Alex Ko
Authors: Alex Ko
You taught me how to walk, ride my bike, catch fish, and most of all to Believe. . . .
This is for you, Dad.
I love you.
Contents
Chapter 1:
How I Almost Never Learned to Dance
Chapter 8:
A Beginning, and an End
Chapter 13:
My First Step to Broadway
Chapter 17:
The Biggest Surprise of My Life
Chapter 19:
Falling Down and Getting Up
Chapter 26:
The Hard Side of Celebrity
I
t wasn’t until the stage manager yelled “thirty minutes” that it really hit me: I was about to star in a Broadway show. Right outside my dressing room door, fifteen hundred people were waiting. I was thirteen years old and I’d spent my whole life in Iowa, so the idea of performing for an audience that size was surreal. I could barely believe it was happening.
Maybe I should have been scared, but mostly I was excited (and a little nervous). I was playing the lead in
Billy Elliot
, a musical about a poor British boy who desperately wants to be a ballet dancer. It’s a great show, and if you haven’t seen it, you should definitely rent the movie.
As I practiced my lines in my head, I thought about how much I had in common with Billy. We were almost the exact same age, we’d both lost one of our parents, and we both loved dancing. In fact, I took my first dance class when I was four, which I guess is weird for a boy. But my older brother had taken tap lessons, and I wanted to be just like him. And guess what.
I hated it.
Even though I loved dancing, I hated the way everyone stared at me as the new kid. I wouldn’t dance at all—I wouldn’t even stand up! I sat on my hands for the entire class, and I refused to go back. Thankfully, I got over that.
While the orchestra tuned up and the audience found their seats, I waited in my dressing room on the second floor of the Imperial Theatre, the same place where
Les Misérables
,
Fiddler on the Roof
, and
The Boy from Oz
were staged. It’s hard not to feel humble when you’re sharing a stage with the echoes of some of the biggest names in show business, like Ben Vereen and Hugh Jackman. Legends were made in this theater. The more I thought about it, the more I worried: what if I forgot a line or tripped? Fifteen hundred people, including just about everyone I knew in the whole world, would be watching. I was going to be singing music written by Elton John! I had to be perfect. I sat on my hands to keep myself from fidgeting and tried to run my lines. Stephen Daldry, the show’s director, had me rehearse all day in order to keep me distracted. But now I was alone, and I could hear the crowd gathering. A chorus of worries was singing in my head. I turned on my iPod and put on Lady Gaga to drown them out.
Over the music, I heard a knock on the door.
“Almost ready?” said Jess, my dresser, as she peeked her head in.
I nodded, relieved to see her. Without Jess Scoblick, I would never have been able to do the show. I wore so many outfits and had to change between them so fast, there was no way I could do it all on my own. Sometimes I had only a few seconds to switch from one costume to the next. For my first scene, I had to wear three outfits one on top of the other so I could do really quick changes. Jess helped me pull on boxing shorts, then put pajamas on over the shorts, and then put track pants and a jacket over all of that. It was like being a little kid bundled up for a snowstorm—except that I had to be able to dance while wearing all of it!
Jess was the best dresser anyone could ever have. She took care of me and became a great friend. During rehearsals, she was always boosting my spirits and helping me feel confident.
“You’re gonna be great,” she said as she fixed the collar on my jacket and straightened my shirt. Her long dark hair framed her almost-always-smiling face.
“Thanks,” I said. Somewhere in the distance, a loudspeaker announced our fifteen-minute call. Jess left, but before the door could close, Stephen, the director, came in. He was tall and gray-haired, with a British accent that I tried to mimic when I played Billy.
“There’s one more thing you need to do,” he said, and took me downstairs. I couldn’t imagine what it was. Could there be any part of the play I hadn’t already rehearsed earlier that day? But Stephen had become like a godfather to me, so I knew if there was something he wanted me to do, it was for a good reason.
Backstage was a whirl of crew and scenery and costumes. It’s incredible how many people it takes to run a Broadway show. Tonight was extra busy because there were two of us making our debuts—me and Kate Hennig, the actor who played my dance teacher. It was nice having someone else around who was still learning the ropes, but it made opening night all the more chaotic. Stephen and I had to dodge around people on our way down to the main stage. And the whole time, I couldn’t take my eyes off the heavy red velvet curtain that separated us from the audience. Very, very soon, it would go up, and the show would begin. I would be on Broadway!
“Told you I’d find him,” Stephen said as he opened the stage door and let my mom in. He winked at me and hurried off.
“I didn’t think I’d see you before the show!” I said as Mom hugged me. She smelled like home, which right then seemed very far away.
My mom is one of the most amazing people I know. I wouldn’t even be a dancer, let alone on Broadway, if not for her. But one of the best things about her is that she isn’t a “stage mom.” She’s not one of those parents who hover around their kids at every audition, pampering them and driving everyone else crazy. She trusts me to be responsible. So I was surprised that she came by—surprised, and really happy.
“I told you I’d come by before you went on,” she said. She smiled and fixed my hair. “I didn’t know if they’d let me in, but Stephen made it happen. You’re going to be great tonight. I love you.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I hugged her again, and she ran back to find her seat before the curtain went up. Seeing her gave me the boost I needed to get over my nerves. Now I just wanted to go out onstage. There were only a few minutes before the show started, and everyone was taking their places. I hurried to find my mark.
But suddenly I heard Stephen talking to the audience. For some reason, he was out in front of that heavy velvet curtain giving a speech. That’s definitely not the way the show usually starts, so I strained my ears and listened.
“He is without question one of the greatest dancers in the country,” I heard Stephen say. It took me a moment to realize he was talking about me! In fact, he said great things about everyone in the cast, especially Kate and me (since we were new). I just hoped I could live up to his words.
When he was finished, the audience applauded and then hushed. After a long time (or maybe two more minutes—I couldn’t tell), the show finally started. One by one, the members of the ensemble filed past me. I heard “break a leg” as they went, dark silhouettes dis-appearing onto the bright stage one after another.
When the moment came for my grand Broadway entrance, I lowered my head, took a deep breath, and got dragged onto the stage. That’s right: my first time on Broadway and someone was already dragging me around!
In my first scene, my “dad” is upset and he pulls me out onto the stage with him. I was supposed to stare at the ground while he yelled. But I couldn’t help myself: I broke character and peeked. Who wouldn’t? This was my moment. I wanted to remember every detail: the way the audience looked, how the lights felt on my skin, the scratchy floor sliding beneath me. I tried to be as subtle as I could without missing a thing.
The view from the stage is strange, just a lot of indistinct shadows and bright lights. I wanted to look at the whole theater, but I could only move my head so far without anyone noticing. But there in the front row was Eloy Barragan, one of my ballet teachers. As though I needed more pressure! My eyes searched the audience, looking for other familiar faces, but I found none. For all I could tell, the theater was filled with cardboard cutouts.
Then I saw the lined face of the tall, gray-haired conductor, and it hit me.
Whoa
, I thought.
This is real.
I don’t know why seeing the conductor made me realize that. Maybe it’s because in normal life you only see the back of the conductor’s head. But seeing his face let me know that I wasn’t dreaming. It was October 6, 2009, and in a few seconds I’d say my first line in a real Broadway show. I tried to prepare myself. I thought of my family in the audience, all the people who loved me but couldn’t be there, and God. Then I took a deep breath, opened my mouth, and said: “It’s to do with Maggie Thatcher, isn’t it?”
The next thing I knew, the show was over and the audience was giving me a standing ovation. That’s how it is for me when I’m onstage. I would never say that being a performer is easy. It’s one of the hardest things I can imagine doing. But all the work happens offstage, in classes, rehearsals, and auditions. For every hour of performing, there are weeks—sometimes even months—of preparation. And it can be really hard work, filled with long hours, bad injuries, and endless repetition. But when you’re onstage, you never let that show. You relax and just . . . be. At least, that’s what I do. That night, I
was
Billy Elliot—and it was great.
Seeing all those people stand up and applaud was amazing, especially because my mom, and my brothers, John and Matt, were there. In fact, almost my entire extended family had come to see the show, along with half of Iowa (or at least it felt that way). Even my great-grandma was there, and she never traveled on a plane.
