Lauren Bacall - By Myself and Then Some

The second read-through was easier, but not by much for me. At day’s end George thanked us all, told us he’d see us tomorrow. I apologized for my nerves – he said, ‘Don’t worry, we have three weeks of rehearsal, no one expects perfection the first day, there’s time. Take it easy.’ Of course I had also learned that the first five days of rehearsal are a trial period for an actor – or can be. Any time during that period the producer or director can decide to replace you with no obligation on their part. So I’d gotten the job, but until four more days had passed, disaster could strike. I went home, exhausted by my apprehensions and anxieties, started marking my script and studying my lines. The next day I’d have to stand up – walk around – without the protection of a table in front of me and people close on either side. On day number two I was there before ten. The stage manager was onstage putting tape on the floor to mark off the room – where the walls would be – and placing chairs opposite each other to signify a door, other chairs for a sofa, a window, etc. Immediately we had to begin to imagine where everything would be – what it might look like. Make-believe was beginning.

So the rehearsals went smoothly for the next three days. I began to make a bit more sense with my part. I’d sneak looks at Kaufman, Sheekman, the Goetzes to see if they disapproved. Every time they whispered or glanced in my direction I thought the end was near. George would pace up and down the center aisle with his arms bent and his hands under his armpits, wearing a terrible squinting expression that made him look as though he hated everything. He would always speak softly and individually to the actors when giving direction. If there was something in particular he wanted to say, he’d come onstage, put his arm around the actor’s shoulder, walk him off to one side and tell him what he wanted. It is the most graceful way of directing I have ever seen. No wonder he had been so successful and highly thought of – he did not embarrass or humiliate the actors, he instilled trust, and they gave their best to him. And he’d make a joke every now and then. One day he walked down the center aisle, to the edge of the stage and whispered, ‘There’s a Japanese spy in the house.’ All who understood laughed. He meant that Lee Shubert – one of the famed theatre owners – was in the back of the house. Shubert wore an inscrutable expression and sneaked around a lot. Clearly he was not a popular fellow. Just as clearly Kaufman was – the actors warmed to him, though Sam Jaffe seemed to be having some difficulty. Not acting difficulty, but something was not quite right. Each of us ingenues had to curtsy to him in the play – a formality observed as we started our day’s lessons. I remember how Sam Jaffe took my hand and pulled me down to a low curtsy and kept me there until he pulled me up. I did as he wanted – too scared not to.

On the fifth day of rehearsal we all streamed back after the lunch break. George Kaufman, in the orchestra, beckoned to me to come over to him. ‘Oh God,’ I thought, ‘this is it. He doesn’t like me in the part. I won’t do. Oh, I’ll die right here and now!’ I nervously (what else?) walked downstage. He motioned me to squat down so he could talk to me. ‘Betty – we’ve been thinking…’ It never occurred to him I would be in such a panic, so unsure of myself that I would be telling myself, ‘Oh, this is it. I’m going to be fired! Don’t cry now, whatever you do.’ ‘We’ve talked it over – Arthur, Ruth and Gus, and myself – and we’d like you to try reading Maud instead of Adele. You and Jackie switch parts for the rest of the day.’

‘Was I doing something wrong, Mr Kaufman?’

He must have sensed my panic. ‘For heaven’s sake, no. We just think the other part is better for you – better for the play.’

‘Of course,’ I said. I felt some relief, didn’t totally fall apart, managed to stand up and prepare myself for the switch. He must have been right about my playing Maud, for I remember things about her and nothing about Adele. At the end of the day George came up to me and said, ‘You stick with Maud, it’s much better this way.’ And I did and it was.

So the rehearsals continued into the second week and so did I. They went smoothly. I was very happy playing Maud, but Sam Jaffe and Kaufman did not seem to be getting along. We supporting players were not privy to the facts, but we sensed it. A few days before we were to leave for Wilmington it happened. We arrived for rehearsal one morning and Kaufman announced that by mutual agreement Sam Jaffe had withdrawn. After much thought as to whether they should recast, they had decided to let the understudy, Reynolds Evans, play the part for the day and then make a final decision. What a burden for poor Reynolds Evans! All I cared about was that the play must continue. My first speaking part – I had to be heard on Broadway, otherwise how would I get those fabulous notices I had planned in my fantasies?

We got through the morning. The authors, producer, and director had a lengthy luncheon meeting, of course – then we continued through the afternoon. George worked with Reynolds Evans, kindly and helpfully as always. It was a relief to take the focus off oneself and concentrate on someone else. At the end of the second day with Reynolds we were asked to gather onstage. George then made the announcement: they were going all the way with Evans and felt sure that he would do the job well and that the play would be a success. That led to a round of applause for Reynolds, who was all smiles. So it would go on, and we were all pulling for him, the play, Kaufman, and our jobs. The unity that exists in the theatre is what makes it the most special place on earth. Not in any other branch of the entertainment world does one get the sense of everyone pulling for the success of the whole. It’s a cooperative effort, an exchange between people – that’s what’s important, that’s what we all love about it…. At least that’s what the pros love about it.

Finally came the dress rehearsal and a chance to put on make-up. To put to practical use some of those hours spent at the American Academy. It was so exciting – the smell of the greasepaint. Corny but true. Greasepaint was still being used, and I bought all the necessary paraphernalia. It was great to be in make-up and costume and see everyone else that way – to work with props. We were not going to rehearse on the actual set until Wilmington, but we all were realizing what we would have to do then, and I thought it was the best play in the world. I’d forgotten I had thought Johnny 2 × 4 was the best play in the world too – it was, I guess, until it opened.

Travel day was the following day – we were all to meet at Penn Station. Oh, glorious excitement! We all said, ‘See you in Wilmington… see you at the station… see you!’ I met Fred Spooner for a cup of coffee before heading home to pack, and of course Betty Kalb was there as well – Walgreen’s being ‘there.’ I was off on my first real adventure in the theatre, the first rung on the ladder – it was actually happening. Fred and Betty kissed me goodbye, wished me luck.

Of course I had no luggage of my own, so used a suitcase of Mother’s. I didn’t have much to take, but I packed what I had – one good dress, slacks, sweaters, skirt. I had never been anywhere without her but summer camp or school. Here I was going off on my own a few days before my eighteenth birthday on September 16, still a minor. Oh, it was a lot to absorb. Also, Buzz Meredith had called me. He was still in the Army and hadn’t got to New York during the rehearsal period, but he wanted to wish me luck – asked what theatre I was opening in, what day, and where in Washington. Said I must see the Lincoln Memorial by moonlight, and if he was there while I was, he’d take me. It was all too much to hope for.