he happened to catch one of the Curry troupe performances. When I came on for my specialty song, he was smitten and asked me out to lunch. I was smitten right back, and we started going out constantly during the couple of weeks he was in Atlanta. I was thrilled to be dating a professional performer, and the romance of being with a man in show business added to his allure.
Soon enough I was in love for the first time, and it underscored my hunger to move on with my life and pursue the destiny Iâd been dreaming of since I was a movie-mad child. Herb had to leave Atlanta, but we kept in touch through letters. It was 1948, and I was twenty years old, convinced that my future, whatever it was to be, lay outside of Atlanta. I had by this time acquired another deadly secretarial job, this time for the Federal Housing Administration, and when my mother suggested that we take a two-week vacation in New York, I jumped at the chance. I was ecstatic at the idea of spending time in Manhattan, only I wasnât so sure about the tripâs two-week limit.
My mother had a friend whose brother lived uptown, near Columbia University, in a rambling apartment with plenty of room for guests. His two sons were away at school, so my mother and I were invited to stay; Iâm sure we couldnât have afforded the trip otherwise. As we were preparing to leave Atlanta, my mother noticed that I was packing rather heavily for a two-week vacation. The fact was, I wanted to remain in New York, and I hesitantly told my mother thatâs what I was contemplating. I donât think she believed I was really serious, but in the end I packed just about every piece of clothing I owned. I didnât know if Iâd have the courage to actually stay in New York, but I knew that Herb Shriner was in New York, and I was in love with Herb Shriner. I also realizedthat any possibility of pursuing a career in theater could only materialize if I took my chances in the unquestioned center of theater in the United States: New York City. I was ready.
Mother and I spent the two weeks in February as most tourists did, and still do, seeing the traditional sights. Herb was rehearsing a Broadway revue called Inside U.S.A ., which opened in April of 1948, starring Beatrice Lillie. As the days passed, my conviction to stay grew, and I even went on a couple of auditions. Arthur Godfrey told me that I had a lovely voice, but his television show already had too many singers. I was, however, quickly learning that you need to take advantage of any possible contacts you make, no matter how remote, and our host up near Columbia was friendly with a woman who was the switchboard operator at the Irving Berlin publishing offices. She arranged for me to sing for Helmy Kresa, a songwriter and arranger for Mr. Berlin. I chose âSmoke Gets in Your Eyes,â and Mr. Kresaâs reaction is imprinted in my memory bank to this day: âYou have a really pretty voice, but you donât sing with feeling. Youâve got to learn to do that.â Sixty years later that piece of advice has informed my entire professional mission.
Oh, how I loved New York! And, oh, how I loved discovering that the city seemed to run on nickels. A nickel would get you a phone call, a ride on the subway, entrance to one of the locked toilets at Rockefeller Center, and a ride on the Staten Island Ferry. I took that ride to Staten Island twice, just for the sheer fun of it. Holy Hannah, I was in NEW YORK CITY!
As the time approached for our return to Atlanta, I grew firmer in my conviction that I was going to stay. It wasnât just that I wanted to live in Manhattan; I simply knew that I belonged nowhere else but in Manhattan. New York City meant boundless opportunity,and I knew, with absolute certainty, that if I didnât try to find a way to sing it would be a terrible waste of talent, opportunity, and life. That I had at least one friend in New York, Herb, probably bucked me up, for
Soon enough I was in love for the first time, and it underscored my hunger to move on with my life and pursue the destiny Iâd been dreaming of since I was a movie-mad child. Herb had to leave Atlanta, but we kept in touch through letters. It was 1948, and I was twenty years old, convinced that my future, whatever it was to be, lay outside of Atlanta. I had by this time acquired another deadly secretarial job, this time for the Federal Housing Administration, and when my mother suggested that we take a two-week vacation in New York, I jumped at the chance. I was ecstatic at the idea of spending time in Manhattan, only I wasnât so sure about the tripâs two-week limit.
My mother had a friend whose brother lived uptown, near Columbia University, in a rambling apartment with plenty of room for guests. His two sons were away at school, so my mother and I were invited to stay; Iâm sure we couldnât have afforded the trip otherwise. As we were preparing to leave Atlanta, my mother noticed that I was packing rather heavily for a two-week vacation. The fact was, I wanted to remain in New York, and I hesitantly told my mother thatâs what I was contemplating. I donât think she believed I was really serious, but in the end I packed just about every piece of clothing I owned. I didnât know if Iâd have the courage to actually stay in New York, but I knew that Herb Shriner was in New York, and I was in love with Herb Shriner. I also realizedthat any possibility of pursuing a career in theater could only materialize if I took my chances in the unquestioned center of theater in the United States: New York City. I was ready.
Mother and I spent the two weeks in February as most tourists did, and still do, seeing the traditional sights. Herb was rehearsing a Broadway revue called Inside U.S.A ., which opened in April of 1948, starring Beatrice Lillie. As the days passed, my conviction to stay grew, and I even went on a couple of auditions. Arthur Godfrey told me that I had a lovely voice, but his television show already had too many singers. I was, however, quickly learning that you need to take advantage of any possible contacts you make, no matter how remote, and our host up near Columbia was friendly with a woman who was the switchboard operator at the Irving Berlin publishing offices. She arranged for me to sing for Helmy Kresa, a songwriter and arranger for Mr. Berlin. I chose âSmoke Gets in Your Eyes,â and Mr. Kresaâs reaction is imprinted in my memory bank to this day: âYou have a really pretty voice, but you donât sing with feeling. Youâve got to learn to do that.â Sixty years later that piece of advice has informed my entire professional mission.
Oh, how I loved New York! And, oh, how I loved discovering that the city seemed to run on nickels. A nickel would get you a phone call, a ride on the subway, entrance to one of the locked toilets at Rockefeller Center, and a ride on the Staten Island Ferry. I took that ride to Staten Island twice, just for the sheer fun of it. Holy Hannah, I was in NEW YORK CITY!
As the time approached for our return to Atlanta, I grew firmer in my conviction that I was going to stay. It wasnât just that I wanted to live in Manhattan; I simply knew that I belonged nowhere else but in Manhattan. New York City meant boundless opportunity,and I knew, with absolute certainty, that if I didnât try to find a way to sing it would be a terrible waste of talent, opportunity, and life. That I had at least one friend in New York, Herb, probably bucked me up, for
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