My First Five Husbands (16 page)

Tom and me at our wedding reception, February 2, 1958. Erie, Pennsylvania.

Norman L. Hartweg, twenty-two years old.

Mark with Norman and me in our backyard in Aurora, Colorado, 1959.

Lette and I performing “Two Little Pussycats” as Hathel and Ruthie, the night we brought the house down. New York City, October 1964.

My first official publicity shot, New York City, 1964.

Final dress rehearsal of
MacBird!
with Stacy Keach, 1966.

Dylan,
1972–a minor altercation with Will Hare.

“The Bunkers Meet the Swingers,” 1972,
All in the Family.
Carroll O’Connor, Jean Stapleton, and Vincent Gardenia.

Brad Davis as my son in
Crystal and Fox,
McAlpine Rooftop Theatre, New York City, 1973. (And Walt Gorney, playing Pedro.)

The Greek Wedding. The Greek, me, and Norman Lear in a circle dance on the patio. November 6, 1979.

It got a huge laugh, and Mervyn said, “Keep it.”

He called me on the Saturday before the Tuesday opening and said they’d decided to rewrite one of the stars’ duets and give it to Hazel and Ruthie! It was one of those “The star’s twisted her ankle and you two kids have to go on!” kind of opportunities.

“Do you think you can do it in three days?” asked Mervyn.

Did I ever!

“But you have to let me do the choreography,” I told him, knowing the somewhat abrupt choreographer would have given us moves that might be troublesome for Lette, who was not a trained dancer. Neither of us liked that butch choreographer. For one thing, she called me “Blondie” in rehearsals, which always gave Lette a laugh but annoyed me no end.

“Hey, Blondie—change places with this one down here.” Hmmph!
Blondie
.

Lette and I went into high gear, learning the new song with the conductor, Joe Stecko. It was a tricky piece called “Two Little Pussycats.” I put together some simple but snappy choreography, we rehearsed till we were blue in the face, and we steeled ourselves to pull it off on opening night. We were nervous but excited—two firecrackers ready to pop. And pop we did! We brought the house down, and all the reviews raved about us the next day.

“…just about steal the second act…”

“…the most successful tune in the show…”

“…stopped the show with ‘Two Little Pussycats.’ They do the number so smartly I wonder why Miss McClanahan had to overplay for the major portion of the show.”

Hey! Overplay?
Moi?
Well, all right. That last one was less than a rave for me. (But see how honest I am? I didn’t have to tell you that.)

This wonderful little musical ran only eleven weeks Off Broadway, but it’s still done in community theatres and colleges all over the country, where I’m told the actress doing Hazel always plays her with a lisp. We made a cast album that can be found in “rare record” stores, and the music is marvelous. Lette’s soprano can be heard soaring in the obbligati, clear as a buttonhook in the well water, as my father would say. If only the show had run long enough for us to make a real mark for ourselves! But big audiences didn’t come soon enough. We were all unknowns. Brilliantly talented unknowns, but unknowns nonetheless. Walter Mitty’s song “Confidence” was played before every football game for a few dozen years, however, so at least the composers made some moola, and I came away from the show with a new best pal—and an agent! I waited in line outside the post office in the pouring rain one afternoon and sent letters to seventy-some New York agents inviting them to come see me in
Walter Mitty
. Two actually came. One offered to represent me. And one is all it takes. I had taken a crucial step forward.

L
ette and I became fast friends, and she was in on my adventure with The Italian from the get-go. In 1952, at the tender age of seventeen, he’d been cast in
The Golden Apple
—the youngest chorus dancer on Broadway. Now he was in the chorus of
Walter Mitty,
and Lette and I stood downstage of him during Act Two, our backs to the audience, while he did his specialty dance number.