Invitation to Evita, Patti LuPone, Shubert Theatre, Los Angeles, CA, 1980. Courtesy Lawrence Merritt Estate. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
What was that transition like for you? Your whole life and most of your relations were the world of dance. I imagine it as such a unique and immersive lifestyle that a dancer can’t just turn off like a switch.
I never thought of the future. Dancers do “now”. They don’t do “tomorrow”. [Some performers] go well, “Let’s put some money away for a house and we’re going to be in the play for the next ten years, or can I do the opera for twenty and that’ll pay for our retirement”. We didn’t think that way. And I’m sure people would get tired of hearing, “Well it was the golden age in musicals, and it was because you didn’t have Disney, you didn’t have to make sure you made your millions back with 40 producers.” People took chances on ideas though.
I’m stating the obvious here, but live entertainment has changed dramatically between then and now. It will never be what it was.
No, it never will. I mean, I go to see shows and I would see dancing. By then I was out of that loop, so I didn’t know all those names, but I would see things. It’s like my God they’re just extraordinary the things that they do now. The tricks, but everybody has a trick. I was limber. I could do the Can-can. Somebody else could spin. Somebody else could sing a higher note or whatever. And so, you look at those few and oh my God, your technique’s just amazing, but you are boring as hell.
Back then, we got jobs and we worked all the time because we were performers. I worked all the time because people like Michael Bennett and Bob Fosse knew my work and I didn’t have to audition for them. Eventually they called me and asked if I would be free to do a special or… and that felt wonderful. And I never took it for granted. Ever.
Scrapbook page: Invitation to Evita and post reception at Chasen’s, Patti LuPone, Los Angeles, CA, 1980. Courtesy Lawrence Merritt Estate. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
I knew that I was 6’1″. I had a pretty good face, the nose was straight, my eyes weren’t crossed, I was tall enough to make the leading lady look good and they paid me a lot of money for that. But the nature of the game is that there’s always somebody behind you biting at your ass, who kicks higher, has a better leg, who sings better, who’s cuter, so what do you do? When somebody asks you if you’re free, you say, “Yes.” And you keep putting one foot ahead of the other. That’s all. Try to keep learning, stay on top of your game, and I have had this blessed career that I could never ever have imagined. Places I’ve been, to people I’ve met, the things I did.
Things kept falling into place for you. You built a reputation based on your work and in the process, built relationships.
Exactly. That’s how it worked. A friend of mine was the Peter Gennaro of the Ed Sullivan Show. Fine. There were four men and four women who were contracted usually. Whenever they needed a fifth boy, I was one of the first boys they called. I did a lot of embarrassing numbers on the Ed Sullivan Show, but it was over at nine o’clock live. You’ll get your check next week, you have tonight and all day tomorrow off and then Tuesday we’ll see if we need you. Bobbie Gentry, Peggy Lee, Tiny Tim and Miss Vicki, and Roy Rogers. Dionne Warwick, Carol Lawrence. They were all there.
I have stories, you know. I’m doing my memoir. I adored Ann Bancroft. Same with Ann-Margret. We [Ann-Margret] did the act and then we did it at The Concord and we did it one day at Montreal Expo and flew back and in the middle of that, we were doing Dames at Sea. During the productions we left the Dames at Sea rehearsals because she was booked at The Concord. There were three of us, or two of us, or four of us, or whatever, that were going to just do backup. Roger [Roger Smith, Ann-Margret’s husband] and Allan Carr and Ann-Margaret, and the chauffeur got into a limo on Broadway and took off to the West Side Highway.
My partner and I were in another car. So we’re driving up the West Side Highway, there at the divider is the limousine with the hood up and there’s Roger, Allan and the limo driver standing on the Island. We stopped, and it’s like, “Okay, well, come on.”
Ann-Margaret and Roger Smith sat in the back of this Chevy Impala. Roger had white pants and white patent leather Guccis and this chartreuse lace Tom Jones shirt. The big open sleeves and the huge collar looking like a tablecloth at a Puerto Rican wedding. And Ann-Margaret’s in shorts, sunglasses, with her hair stringy because she didn’t have hair pieces then. We get to The Concord and it’s like a concentration camp in reverse. There’s a chain link fence all the way around the property and a guard house with the black and white thing. The toilets I’ve played.
Scrapbook page: Publication clippings and photographs, Dames at Sea, NBC-TV special, Lawrence Merritt (Center) with production dancers, Ann-Margret, Los Angeles, CA, 1971. Courtesy Lawrence Merritt Estate. Images subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
What’s the title of your memoir?
Paris on the G-string.
And I have pictures of my entire career. From the time I was 17 at Kennebunkport [theatre community in Maine] to the last play I did.
When you transitioned out of dancing, you got into –
Catering with my partner at the time. “God, you guys you always cook well when we come to your house. You should cater.” I was like, “Okay, we’re catering.” First party we did was for 125 people, I had worked in a flower shop, so, “Okay. We’ll do flowers.” We waited until the day before, shopped and started cooking. And we did twelve appetizers in this big house with waterlilies in the hot tub pool. And it’s like, “That’s pretty stupid. We’ll never do that again.” But we used to rent chairs and tables and, “Oh, you’re the bride, you want pink tablecloths with pink flowers, and you’re going to have ten tables for ten people, and we’ll rent that. And I’ll do a $40 arrangement on each table in pinks and lavenders and whatever. And then I’ll do like a $250, $300 floral piece for the buffet.” We ended up getting quite big. We made the LA Times, Sunday magazine, front cover layout. We did the food styling and got the credit. We did all the food on the front cover picture and all the stuff on the inside.
The car accident happened two years later. I ended up with a spinal cord injury, which is why I walk with a cane now. Spinal cord injury, ended up in the spinal cord injury ward and this young girl said, “There’s this place down here in Anaheim, near Disneyland where they treat spinal cord injuries.” I was like, “Okay.” The ambulance took me down there and it ended up being the best spinal cord injury facility in the state of California. Many therapists in the East, also know the place for spinal cord injury, head injury and children’s arthritis.
Do you want to say anything else about the accident? You were out West.
Yes, the injury happened when out West. Drunk, stoned, hit a parked car, passenger seat, car folded, I folded. But I was too drunk and stoned to know what was going on. I ended up in the hospital for two months, instead of three. Four months with full body brace. And then I had a shorter one, and then I had the rubber collar. I got rid of it a couple of months later and started with the crutches and leg braces. Those are really a pain in the butt. I was doing therapy at the hospital.
Anyway, we were catering a cookout at a ranch a week after I came home from the hospital. I had the body brace for four months because they took a piece out of my hip and fused four vertebrae in my neck. My injury’s like Christopher Reeve’s, but his was a complete spinal cord injury and mine was incomplete.
Photographic prints: (Left) Lawrence Merritt personal portraits, c. 1950s. (Right) Lawrence Merritt headshot. c. 1980s. Courtesy Lawrence Merritt Estate. Images subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
After your recovery, which only a dancer’s determination could get through, you also began acting.
I had done a couple of local musicals, whatever. I didn’t really start acting immediately. I mean, you act when you dance but… it’s still different.
At that time, I was thinking about getting out of LA, freeways are like parking lots, drive-by shootings, smog. I had stopped smoking by then. My partner and I decided to find a place. We were both working as chefs. I had gone to cooking school for two years. We went near Burlington [Vermont] where I knew we could both get jobs and he’s like, “You’re drinking an awful lot.” It’s like, “Screw you I’ll stop drinking.” January 10th, 1990.
Scrapbook page: Photographs, Gypsy production, unknown venue, unknown location, 1992. Courtesy Lawrence Merritt Estate. Images subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
You stopped.
I stopped drinking. I have my coin over there. I still go to AA meetings. I’ve been sober for 25 years. I don’t smoke. I don’t drink. I was still working as a chef, relationship ended, Upstate New York, moved down near Poughkeepsie, then I started acting. It’s like, “maybe I’ll retire from cooking and maybe I’ll help somebody make costumes for a tap dance show for something.” I got a part in a play at Skidmore College. This Jacobean Drama was like, “What the hell is that? Oh, like Shakespeare, somebody’s doing Gypsy down there.” Sprayed my hair, applied mascara. “We’ll give you the part of Herbie” No – I did Herbie, but I’m not Herbie, I’m King or John Barrymore or… “. And, it was like, “This is wild. I like this.” And then somebody in AA said, “Wouldn’t it be funny if you ended up back in New York City.” Down the line, around the year 2000 I moved into this place where I live now. I thought, “Can I go back to New York City and see if I can get arrested with the big guys as an actor?”
I’m always positive. I don’t know how I got that. I never had any great sort of burning ambition for this. Like I said, I kept saying yes when, “Could you be in LA for this TV special for three days?” I’d say, “Sure. I’m free. I can be there.”
More recently, I’ve work with a theatre called TBTB, which used to stand for Theatre By The Blind. Years ago, they opened it up to other disabilities, of which I have one, and retitled it Theater Breaking Through Barriers. We did a couple of weeks of five short of one act plays. The play I was in was written by David Henry Hwang, Neil LaBute was a writer, John Guare, Bruce Graham. Tonya Pinkins was in the play, who was then in I think Rasheeda Speaking with Dianne Wiest. And it was very successful.
Photograph: Lawrence Merritt, during On the Town production, Boston, MA, 1971. Courtesy Lawrence Merritt Estate. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
I’d been working with this company doing readings and this and that, and whatever for years now. I was sort of part of their repertory company. There are able-bodied people and disabled people, people with prosthetics, people like me who have a spinal cord injury, or walk with a cane now, people in wheelchairs with MS. All kinds of things.
And because of this reading of this Agatha Christie play, which is called The Unexpected Guest, we did a full production. I got paid a couple of pennies, at The Clurman Theatre on Theatre Row. I played Inspector Thomas, so I whipped out yet again, my English accent, since I’m a big Anglophile and then I’ll go on vacation or something like that.
I’m on the board of Dancers Over 40. I keep as active as I can. I stay involved.
What can I say, despite some unexpected obstacles, life has been a cabaret.
End of Part III
To read Part I, https://www.johnhemmerarchive.org/a-dancers-life-meet-lawrence-merritt-part-i/
To read Part II, https://www.johnhemmerarchive.org/a-dancers-life-meet-lawrence-merritt-part-ii/
The above interview with Lawrence Merritt was conducted in 2015 with the John Hemmer Archive. It was edited with Merritt in 2022 and 2023. Part III of A Dancer’s Life: Meet Lawrence Merritt is the final installment. This article series is dedicated in loving memory of Lawrence Maranville Merritt (1939-2023).
Watch Latin Quarter performers Jean Preece, Juanita Boyle, Teak Lewis, Francine M. Storey, Lawrence Merritt & Darlene Larson reflections, John Hemmer & the Showgirls documentary screening & panel event, Edie Windsor SAGE Center, New York, NY, 2019.
The John Hemmer Archive’s The History of An Era, documents lived experiences of the nightclub era. This is the third installment of a three-part series on performer Sal Angelica.
To read part I, please visit https://www.johnhemmerarchive.org/a-dancers-life-meet-sal-angelica-part-i/
To reference part II, visit https://www.johnhemmerarchive.org/a-dancers-life-meet-sal-angelica-part-ii/
Paper Program: Guys and Dolls production, The Meadows Playhouse, Las Vegas, NV, 1981. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
SA: I am happy to say the 1980s had quieted down for me a bit. I danced in the production, Celebration for Ron Ruge in Guatemala in ’80. Ron was the choreographer on The Frank Rosenthal Show that I worked on a few years earlier.
There was Guys and Dolls in Las Vegas at The Meadows Playhouse. I choreographed and danced in it. That was in ’81. Then Paul Shrier backed out and I stepped in as Harry (all the way from Brooklyn) the Horse. I did Sweet Charity and Oklahoma for the Theatre Arts Association (TASI) at Nevada Theater Guild of Las Vegas. Mary and John Knight were the co-founders of TASI. They were the money and the nicest people that you could ever meet.
I was also involved with the Comprehensive Employment Training Act (CETA) program, choreographing and giving classes. I taught dance and theatre. As I mentioned in part II of this article series, CETA was a government run program that paid artists to take dance classes to help maintain and further their careers.
So, students were actually getting paid to attend the classes and learn a trade. One incident that made me feel bad was that one of the gals, a real smart-ass, showed up for class in shorts, flip flops and her hair in curlers. She was certainly not prepared properly to take a dance class. I asked her if she had other clothes and shoes to dance in. She said, “No”. She only had what she was wearing. I excused her and told her that because of the situation, she would not be paid for the day. Of course, she didn’t like that. I felt bad about the missing out on the money, but it was a good lesson for her to learn. Always be prepared and respect what you are doing, and also the instructor and CETA program that is paying you to do it.
JHA: And following those productions you were in Hot Hawaiian Nights as Assistant Choreographer and Company Manager.
In 1984, my friend Al Gossan asked me to assist him with putting together a show. I stayed with him in Hawaii as we set Hot Hawaiian Nights with a local cast. We then took the show to the Wildcoast Theatre in South Africa, which was actually just south of Margate and over a bridge into the Transkei. The government had given the land back to the black people there and gambling was allowed. We had the best time. The food (briaa) and the people were terrific. The show went over well.
Photographic print: Performers, Hot Hawaiian Nights, 1984, Las Vegas, NV, Transkei, South Africa. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
The manager from The Rennies (comparable to The Deere Co. here) had asked if we would do a show for them at their convention. I negotiated a good salary for the cast and myself. Al had hit a wall and ask me to take over the rest of the choreography and rehearsals. No problem! Unfortunately, the producer was such a jerk and made big problems that he was literally put on a plane and sent back to Hawaii.
Paper Program: Credit page, Hot Hawaiian Nights production, Wildcoast Theatre, Transkei, South Africa, 1984. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Another incident occurred when we had all Black stagehands. One day I witnessed the stage manager kick one of them as he was trying to climb the ladder to the overhead fly. Yes, I had him fired. Little did I know that when we had to leave, he was the person from the main office that we all had to deal with. It turned out that he wasn’t a big problem. The big problem was getting the money out of the country. No one knew that you could not take their money when you leave. What?!?!
Being the company manager, I had thousands of dollars that belonged to the production company. This happened on a Sunday when the banks were closed. I thought, “Who do I get in touch with and how?” I asked a security guard (with rifle in his hands) if he would contact the bank’s manager. He did and the manager showed up with his little 6-year-old son to help me. He cut me a cashier’s check, and all went well until we got back to the states. We had all the costumes with us, but had no paperwork to prove to customs that we had originally brought them with us to South Africa. After explaining everything, the custom official thought that our story was so absurd that it must be true and let us by. Whew.
What was the impetus for Paper Moon Greeting Card & Gift Shop?
Business card: Paper Moon, A Unique and Gift Shop. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
When [my partner] Max and I returned home from South Africa in 1984, he went back to work as an elementary school teacher, and I had nothing to do. No show biz jobs available.
{We purchased what would become the] Paper Moon, A Unique Card and Gift Shop in 1984. It closed in 1989. We may have initially come across the information in the newspaper. It was in a very yuppie area of Green Valley. A very nice location. The realtor met us there and it looked good. It was full of old English type merchandise and cards, and lots of tea sets. We made an offer to get it going and negotiated a year’s free rent to help get us started. After selling off most of the stock at a big discount, most everything was emptied out but the fixtures and card racks. We used the huge sales as leaders. Afterwards we brought in some new merchandise and cards. We had the only XXX rated cards available in Las Vegas.
Going to the LA Mart gift shows in Los Angeles was terrific and it opened-up a whole new world to us. We were happy to know and see that our clientele liked the merchandise that we picked and chose to sell.
There was a pizza shop on one side of us and a cooking shop on the other, a beauty salon a few doors away. All of this resulted in some very heavy traffic and business for us, I’m happy to say. We built up a nice clientele and had a good rapport with them to the point that they would call up and let me know that their kids were coming in to buy gifts and had “X” amount of money to spend and that they will stop in after they get off work to pay me. Nice! And the house wrap was free with whatever you purchased. We used very obvious gift wrap – clear cellophane with colored balloons that read, “For Your Special Day”.
We soon found out that the signature wrap became a “must” for the kids to want to use and the party person was disappointed if they didn’t see our wrap on their gift. Wow.
Between all the show biz contacts I had the and roster of schoolteachers that Max worked with, we were very busy. The teachers all appreciated the discounts that we offered to them.
Business card: Bernard Brothers A Musical Comedy Act. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
When I decided to go back to do The Bernard Brother’s Act, Max thought that the shop would not be the same without me running it, so we decided to sell. What a shame. The Act was staged in both Las Vegas and Atlantic City.
So, we sold Paper Moon because I was getting back into shows. Unfortunately, we [the number within the The Bernard Brother’s Act] did not go over well in Atlantic City.
The people who hired us knew what the act was all about and still offered us the job. They put us in the show just after the opening number, which was a bad choice. The show started off in the 1940s and progressed through modern times. Our act was very ‘40s/’50s – Nelson Eddy, Jeanette McDonald, The King and I, etc. We just didn’t fit after seeing all the modern stuff and then going back to the ‘40s. C’est La Vie! That’s showbiz. In reality they should have known better.
While running Paper Moon you continued to perform and choreograph. What are some examples of your entertainment work during the remainder of the decade?
The choreographer, Rene De Haven, whose claim to fame was that he danced in the Elvis movie, Jail House Rock, was the choreographer for the Saloon Sweethearts breast cancer shows. The numbers were performed by the ladies who were bartenders. They were used as props and fill-ins.
I donated a Bob Mackie evening purse to be auctioned off. A man bought it for $500.00 and then gave it back. A woman bought it for $550.00, equaling $1050.00. Not bad.
During this time I also worked with students for the University of Las Vegas production of West Side Story. They weren’t professional dancers, but were all terrific, especially performing the Pas de Sies ballet (Somewhere dream ballet). I was so pleased and very proud of them.
And what about the AIDS Benefit shows?
Newspaper Clipping: AIDS benefit Ribbon of Life show article, Breck Wall, Las Vegas Review Journal, 2003. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Thanks to Breck Wall, Bottoms Up producer and star, [obit] I had the privilege to perform in 13 or more of the AIDS benefit shows beginning in 1989 until 2016. Breck had organized all of us and we were a hit every time we performed. No one could ever say no to Breck. He did a lot for our industry and Las Vegas entertainment.
Most of us knew each other from working together but some were new. The red, white and blue costumes were for the Elephant Walk number from The Will Rogers Follies. It was the slap number that we had the best time with learning and knowing. We would get a standing ovation all the time. Made all the practicing worth it. I’m happy to say we made a lot of money for the AIDS benefit cause.
Photograph: AIDS benefit Ribbon of Life show, cast with Breck Wall (center foreground), 2004. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
My scrapbooks indicate the following productions for Golden Rainbow, Ribbon of Life AIDS benefit shows
Paper poster: AIDS benefit True Colors show, Luxor Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas, NV, 1998. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
1998 Luxor Hotel, 12th anniversary show, True Colors
1999 13th anniversary
2001 Mandalay Bay, 15th anniversary show, Our Show of Shows
2003 Paris Hotel, 17th anniversary show, The Ultimate Raffle Ticket
2004, Bally’s Hotel, 18th anniversary show, Ribbon of Life
2006, Paris Hotel, 20th anniversary show
2007, Bally’s Hotel, 21st anniversary show, A Red Carpet Affair
2008, Paris Hotel, 22nd anniversary show
2009, 23rd anniversary show
2011 Paris Hotel, 25th anniversary show
2012 The Smith Center, 26th anniversary show, Ovations
2015 Rio Hotel, 28th anniversary show
2016 Tropicana Hotel, 30th anniversary show
There were lots of different choreographers on these shows, who I worked with such as Ronnie Lewis, Jerry Jackson, Cary La Spina, Rene de Haven, among others.
You got involved in senior performers groups. the Encore Follies, Las Vegas Follies, and the Branson Follies are well known revues.
Photograph: Promotional postcard, The Encore Dancers cast, 2010. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
I started with the Rich Rizzo senior group the Las Vegas Follies in 1990. By mid-2000s it was Walter Painter’s Branson Follies. I had heard that he [Painter] was doing a show (from who I heard, I don’t remember). I called and asked when and where the auditions would be. He said, “You don’t have to audition for me. You have the job if you want it.” Yeow, Great!
Photographic print on paper: Sal Angelica in Marine costume & Carol Channing, Branson Follies, Branson, MO, 2005. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
I had worked with Painter’s wife on Broadway with Carol Burnett in Fade Out – Fade In. I knew only one other singer/dancer – Jerry Antes. He worked at the Dunes in Vive Les Girls. It was a lounge show, and I was in the big room with Casino De Paris at the time.
Lois Mazgaj is a dancer who got me connected with Mary Ann [Arcadipane] who produced, choreographed, and danced for the Encore Dancers. Their production, Broadway, Our Way, again, I knew none of the ladies except for Lois. She lives about 10 minutes from me here in Las Vegas, but I had to go all the way to Branson to meet and work with her. We became great friends. We performed at libraries, any openings and senior retirement facilities. It was a nice feeling being able to give back to the community and see the smiling faces of the retirement crowd. They loved us. It’s too bad that these wonderful days are gone, and Las Vegas is no longer what it was.
Photograph: Promotional postcards, The Encore Dancers, (left to right) MaryAnn Arcadipane, Sal Angelica, Lois Mazgaj, Las Vegas, NV, 2012. Courtesy Sal Angelica, please do not appropriate.
You also became a Dance Host for cruise ships.
I was a dance host for Holland America Line cruises starting in 2004. I was able to travel the world again doing this. Ports we harbored at on their Prinsendam cruise ships were many. My first cruise was New World Adventure. It sailed to Lisbon, Funchal and Ft. Lauderdale. In 2006, on the Grand Amazon Experience World Voyage 2006, Circle of the Sun, we sailed to Antarctica, the Amazon, Ushuaia Argentina, Rio, and Brazil. 2010, on the Ms Rotterdam the 30-day circle included Hawaii, Tahiti, Marquesas, San Diego, and Bora Bora. The next two were also on a Ms Rotterdam. One was a 30-day cruise to the Incan Empires, which stopped at Ft. Lauderale, Lima, Peru and San Diego. The last was in 2012, which went to The Netherlands, São Miguel, Portugal, Trinidad and Croatia.
Photograph: Sal Angelica, Dance Host for Holland America Line cruise ships, c2000s. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Most of the cruise guests were under the impression that we were being paid for our services. That this was our job on the ship. Wrong. The dance hosts paid To Sea With Z to get placed on the ship. It was a nominal fee (approx. $150.00). It was certainly worth it.
Photographs: Dance host, Sal Angelica and passenger, Holland America Line cruise ships, 2012. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
How could I ever be able to go to all those exotic places and have room and board for that price? Some cruises were for 30-days. The food was terrific and the buffet was open almost 24-hours a day. What a treat. I met lots of wonderful people from all over the world. Then Holland American Line (HAL) decided that the male staff that was being paid and who were just sitting around doing nothing would learn to dance and would partner the ladies. That knocked us out of our positions. Such is life. We had a great time while it lasted.
Publication page: Head Custodian voting appeal, Clark County School District, Las Vegas, NV, 1995. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image may be subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Can you give some examples of professional positions you held in more recent decades that were outside your dance and choreography career?
In 1993/94 I had been working as a limo driver for Bell Limo. I started with the night shift and a year later they put me on days. I gave my notice when I went to work for the Clark County School District as a custodian at Las Vegas High School.
A year after that I interviewed for the head custodian position at Mendoza Elementary School and stayed there for 4 years. On rainy days when the kids were kept in, I taught them line dancing in the auditorium. They loved it and so did their teachers and the parents. We had a lot of fun. I met a lot of nice people that way. One of the third-grade teachers was a Hollywood movie dancer in her younger years. Her SAG card was #2! I’m sure that Shirley Temple’s card was #1.
From 1996 through 1998, other hats I’ve worn were for Harrah’s Casino Entertainment as a Slot Clerk, Retail Warehouse Associate, and
Housekeeping Floor Supervisor. There are many more hats in the closet. You have to pay the rent.
Paper Certificate: Performance Management completion certificate, Harrah’s Casino Entertainment, 1998. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Chronologically my extracurricular jobs look something like this – and often doing to 2 to 3 jobs while performing nightly.
Airport Meet & Greet for several Destination Management Companies.
Bartender at The Still on Boulevard Mall, and Tivoli Gardens which was owned by Liberace.
Bell Transportation as a limo driver (lots of stories there).
Black Mask in the show, Geish’erella.
Captain at Jubilation, owned by Paul Anka.
Company Manager for Hot Hawaiian Nights in the Transkei, South Africa.
Around this time is when I held the Custodian positions at Valley High School and Head Custodian at Mendoza Elementary.
Docent at Spring Mountain Ranch.
Caesars Palace and Bally’s Hotel, I was an Account Executive for Encore Productions.
At Harrah’s Hotel I was a slot clerk, retail associate, housekeeper, and floor manager.
I oversaw projects, pick-ups, and deliveries of everything at Kazar Interior. I was a long-distance semi driver, moving from New York to Las Vegas, and Las Vegas to the Midwest, and from the Midwest back to Las Vegas. After that was the Paper Moon Greeting Card and Gift Shop that we owned and operated from 1984 through 1989. Then I was a financial backer for Regency Pool Service. At the Thalians, I handled the raffle tickets and guardian of the cash. I was employed by several destination management companies as a tour guide. From about 2016 to 2019 I worked the Consumer Electronic Show (CES) for Canon camera company. As a model for people interested in trying and buying the latest, up-to-date equipment. We were filmed while tracing and cutting patterns. It was a very cushy job. There were three of us and we worked 20 minutes on and 40 minutes off. The money was terrific as well. That just about sums up all of it.
Photograph: Headshot print, Sal Angelica, New York, NY, 1960. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Turning back to your dance career, have you seen significant change in the performing arts community over time?
Las Vegas, “Home of the Showgirls and Showboys” – with all of the big shows closed. This town has laid off not only the performers but put all the musicians, stagehands and wardrobe people out of work, as well as costume designers, choreographers, dance teachers, vocal coaches, hotel staff, valet service etc.
I doubt very much if anything in the future will bring back the excitement, the stars and the entertainment that Las Vegas had once offered in the 60s and 70s. Especially the headliners. Nothing will ever compare to those glorious days.
Paper program: Page from Casino de Paris program, the Dunes Hotel & Country Club, Las Vegas, NV, 1965. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
As I’ve said, I’ve been in Las Vegas for the past 57 years. I am not up on what’s happening in New York City anymore. I do know that the industry’s show ticket prices are way out of line, even in Las Vegas.
If the public refused to pay those outrageous prices it would make sense to lower the cost and have more people enjoying the entertainment and having a nice night out. I can remember seeing a show in New York City, sitting in the first few rows for $3.50 a ticket. Not $3000.00 – Thank you, Hamilton. Just ridiculous.
With the changes in the shows in Las Vegas there is a big void in patronage. No more topless showgirls, no more oglers and money spent. All the other employees involved hurting as well. I hope that live entertainment – shows, not just headliners, makes a comeback. However, even the prices have gone way out of line here [in Las Vegas]. Why would someone pay those prices when you can put a CD or DVD on or get on the Internet and enjoy them in the comfort of your own home? You don’t have to worry about traveling or getting into an accident or paying garage fees – another bummer. You’re paying to see a show and have to pay to park your car as well. Needless to say, I have lots of CDs and DVDs.
Do you perceive the 1960s and ‘70s as a special time for performing arts? Will you describe this era further?
I can’t imagine getting the same kind of entertainment that the ’60s and ’70s gave us, and then there were also the lounge acts, which were very popular and the show biz performers and staff were able to see them between or even after they finished their second or third show.
I am so happy that I was part of all of that and do hope that some of it returns one day. Don’t get me wrong, I still do love the business and everything about it, including the memoirs.
Photographic print: Sal Angelica partnering fellow dancer, Susan, Summer Stock, Finian’s Rainbow, 1963. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
You enjoy a prolific dancer’s life, both in terms of quality and quantity of work. What wisdom from your life and profession would you offer to those just beginning their dance career?
What would I say to someone just starting? Be dedicated. If you are going after a show biz career, do and learn as much as you can from everyone. Take class from various teachers to learn different dance styles. Remember the choreographer wants you to emulate his work. Copy their style and you will get the job. Claude Thompson was very big on doing his choreography your way, not like a Tiller Rockette Line.
Also, have enough confidence in yourself to be the first to audition. I recall someone saying by the time the first 10 dancers are seen, they know who they want. Be aggressive with your talent. Remember that not all shows make it and some even close during the out-of-town tryouts, so have a back-up plan. Have another way to earn money to pay for the classes and your rent. Figure out what else you are good at and like to do to subsidize your dance career.
Photograph: Portrait, Choreographer, Claude Thompson, circa 1970s. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Try to get scholarships or the like. If a choreographer sees that you are good enough and trying hard but can’t afford classes, they will offer them. I know from experience. Thank you, Claude!
I can’t tell you how many performers I know also double as restaurant servers. Another thing is, don’t be a “know it all”, even if you are better. Remember there is always someone not as good as you or even better than you. Even if you do know more than the others, or more than the person auditioning you. They need dancers, you need the job. Do and be your best to awe them. If you are asked to the call back, wear the same clothes that you had originally auditioned in. They will remember you better by doing that.
Who and what are/were the biggest influences in your creative life?
The biggest influences where the choreographers and their work. Seeing and watching the dancers performing on stage and wanting to be one of them was my goal.
What about your life so far are you most grateful for?
I am grateful to all the people, coworkers, friends, and family, that believed in me and always supported me. My family didn’t support me financially. I usually worked two jobs while still going to school to earn money to pay for my [dance] classes, but I had their love behind me.
Photograph: Sal Angelica and partner, Max with terrier dogs, circa 1980s. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
I have my partner Max and Father, Jim Story (an ordained minister) at TASI to thank for convincing me to go back to school and get my high school GED diploma. He was the backbone of TASI and put everything together. I was in my 40s at the time. That helped when I was looking at another career. My advise to everyone is, “Get that piece of paper”. You may be a jerk or even an educated idiot, but they will hire you if you have the credentials.
Photograph: Headshot print, Sal Angelica, New York, NY, 1960. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
I have been very fortunate and happy with the way my professional dance career has gone, and where it took me. I am not only proud of myself for being able to do so, but I am in awe of the people (celebrities) that I have worked with and the places that my dance career has taken me. Most of them I would have never met or visited if it wasn’t for the fact that I was in a show or act that not only paid me a salary but paid to take me to places (on their dime) that I would have never dreamed of going to on my own. Getting paid to do what I was extremely happy to do was a win-win scenario.
Photograph: Family members with Sal Angelica, 1944. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Growing up in the slums of Manhattan I had never dreamed that I would have left Broadway to live in Las Vegas, Nevada for the past 56 years. Las Vegas has been very good to me. I kept my two-bedroom apartment on 50th Street and Broadway for over 2 years sublet and got burned many times, but with the rent only being $72.00 a month, I could live here and still afford to maintain it.
What do you think is the biggest sacrifice a dancer makes for their profession?
As far as I’m concerned there was never any sacrifice – only pluses adding to my life. Once again, be diligent, work hard at what you do and be kind. You will then succeed.
Is there anything you would like to relay in this conversation that we haven’t yet covered?
I have been around and have worn many different hats. It is definitely a bore being retired and having lots of free time, but being a homeowner, there is always something around that needs to be done. Between taking care of all the plants, the hummingbirds (who stay year around), it keeps me pretty busy. That and all the doctor visits.
Watch Sal Angelica and Lili Belle Lopez in conversation with Head of Special Collections, UNLV, Su Kim Chung at Clark County Library District. Lou Walters’ World Famous Latin Quarter, Donn Arden, Las Vegas, and more.
I do participate in a lot of the University of Las Vegas Special Collections Department’s events. Su Kim Chung asks me to speak about working The Strip and sharing experiences. I am her go to person. Of course, I love every minute of it.
This is the final installment in this three-part article series which was edited in collaboration with Sal Angelica and the John Hemmer Archive in 2022. It is based on Sal’s lived memories and memorabilia from his career spanning many decades.
To read the first installment of this series, please visit: https://www.johnhemmerarchive.org/a-dancers-life-meet-sal-angelica-part-i/
To read the second installment of this series, please visit: https://www.johnhemmerarchive.org/a-dancers-life-meet-sal-angelica-part-ii/
The John Hemmer Archive’s The History of An Era, documents single and multipart articles to bring lived experiences of the nightclub era to light. This is the second installment of a three-part series on performer Sal Angelica, who began his life and career in New York City before traveling abroad and eventually landing in Vegas. To read part I, please visit https://www.johnhemmerarchive.org/a-dancers-life-meet-sal-angelica-part-i/
Paper program: Casino de Paris production, program cover, Dunes Hotel, Las Vegas, NV, 1965. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
JHA: In 1965 you travel to Las Vegas where you joined Casino de Paris at the Dunes Hotel. This was your move from the east coast to Vegas.
SA: A good friend of mine, Candy Raye, was working in Las Vegas and kept trying to persuade me to come out here to find work. I was always employed in New York City and couldn’t see why I would go there without having a job or prospect of one.
Another friend, Jimmy Weiss, who I worked with in Fade Out – Fade In on Broadway in ‘64, had just signed a contract with Donn Arden for a show at the Desert Inn. He was also coaxing me to try Las Vegas. Once again, I thought, “Why?”. Then Jimmy called and said that Ronnie Lewis was in New York City looking for dancers for the Dunes Hotel’s Casino de Paris. I had worked with Ronnie at the Latin Quarter in New York back in ’59. Jimmy suggested I give him a call, so I did and mentioned that I was not 6 feet tall, just 5’10”. Ronnie said I was a good dancer (what every dancer wants to hear) and to come to the audition. I was offered the job with the condition that I make just a six-month commitment. Ronnie agreed. Two years later I went back to New York City to close-up my apartment that I had been subletting for $72.00 a month. 57 years later I’m still here [in Las Vegas] and love it.
Candy Raye and Jimmy Weiss changed my life for the better, forever, by convincing me to try out Las Vegas.
Photographic slideshow of the Casino de Paris production from the Sal Angelica Collection.
You’ve mentioned differences between working in New York versus Las Vegas. One of those differences being union support.
Paper poster: Juliet Browse as Mame, Las Vegas, NV, circa mid-1960s. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
All of the unions in New York City were there to help and benefit the actor, as well as management, whether It was AEA, AGVA, SAG, SEG or AGMA. They had everything under control and if you had to do anything out of the ordinary you were paid extra for it. In Las Vegas – nothing. Later on, the stagehands and musicians were represented by unions. If an Equity (AEA) show came into town, they were covered by them.
For example, When the book show Mame, starring Juliet Prowse, came to Vegas, John Bowab, the producer, realized the show would be performed seven days a week and that was against AEA rules. To remedy this, it was decided to hire additional dancers from New York City.
My good friend, Candy Raye, was invited to see the opening night performance by the gal that put the show together and quickly said that it was not necessary [to go to New York for dancers] because there are many good dancers in Vegas with Broadway credits. That’s where I came in. Candy, who I affectionately call “Miss Mouth”, gave them my name and John called and offered me the job on her recommendation. That’s also how I got to do Juliet’s [Prowse] act for many years.
Casino de Paris was produced and directed by Frederic Apcar and opened around 1963. It was the first Casino de Paris production to get licensed outside of France and mounted in a newly constructed showroom at the Dunes. How did you come into it?
In 1965 I was flown to Milan, Italy to join the cast. The new show was rehearsed and set there. We all stayed at the same hotel and rehearsed in the ballroom. We were all on call in case Ronnie got frustrated or tired of working with a group that wasn’t coming through for him. The only thing we couldn’t work on was the octuramic stage. It was in Las Vegas. An eight-armed disc stage that moved all over the place. It was a terrific piece of artwork and wowed the audience.
Photographic print: Production still, dancer Sal Angelica foreground, third in from right, Casino de Paris production, Dunes Hotel, Las Vegas, NV, 1965. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
This was the first time you reunited with Ron Lewis since the Latin Quarter. There were other performers on this from the Latin Quarter as well.
Francois Szony and Nancy Claire were the featured act in the show [also performed many times at the Latin Quarter]. There were several headliners, but none that anyone would call “stars”. Larry (Lawrence) Merritt was also front and center all the time. He didn’t stay. I think he thought that Ronnie should have featured him more and so he just moved on. That opened up the door to have Ronnie use me as his lead dancer in the following jazz production, which would have been Larry’s if he had stayed. My gain this time. Thanks.
Photographic print: Publicity image, dancer Sal Angelica & Virginia Justus pose for the Folies Bergère production at the Tropicana Hotel, Las Vegas, NV, 1967. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
1968 and ’69 kept you busy. An Ed Sullivan CBS special telecast live from Circus, Circus, directed and choreographed by Michael Bennett, Jerry Jackson’s Folies Bergère at The Tropicana Hotel and Barry Ashton’s Wonderful World of Burlesque at the Silver Slipper.
We rehearsed for one week and for one live performance on January 1st, 1969, for the CBS special. I partnered Gina Lollobrigida singing Walking Happy. Our billing was “Gina Lollobrigida and dancers.”
At the end of 1967 I joined Folies Bergère for a brief stay. Dave Johnson was the company manager, Ruth Christensen, the show captain, and the choreographer was Jerry Jackson.
They asked to see me after watching the Dunes’ Casino de Paris show. I had never met any of them before and I was asked if I would consider being Jerry’s lead adagio dancer in a new number that they were putting into the show. It was a French Quarter, New Orleans themed number. I partnered Virginia Justus and Billi Buche’ on a 5-foot table-top and she had never done adage work before. I also had to be filtered into the existing show.
There was a comedy routine that was very slapstick at the end of the number. I was captured and shot out of a canon. I was on a tether and flew out over the audience and back. All went well until the guy who was my counterweight had his night off and the person replacing him weighed less than I did. I hit the deck going out, which caused me to spin and hit it again when I returned. That was very scary and I complained. As I mentioned before, there were no unions here back then. I called Penny Singleton (from the television show, Blondie) who was the AGVA president in New York City at the Time. She came out and saw what I was complaining about but could do absolutely nothing about it. Then they fired me. My standby refused to go on as well. They chose someone else to do it. As for me, no big deal. I went straight into Barry Ashton’s show at the Silver Slipper and was never unemployed.
Photographic prints: Publicity images, dancers Sal Angelica & Mikki Sharait, Wonderful World of Burlesque production, Silver Slipper, Las Vegas, NV, 1967/68. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
This is where I was lead dancer and partnered Mikki Sharait in Wonderful World of Burlesque at the Silver Slipper’s Gaiety Theatre. Mikki had never done adage work before, but she was a trooper and would do anything to be the star. Barry loved her and was a great help, even giving us a couple of lift pointers. He was a very nice man to work with and we all loved him.
Photographic print: Wonderful World of Burlesque producer, Barry Ashton with dancers Mako Ohta, Sal Angelica, Candy Raye, Silver Slipper Casino restaurant, Las Vegas, NV, 1968. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
During this time and into 1969, you went to Los Angeles where you danced in several variety shows of the day.
For The Smothers Brothers, I commuted each week. If we didn’t have a number in an episode, we didn’t have to be at rehearsals until Wednesdays. We’d tape on Fridays. The credits were always “live action”. If we did have a number that week, we had a 10a.m. rehearsal call on Mondays. I always stayed with friend and choreographer, Claude Thompson while I was in LA.
Even though the show had earned many, many, awards for new and creative stuff, CBS felt that the context of the show was too political, which it was. Very much so. They made fun and mockery out of lots of rules, and it was not appreciated by most.
The guests were terrific, and the choreography was brilliant. Ron Poindexter even received awards and lots of fun times were had by all of us. Tom and Dick were not overly friendly, but nice to us and easy to work with.
Our closing number for the last Smothers Brothers was a big to-do. The costumes were very basic, but elegant. Black jumpsuits with white ruffled shirts and red bolero jackets with black jet studded accessories. One of the girl dancers (Sam) asked if we could keep them. I think Tom and Dick were so angry [from getting] fired, they said, “Yes!”. I still have mine.
One thing that amazed me was when I received residuals for the show from being aired again. That was a shock and a nice surprise.
Photographic prints: Carol Burnett signed headshot, Hollywood, CA, circa late 1960s/early 1970s. Carol Burnett & Sal Angelica, The Carol Burnett Show reunion, Hollywood, CA, circa 1990s. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Images subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
When we were cancelled, I went directly to The Carol Burnett Show on the Monday after our last shoot of the Smothers Brothers that Friday. There were only two more episodes to shoot for The Carol Burnett Show for that season.
Decades later, I attended a get together for the show’s 33rd year reunion on stage 33 at CBS. Stan Mazin (another regular on the show) called to let me know that there was just one ticket left. He asked if I wanted it. of course, I did. it was terrific seeing all those people after all that time.
The variety shows included a couple stints on The Dean Martin Show where you partnered Juliet Prowse and Ginger Rogers.
While doing Juliet Prowse’s act, I found out that she was going to be on The Dean Martin Show – her business manager Mark Mordoh never mentioned it, or ever got us (her dancers) any work. Jaime Rogers, who I knew, was the choreographer. I called him and he hired Michael Darrin (also in her act) and myself to help with partnering her. I’m sure that made Juliet feel more comfortable with two of her guys being there. Jaime asked us if we would stay for the next episode to partner Ginger Rogers. I stayed on, but Michael didn’t. I can say that Fred is not the only one that has partnered Ginger. I am lucky to have it taped for posterity on a DVD.
Photographic prints: Scrapbook page, backstage photographs, Jonathan Wynn, Connie Stevens, Sal Angelica, Connie Stevens’ act, touring/various venues, circa early 1970s. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Images subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Around this time, you joined Connie Stevens’ act.
Claude Thompson asked me to do Connie Stevens’ act. Joe Layton directed, and Hugh Lambert choreographed. I had previously worked with Hugh on The Ed Sullivan Show in New York City. Connie and I were the token whites (she even made a joke of that). Jerry Grimes, Cheryl Weinberg, Frances Davis (aka “Elizabeth Taylor/her real name, later married Miles Davis) and I had the best times together. Connie who is also from Brooklyn, New York, was a dream to work with.
We played at the Flamingo Hotel here [in Vegas] and the Crystal Room at the Desert Inn, the John Asquagas’ Nugget in Reno; the Palmer House in Chicago; The Persian Room in the Plaza Hotel in New York City. [The show] had several very funny opening comedic acts. When working at the Flamingo at night, I was also doing two afternoon shows of Geisha’rella, [a topless revue of Japanese women] at the Thunderbird hotel in black mask.
Photographic prints: (Left) Dancer Sal Angelica, Connie Stevens, performer. (Right) Connie Stevens & cast, backstage, Connie Stevens’ act, tour, c. 1970s. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Images subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
You followed this with another Claude Thompson production, Flesh. This was in August of 1969 and first staged at the Bonanza Hotel. This was followed by a run at Caesars Palace and then to King’s Castle Hotel in Lake Tahoe.
Paper ad: Newspaper advertisement, Flesh and Flush productions, Bonanza Hotel, Las Vegas, NV, 1968. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Flesh at the Bonanza Hotel was an XXX rated show. Claude had done some outrageous stuff with us. Line Renaud, who was from France and producing the show, loved all of it. During the photoshoot my only costume was an elastic g-string to cover myself and Claude stopped the shoot to have me take it off – saying that I can still see it, snickering all the time. He was ***bad*** but great. We were back-to-back with another production, Flush, at the Bonanza Hotel, which eventually became the MGM Grand. Then it was Bally’s. Now the Horseshoe Las Vegas.
Newspaper clippings: Photographic images, (top, left to right) dancers Sal Angelica, Tulsa, Don Stoms Vic, (bottom) Don Stoms Vic, Tulsa, Sal Angelica, Flesh production, Bonanza Hotel, Las Vegas, NV, 1968. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Images subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
After the Bonanza, Flesh moved over to Caesars Palace, but when it closed there, I was asked to go with the show to Lake Tahoe at King’s Castle in Incline Village. It was to open the hotel and there were celebrities there (including Lana Turner), but they were going to cut my salary. Of course, that did not set well with me. I went to the company manager. who was once a performer/dancer and complained. He said that he would then only use one lead dancer (there were two of us). I knew this was wrong so I called Claude knowing his contract stated that the show would have to stay as originated. They hired two others, but one of the dancers had an accident (drugs) and couldn’t open the show. By the time they had called me, I couldn’t make it. I was literally watching the last flight to Reno take off from Las Vegas. Wanting to keep Claude’s work exact, I offered to teach the guys the routines gratis. When I got there, the choreography had changed to the point that it was all messed up. I spent the next day learning all of the new stuff.
By the way, meeting Lana Turner was a trip. We met on the beach and she was just another grandma looking person. We had a few drinks, not too much. I had to work that night. I had met her assistant too and we organized a meeting between shows. Lana never showed up so we planned on meeting after my second show. still no Lana, but as we were having a drink, and suddenly this fabulous image passes by. She had pulled herself together and was the gorgeous star that she always was. She wanted to go to the Cal-Neva hotel, so off we went. Let me tell you, I was in heaven – jitter bugging with the one and only- Lana Turner. Yeow mama!
In this period, you worked with Lorna Luft’s act as well.
Once again, Claude Thompson hired me. In the Lorna Luft act he paired me with Harvey Cohen. It was very Do-Whop/Afro-Cuban style. Later on, choreographer Walter Painter added some of his stuff. That was sacrilegious to alter or change any of Claude’s work, but it happens. We never could figure out why Walter was ever brought into the picture. Lorna was lazy and had a Brat Pack attitude, but of the three of them [Judy Garland’s children], Lorna had the best voice. Not the charisma as Liza [Minnelli] did, or the charm of Judy, but talented. Lorna could not only sing well, but dance and was very comedic, thanks to her mother.
Gene Palumbo was our music director and conductor. He also worked with Judy Garland.
Photographic print: Production still, dancers Sal Angelica, Lorna Luft, performer, Lorna Luft act, tour, 1972. Courtesy Sal Angelica. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
In 1972 we opened for Danny Thomas at the Sands Hotel in Las Vegas. Then we went on to the St. Regis hotel’s Maisonette [Russe] in New York City, The Palmer House in Chicago, The Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco in the Venetian Room and somewhere in Ft. Lauderdale.
While in Florida, we were invited to go out on a yacht Lorna called Sid Luft (her father) to ask if it was okay for her to go. She always called to consult with him about anything. We met Lorna’s Aunt Jimmy too and had a great after-hours night of singing around Gene as he played the piano. Jimmy, Judy’s sister sounded just like Judy. It was eerie.
Liza, who showed up occasionally never talked to anyone and never joined us. With Lorna, however, we spent a lot of time listening to “Mama stories” that were hilariously funny. Most of the family were already in the public eye and considered [to display] strange behavior. It was about a 3-to-4 month engagement, and a terrific time.
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Photographic print: Dancer Francine M. Storey, in costume, Age 10, Van Nuys, CA, circa 1950s. Courtesy Francine M. Storey. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
I was a 14 year-old dancer living with my family in Long Beach, California when I was invited to join the Long Beach Civic Light Opera Company, which was a semi-professional organization at that time. I was thrilled. Not only did I get to dance, but as the youngest member of the company, I was lovingly taught by the older members how to build scenery, sew costumes, apply my own make-up and do my own hair. The beautiful older dancer who helped me with my hair styling had long blond hair down to her waistline and she was fond of saying, “Your Hair Is Your Crowning Glory!” How true it was and is.
Yes, all performers know that hair style is an important part of both our personal appearance and our professional Look. However, while a personal hair style may last years, our professional look changes for every show. At the highest professional level of the Performing Arts, namely Broadway, Opera, Nightclubs and Ballet, HAIR STYLISTS are responsible for the hair look of the production and they style the hair for stars and soloists. The chorus members are usually coached by the stylists on how to achieve the hair look themselves, and/or are helped by the wardrobe staff. Instructive drawings are often taped to dressing room walls.
Photographic prints: dancer Francine M. Storey, backstage, in costume, To Broadway With Love production, 1964 New York World’s Fair, Flushing Meadows Queens, New York, 1964. Courtesy Francine M. Storey. Images subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
Sometimes, performers are required to wear wigs. As a New York City dancer, I wore wigs both at the 1964 New York World’s Fair extravaganza, To Broadway With Love and at the World Famous Latin Quarter nightclub. But, generally, my hair, both personal and professional, was my responsibility. I was always armed with electric curlers, regular curlers, curling irons, rubber bands, hair spray, shampoos, combs, brushes, hair pins, bobby pins, styling gel, hair pieces and scissors. I was an expert at doing my own ballet buns, French rolls, pig tails, pony tails, pixie bangs, flips, spit curls, big curls and long sexy hair styles – à la Veronica Lake. At one point, I was ironing my hair on the ironing board trying to make it hang straight. Whatever worked at that moment. Whatever would get me the job. Whatever would help me keep the job.
Photographic print: Dancer Francine M. Storey, Headshot, New York, NY, circa 1960s. Courtesy Francine M. Storey. Photograph by Martin. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
However, all of my personal hair tricks were not necessary when, in 1966, I became a Copa Girl at the legendary Copacabana nightclub. The Copa required that all Copa Girls wear The COPA HAIR do, which was hair swept up into large, round and firm curls on top of your head affectionately called a Beehive.
Scrapbook page: Photographic print & nightclub flyer; (top) Francine M. Storey (Standing, 2nd in from right) & performers, in costume, backstage, the Copacabana nightclub, New York, NY, circa 1966s. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
To maintain this glamorous hair style, The Copa sent us everyday, all expenses paid, to the Larry Matthew’s Beauty Salon at the Great Northern Hotel on W. 57th Street. Larry Matthews was New York City’s famous chain of 24 hour a day beauty salons. In the city that never slept, they never closed and since they never closed, there was never any rush unless you were rushed.
Refreshments were served. No matter what time you arrived, the stylists embraced you. They looked at you. They discussed your hair color. Mine was a dark brunette. They discussed your eyebrows, but since Liz Taylor didn’t pluck her eyebrows, I didn’t pluck mine. They discussed your eye make-up and eyelashes. How can your eyes look bigger? By wearing double eye lashes and extending your black eyeliner out towards your temples. They discussed your lips. What could be done to enhance them? No Botox then. Try Revlon’s Fire and Ice lipstick outlined with a darker color and made more luscious by a provocative lip gloss. Stylists massaged your head, shoulders, back, arms and hands and they gossiped! “Where did you go in-between shows? Did you go to Danny’s Hideaway or the Playboy Club or Jilly’s? Where are you taking Dance Classes now? June Taylor, Richard Thomas, Ballet Arts, Luigi’s or Matt Mattox. Who are you dating? Anyone new? Is he attractive in all the right places? Is he married or single and, most importantly, is he rich? Does he pick you up in a limo? Does he give you cab fare? Or is he your high-school sweetheart?”
Photographic print: Dancers (from foreground) Susan Sigrist; unknown; Juanita Boyle; Francine M. Storey; unknown, dressing room, Minsky’s Follies, Marine Dining Room, Edgewater Beach Hotel, Chicago, IL, circa 1960s. Courtesy Francine M. Storey. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
My own personal stylist was an extremely handsome blonde guy named Sergai. He lavished enormous amounts of time on my curls. He slowly wound each curl on his magical fingers and placed it carefully on top of my head. It took me years to realize that he was probably stoned. Sometimes, after a wash, I sat under the big metal helmet hair dryers and closed my eyes while having my fingernails and toenails manicured. Notice I said, “under the dryers” because blow drying hair in salons was still a novelty. One Copa Girl thought it was a dirty joke. “Hey,” she said, “did you hear that they’re ‘blow drying’ your hair in the Village!” Anyway, the whole experience at Larry Matthews was heavenly. I relaxed. I stopped worrying about my future and when I would meet Mr. Right, I became addicted. I was convinced that if I went to the beauty salon, everything would be ok.
After my stint at The Copa ended, I continued to go to Larry Matthews Beauty Salons for the rest of my theatrical career and beyond. Larry Matthews helped me to get jobs on Broadway, at Jones Beach, in Minsky’s, in TV Commercials, at Hair Shows and exercise studios and even at Bloomingdales spritzing perfume. True, it wasn’t free anymore, but it was always reasonable. And it was always relaxing. No therapists needed. At one point, I even sported a fashionable Afro but the perms took a toll on my hair. At another point, I cut my hair very short in the Gamine style inspired by the famous French Ballerina, Zizi Jeanmaire.
Photographic print: Dancer Francine M. Storey, backstage, costume, Lou Walters’ World Famous Latin Quarter nightclub, New York, NY, circa 1960s. Courtesy Francine M. Storey. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
As the years went by, Larry Matthews salons began to close down as other trendy hairdressers and salons came onto the scene. I occasionally modeled for stylists at these new salons and got a reduced fee, or a free haircut. But one memorable day, I went to a salon which had advertised for models and I was rudely rejected. They said that I didn’t have the right type of hair for them, and it was then that I quietly realized that I was no longer a Copa Girl or a Latin Quarter showgirl or any kind of “Girl” at all. I was a middle aged woman. True, I was still getting my color done at the Revlon labs for free, but they always allowed for an age range. Other older show-biz types were going to beauty schools, which always needed customers. I went and they were fine, but it was hard to get an appointment when you needed one. Finally, after getting married and divorced, I got a very good job at the Metropolitan Opera where I worked long hours and I needed to find a Beauty Salon close to Lincoln Center. Enter SUPERCUTS! They were courteous, efficient and cheap. They weren’t relaxing, but then, I didn’t have time to relax anymore. However, because of intensive competition, they too began closing their doors.
Well, I’m retired now and entering my 8th decade and the Crowning Glory of my hair is, as the poet TS Eliot said, “growing thin.” It also grows very slowly. So slowly, in fact, that I only need go to the beauty salon three times a year. And, because of the Covid lockdown, my old salon closed down, but my stylist, Jolie, moved to a great new salon on Columbus Avenue that has an astounding decor of white marble floors, mirrored walls and a diamond disco ball hanging from the ceiling. Pure glitz! But, in spite of its disco atmosphere, most of the cliental are over 40. Jolie is a lovely woman with children, but I rarely discuss my past with her because I’d have to explain too much. And it’s not relaxing. You must arrive exactly on time and leave exactly on time. That means only one hour for shampoo, cut, and blow dry. Thank god, there’s always some kind of gossip! Last visit, Jolie told me that the shiny long black hair of the younger woman sitting next to me was all hair implants and had cost a fortune. I was stunned. Of course, my appointment isn’t free either. The salon’s prices are average by today’s standards but still, with tips, it comes to almost $100.00. And, if I decide to change my color to platinum grey, it will be another $100 or more!
Digital photograph: Dancer, Writer, Francine M. Storey, Greenwich Village Film Festival, New York, NY, 2018. Courtesy John Hemmer Archive. Image subject to copyright laws. Please do not appropriate.
As the new age gurus teach us, I do have choices. I occasionally use some of my old personal hair tricks and cut my hair myself. It doesn’t look too bad, but I’ve lost my knack. Or I could bus it over to the last SUPERCUTS in town where the senior rate is $26.46 plus tip, or I could join another retired friend who goes to a salon in Chinatown where the whole process of wash, cut and blow dry, which was $28.00 plus tip has now inflated to $36.00 plus tip. Very cheap, but cheap doesn’t work for me anymore. Too much running around wears me out and I still need a little touch of glamor. What I need is to find an inexpensive fashionista beauty salon where I can hang out, and just for a while, relax and get lost in a dazzling reverie of handsome beauticians, big curls, dance classes, singing classes, dressing rooms, double eye-lashes, French-cut leotards, g-strings, pouty lips, sequined costumes, body paint, rhinestone jewelry, live music and dancing in the bright lights for happy audiences. Because, in spite of being a senior citizen, I’m still a Copa Girl at heart.
This article was written by dancer, writer, Francine M. Storey. Copyright June 28, 2022. To learn more about Francine’s life and career, watch her oral history video here.
