A First Hand Memory
Beth Fowler has appeared in nearly a dozen Broadway shows. Her credits include her Tony-nominated turn as Marion Woolnough in last season's The Boy from Oz, the recent revival of Bells are Ringing, Mrs. Potts in the original company of Beauty and the Beast, Mrs. Lovett in the revival of Sweeney Todd for which she earned a Tony nomination and Mrs. Segstrom in the original company of A Little Night Music. On film, she has appeared in both Sister Act movies and has lent her voice to Disney's Mulan. Her current gig is Woody Allen's A Second Hand Memory, which is playing off-Broadway at the Atlantic Theater Company. Here, the first-class actress recalls other first-class ladies in an intimate trip down memory lane.
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After more than thirty years in this business called "show," I find myself in a play called A Second Hand Memory. I play a woman of a certain age in Brooklyn in the 1950s--a time I'm not unfamiliar with myself, being of a certain age in this still-new century.
Since I'm now at a time of my life when I find myself waxing nostalgic about nearly everything that's ever happened to me over the last several decades, it seems appropriate that the theme of this play sets me off to rummaging through my own first hand memory trunk--that dusty receptacle that holds the most treasured objects of my affection: people.
It's fairly inevitable that, if you're in this profession long enough, you're likely to work with stars.
When I left behind my school-teaching days and announced I was going to be an actress ! my parents found great reassurance in my getting jobs with people whose names and public personae were familiar to them. It think it was at once legitimizing my participating in this career that was unbounded by classroom walls--"Oh, yes, she's working with so-and-so!" and giving them a thrill to hear the work-a-day stories of famous people I was hanging out with.
Because I was one of those fortunate ones who had been blessed with the presence of all four of my grandparents well into my adulthood, I was more than comfortable with the older generation. I had acquired an understanding of what they enjoyed talking about, the pace at which they liked to amble through the days, and other basic facets of their behavior.
And so, when Molly Picon was Dolly Levi and I was Mrs. Molloy, I offered my company and the convenience of my car, an acquisition from my suburban teaching days. While we browsed through shops or sipped tea, she would tell me stories of her over 50-year marriage to her beloved Yonkel, who, after they were wed, toured Eastern Europe collecting manuscripts of plays he would later produce for her to star in New York's Yiddish theater. On opening nights, when they'd return home to await the reviews, he would read aloud to her from The Decline of Western Civilization to help put in perspective where the evening's events belonged.
On one evening, after our performance of Hello, Dolly!, a group of over-enthusiastic fans imposed on her for an undue length of time. We waited for her, making the usual wisecracks to one another about their rudeness, but, when Molly rejoined us, she apologized, smiling and commenting that these were the people for whom we "do it."
I'll never forget it.
Maxene Andrews yes, of the Andrews Sisters became a pal for a short while, much to my delight. She was a great broad, in the warmest sense of the phrase, and in Over Here!, I was understudy to her, her sister Patty and Janie Sell. When the show closed, we kept in touch for a while, and I never tired of hearing her stories, most of which made me laugh… a lot.
I commented to her once that, in spite of my staring up at her and Patty form the pit when they'd sing down front and center and watching their breathing, stance, and so forth, I was very impressed by how easy they made it appear. She looked at me with those sparkling eyes and said, "Honey, when you do 12 shows a day in Atlantic City when you're a kid, you learn to work easy!" Loved it!
Now, from great broad to grande dame: Hermione Gingold.
Commuting from New Jersey to the Majestic Theatre to which we moved from the Shubert to do A Little Night Music could be unreliable, so most nights I'd arrive early, having given myself traffic-hell time. Hermione's dressing room was by the sign-in sheet, and she soon took to calling me in to have a chat.
Her success in business was firmly established by her cozy dressing room was furnished-tastefully--from the Woolworth's up the block on Broadway. I was later a guest at her apartment on the East Side, which wasn't, but I think her performing years in London during World War II taught her frugality where appropriate.
Talk about stories!
But, my favorite lesson from her came from watching her final scene as Mme. Armfeldt. Each night, she did her final monologue oh, that Hugh Wheeler script! for that particular audience. By that point in the evening, she'd had her finger on the pulse of the crowd all night, so she played them like a violin--one night demanding their attention, another, drawing them in because they were good listeners. I stood at her elbow, facing upstage in tableau thank you, Hal! and settled in for class.
Years later, the day came when I found myself thanking Tom Bosley for being in the cast of Beauty and the Beast--so that I wouldn't be the senior member! When we were in Beauty in L.A., I called my "girlfriends" from Sister Act, Susan Johnson the original Cleo in The Most Happy Fella, Ruth Kobart the original Domina in A Funny Thing… and Mary Wickes don't you dare ask what! and organized a reunion.
They called me "the kid" when we hung out did I love that! and, of course, they all had incredible stories, which I don't remember, since they just came tumbling out, overlapping one another as we traipsed from trailer, to tea room, to restaurant.
But, in retrospect, I have to say that what I loved most was that my beloved luminaries not only reminisced, but knew very much what was going on around them--in the world, in the business and in their families' lives. And they devoted themselves to their craft with great zest. Mary used a magnifying glass to see her script, Maxene used a cane offstage and Molly sorely missed her Yonkel. But the shows went on and they were terrific. They were so alive then, as they are to me now.
In closing, let me recall a Mary Wickes story for this season. It's about her and was told to me by Tom.
They were doing The Father Dowling Mysteries for TV; I think they were filming in Texas. Mary was a maiden lady, as we used to say and had dear family members in St. Louis. But, when they'd be on hiatus at Thanksgiving or Christmas, she'd stay where she was and volunteer at the local hospital to do whatever--just to help out. This is something she did in L.A. as well, for many years.
I can see her now, pushing that magazine cart and can hear her offering the latest copy of National Geographic!