Eighty Is Not Enough: One Actor's Journey Through American Entertainment (20 page)

Then one day Pat had her own brush with greatness. She heard about auditions for a new theatrical production,
Courtin’ Time
, in which the producers were trying to create another
Oklahoma
, which had just finished its hugely successful run at the 44
^th
Street Theater in 1948. The lead in
Courtin’ Time
was Lloyd Nolan, a great actor, and very popular at the time.

But the show’s real attraction was the choreographer—none other than George Balanchine. By this time, Balanchine was already widely considered the greatest choreographer in the history of American dance. When Pat heard about Balanchine’s involvement, she was desperate to have a shot at the audition.

But the producers at Radio City didn’t want their dancers heading out on auditions. They were afraid of losing them, especially the girls in the Ballet Corps, who were among the most talented dancers in New York City. So they cleverly arranged their own rehearsals at the exact time they knew the Broadway shows were having their auditions. Despite this, Pat had managed to get to the first one when the field was winnowed from around 500 to 100 dancers. The next audition, however, landed right at the time of a Radio City Ballet Corps rehearsal, and Pat couldn’t go.

But Pat outsmarted them. She wrote a letter directly to Balanchine and left it at the stage door asking if she could skip the second audition and come to the finals. She was pleasantly surprised when they agreed.

For the final audition each of the girls had to dance on point. One by one they moved across the stage, on their toes, doing turns as they went. Pat was toward the back of the line. When her time came, she took off dancing and turning until arriving at the end of the stage. There she looked out and saw Balanchine standing in the aisle. He was pointing right at her, as if to say, “That one.”

She was absolutely thrilled. Nothing could compare to receiving that kind of recognition from one of the greatest figures in dance history. Later that night, she told her mother all about it. To have her daughter singled out by Balanchine was a great thrill for Helon as well, who rightly saw it as vindication for the difficult decision she had made years before to give her children a shot at dancing on the big stage in New York City.

Pat joined
Courtin’ Time
. She got to know Balanchine pretty well, and he impressed her as a real gentleman. Although supremely self-confident, he was never dismissive of others and never allowed his great stature to interfere with his decency as a person. Pat recalls a special moment while they were on the road. After a rehearsal, Balanchine said to Pat, “Well, I’m going across the street to have a coffee. Would you like to come?”

So they went together for coffee, and while at the table, one of the singers in the show rushed up all excited: “Oh, Mr. Balanchine, Mr. Balanchine, I want to introduce my friend. This is Anna.” Balanchine politely responded, “How do you do?” Then, realizing that Pat had been ignored, Balanchine turned to Pat, and without missing a beat, said to the couple: “And, I would like for you to meet my mother.” Pat was all of twenty at the time, and could have passed for sixteen. Everyone laughed. But his inclusion of Pat in the conversation and his sensitivity to the feelings of those around him, were a reflection of his strong character.

Balanchine directed his dancers in a uniquely relaxed manner. Most other choreographers were forever screaming at the dancers. But Balanchine spoke softly. Pat recalls his pensive style: “He was the first choreographer I’d worked with,” she says, “who was quiet. You’d see him thinking, and he would blink his eyes in a certain way, and then he’d get up and show you very softly how to do it correctly.”

Her description reminds me of a similar change I’d seen on Broadway. Elia Kazan was the very first director I worked with who wouldn’t shout. When he had some instruction for an actor, he would give it in a soft, calm, relaxed manner. No doubt, his personal style had a great deal to do with his training in “the method” style, where reaching inward was as important as projecting outward. Perhaps Pat was seeing a similar transition with new theories of dance.

Another of Pat’s fascinating encounters during
Courtin’ Time
had little to do with dancing. Just as
Courtin’ Time
was preparing for its Broadway run, the United States was still in the thick of the Korean War. After the initial success of General Douglas MacArthur’s invasion at the Korean Port of Inchon, the Chinese entered the conflict, and the war bogged down. As a result, a well-publicized feud began between MacArthur and President Harry Truman, leading to the General’s dismissal in April of 1951. He then returned home, his first trip to the mainland in fourteen years, where he received one of the biggest welcomes in history. I still recall the ticker-tape parade in New York City, which was the largest ever. MacArthur finished his tour of America with an address to a joint session of Congress where he famously ended with his bittersweet lament that “old soldiers never die, they just fade away.”

A few weeks later he decided to take in a Broadway show. Pat recalls the excitement at the end of the performance as everyone lined up in a semicircle onstage to shake hands with this legendary five-star general who had defeated Japan in World War II and ruled over the Japanese Islands for years after the war. Now he was back home taking in a Broadway play like everyone else. Pat still vividly recalls shaking his hand with a degree of amazement at the presence of this bigger-than-life figure.

Notwithstanding Balanchine’s marvelous choreography and a boost from the former Supreme Allied Commander,
Courtin’ Time
lasted only a week on Broadway. Regrettably, they lost their star, Lloyd Nolan, who developed problems with his vocal chords and was unable to sing. Once he was replaced, the show never gained much traction.

Still, Pat’s brief association with George Balanchine made it worthwhile. And it was a testament to her tremendous talent. Balanchine wanted dancers with the ability to express his vision. Only a few had that unique talent, and my future wife was among them. I’ve always been so proud of her marvelous accomplishments onstage—and so grateful that, along the way, she chose to spend her lifetime with me.

*  *  *

From
Courtin’ Time
, Pat went immediately into
Two on the Aisle
, starring Bert Lahr, the famous Cowardly Lion in
The Wizard of Oz
. From there she worked in a number of other venues, including a stint dancing on
The Steve Allen Show
. She was quickly making herself a reputation as one of the best young dancers in New York City when she heard about tryouts for a dance company established to work with the new comic sensation, Jackie Gleason. The head of the company was June Taylor, the sister of Gleason’s future wife, Marilyn, who was a dancer in the group and remains a good friend of ours today. Soon these dancers would become famous the world over as The June Taylor Dancers.

Jackie Gleason had now worked his way up through the clubs in New York City—where Helon first worked with him—to “B” films in Hollywood, and then to his big break in 1949 when he landed the lead on
The Life of Riley
. I have a strong memory of the show—and of Gleason—because it began the same year as
I Remember Mama
. But I also remember him because I truly believe he was among a very elite group of great entertainers. Milton Berle, Lou Costello and Jimmy Durante were other comics who come to mind. But Gleason had one advantage over most everyone; he was also a great dramatic actor, with such timeless roles as Minnesota Fats in
The Hustler
and Maish Rennick in
Requiem for a Heavyweight
, directed by my friend, Ralph Nelson, who felt the same about Gleason’s prodigious talents.

In 1950, Jackie began hosting
Dumont’s Cavalcade of Stars
on the Dumont channel, which later moved to CBS and was renamed
The Jackie Gleason Show
. Gleason always loved the old Busby Berkeley musicals extravaganzas of the 1930s with their elaborate dance routines, and he worked similar numbers into his variety show. His penchant for these spectacular numbers caused him to rely more and more on his own June Taylor Dancers, which were becoming a central feature of his programs.

By 1952, Gleason had already developed many of television’s unforgettable characters: Reginald Van Gleason, Rudy the Repairman, Joe the Bartender and, of course, Ralph Kramden, the ever-scheming, loud-mouthed but lovable Brooklyn bus-driver. As the show’s popularity soared, he increased the number of June Taylor Dancers to sixteen, and Pat set out to land one of the new spots.

Gleason, with a style all his own, turned the audition itself into a spectacle. He arranged for
Life
magazine to cover it and once June had narrowed the field to about fifty qualified girls, Gleason had them all paraded down Broadway to his suite at the Park Central Hotel—with
Life
magazine photographers snapping away as they went. Once inside, each girl had to walk, one at a time, in front of Jackie, who would tell them: “Pull your skirt up to your knee”—this was obviously before the days of harassment lawsuits!

Pat was chosen. She worked on the
Jackie Gleason Show
for two years beginning in 1952 and was featured in a number of the routines choreographed by June Taylor. Recently my kids and I watched one from 1953 in which Pat was featured on an old reel, and we all just marveled at her amazing talent.

In 1953, Gleason chose six of his dancers to go to Europe during the summer break. Pat wasn’t among them. Annoyed at not being selected, Pat decided to break off and form her own dance act. She contacted a choreographer from the
Steve Allen Show
who worked up a series of dance routines for her. But before things got underway, Pat’s godmother, Marie Spataro, decided to take a trip to Europe and asked Pat to come along.

Before leaving, Pat mentioned to Gleason that she was also going to Europe for the summer with her godmother. He took her aside and, in typical Gleason fashion, handed her a note and said good-bye. When he left, she opened it, and there was a $50 bill inside with a message that read: “Have your first drink in Europe on me.” Pat still has the note.

Pat then sailed for Europe and had a wonderful time with her godmother. She also had the last laugh on Jackie because when she returned on the U.S.S.
Constitution
, the New York paparazzi showed up at the dock in Manhattan. As she came off the cruise liner, they photographed her, and the next day her picture was on the front page of the
New York Daily News
.

After arriving home, Pat’s mother received a phone call and yelled out to her: “It’s Gleason on the phone!” So she took the phone, and Jackie invited her to his place in the Adirondacks in upstate New York: “I have this house,” he said, “and everybody comes up for the weekends. They usually spend the night, and we have a party, and it’s a lot of fun. Would you like to come?” By now, Pat and I were dating, but I was away doing summer stock, so Pat took my sister Joyce, and the two rode up to Gleason’s house on the train.

At the party, Gleason’s producer, Jack Philbin, told her they wanted her back for the next season. Philbin was surprised when Pat told him: “I’m not coming back.” She explained she was putting together her own act and was planning to take it on the road. He took it with a certain degree of disbelief and even umbrage that she would have the temerity to dare to leave this hugely successful show and strike out on her own. She still remembers Philbin looking down his nose at her and scoffing: “Well, get her!” But Philbin didn’t know my wife, and she went off to better things on the Broadway stage—and elsewhere.

Many years later, I met Jackie at a Morton’s Steak House in Chicago. He invited me to his table. I remember his booming voice: “Sit down and have a drink, Dick.” I told him I didn’t drink and was about to order a coke when he commanded: “Nobody sits with me and doesn’t drink!” So I ordered something and nursed it while we talked. He remembered Pat, and we talked about the old days in New York.

*  *  *

When Pat saw me in
Mister Roberts
, she was still dancing at Radio City. Later when she joined the Gleason show, she and the other June Taylor Dancers rehearsed in the afternoon at New York’s Grand Central Station, the same place we rehearsed
Mama
in the morning.

One day I was watching the dancers come in and spotted the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. I remarked to Ralph Nelson: “Look at that girl. She’s so beautiful, I could marry her tomorrow.” Ralph laughed and said, “What kind of nonsense is that? You don’t even know her.”

So I approached her to strike up some conversation, and she looked at me and said: “Don’t you remember me? I’m Pat Poole, and we used to sit next to each other at the Professional Children’s School?” Suddenly, I remembered the pretty blond girl whose homework I copied. She told me she had seen me in
Mr. Roberts
and really enjoyed the show. I was ecstatic.

Immediately I began thinking of ways to connect with this bombshell. I discussed it with Ralph Nelson, and he came up with a plan. Ralph suggested we put a small dance number into one of the
Mama
episodes. He would then call Gleason and ask him to send her over to teach me the dance. I thought it was a great idea, and so Ralph called Gleason, told him what we wanted, and specified that it had to be the young girl named Pat.

It worked like a charm. The next day, Pat came to our rehearsal to teach me The Turkey Trot. We worked on it every day for a week. Then I invited her to come see the show, which was broadcast live on Friday night. I was delighted when she agreed to come, but she showed up with her fiancé. Rosemary Rice, who played Katrin in
Mama
, came to the rescue. She suggested that she host a small party for the people in the show and invite Pat. But she would stress to her that she should come alone.