Theatre and dance…

I have long been a supporter of the arts in every city where I have lived and I can tell you that number is not small!

It all began when I was six years old in Louisville, Kentucky at a time I was courting a favorite Aunt. I was enrolled in a tiny dance school for tiny people. There was simple tap, Shuffle ball tap, shuffle ball tap only with a teddy bear to the strains of “Me and my Teddy Bear”. Sweet, right?

Amy Grimes was my mother’s just older sister who was not able to bear children and married a highly successful business executive with the L M Berry Company. They were the sole advertisers for the Yellow Pages at the time. Having no children and plenty of disposable income the couple was the height of glamour to all of the nieces and nephews. It was my goal to squeeze in and become her surrogate child.

As soon as I thought I had my dancing and singing role down pat I was ready for the attack. It was Christmas. After a long-winded Mass with a trip to the manger to hear the story of the birth of the baby Jesus that had quite frankly become tedious to me, our Christmas-dressed family went home for breakfast. Christmas breakfast  was the longest most trying one of the year. We had every breakfast food that one might find at I-Hop. There were biscuits and gravy, pancakes and bacon dripping with melted real butter and Maple syrup, eggs, toast, juice, coffee for Dad and tea for mother. In other word enough food to put any kid down for the count. My parents loved irritating us to the point of ruining Christmas. All my two brothers and I wanted was to break into the library and dive into the mounds of gifts we knew instinctively were waiting on the spaces we had each marked with one of Dad’s socks the night before. Instead of elegant glittery embroidered red velvet stockings like all of our cousins had. we each were handed a sock from Dad’s second dresser drawer every Christmas Eve before we solemnly treaded up the stairs to begin the long vigil of avoiding Santa so we would not get left out of the gift business. The socks were clean we supposed and each of us were surprised how much chocolate santas and snowmen could fit into one of them when properly stretched. There were always tons of Nonpareil and Hershey’s Kisses to fill in the toes and heels. Luckily for our family we discovered no tooth brushes and Ipana Toothpaste, or packages of Johnson & Johnson bandaids like other kids got. Who wants practical things for Christmas? Not us!

Once we had all reckoned what gifts went to whom (often a large item like a B B gun or a silver Schwinn Racer) would have been hidden by Santa behind a sofa or draperies. We each had to double-check our lists that we made in triplicate, one for Santa, one for the parents and of course, one for us as a checklist. I saved a lot of misplaced gifts using that nifty system over the years that I absolutely knew were mine! So much for the spirit of giving. Better to get than Give was the motto on that day each year.

At long last we boarded the tan and white Ford station wagon that Dad used for his Barber and Beauty Supply business and headed out to the country to have dinner with my mother’s family. We did this every year except one. That one time was a disaster. Dad wanted to have dinner with his own family and wanted to begin the tradition that many families suffer. Go on alternate years to one or the other set of grandparents. We arrived, had a cocktail, well the adults did, we had Coke-Cola. Once the adults were seated at their grand table and we at the children’s table my mother began to cry. Well, more than cry. She actually sobbed. We rose from our respective tables and loaded back into the car for the long trip out to Fern Creek.

This Christmas, the one where I was going to score with this glam-aunt, we went to Grandmother’s. I was prepared and wouldn’t they all be thrilled? I usually pop out of the car so I can go in first. Dad had not taught us too much yet about holding the door for mother first. That would come later. This time I acted like I lost a small truck (I hated trucks) in the cargo space in the rear of the wagon that smelled like bleach and permanent wave lotion. Once they were all inside and I knew they were hugging like they had not just seen each other yesterday, I grabbed Teddy that I had hidden in the space where the third seat folded down. He was a little ruffled but I was able to refresh him by the time I entered the house. I went immediately to the pantry and hid him on a shelf of cans so as not to get him covered in sugar or flour. Then I went and was hugged by everyone too. I liked that. I still do.

Holiday at Grandmothers were always a formal affair. The adults dressed in their finest church wear and we kids were dressed up like department store mannequins with wescots, ties, shiny new Buster Browns, little bow ties and long trousers. Really uncomfortable.

In this home there was a large formal dining room with a huge crystal chandelier that was always cleaned and sparkly before any family event. The table was laden with Grandmother’s mother’s and her mother’s silver, extravagant china on silver chargers and crystal goblets. I always thought that was why we kids could not sit at the big table.

Aunt Amy did not disappoint once again. Her wavy lustrous brown hair flecked with gold shiny bits was cut fashionably short and chic. She dressed classically in sleeveless black silk dresses that grazed her knees and she always had a string of real pearls bringing out the soothe grace of her long neck. She probably vacuumed in her black patent leather high heels I thought. But soon I would discover her maid did the vacuuming and not in high heels.

I was a first-string cousin and was seated in the lovely breakfast room with pretty windows and curtains facing onto the back property and the fences that held back the cows on land that Mr. Brown leased from Grandaddy. We usually had snow at christmas so looking out the back  was acceptable. We had a table set with linen, but we got paper napkins. We were given silver forks, salad size, and no knives. Our mothers made plates from the buffet in the dining room and delivered them to us. All the food was cut up child size. So knives would have been moot anyway.

The babies were lined up in a short row of wooden high chairs with animal decals on the seat backs.

As soon as I heard the grownup laughter and chatter subside I knew they had all made it through the buffet and would be seated making a toast or two. I made my move sprightly. Suddenly is was alone, like on a stage under a single spotlight, with paned French glass doors open on either side. The light shone through the tall windows with the lined chintz draperies wide open to let the light in. “Uhm….Uhm” I began. when they all looked up and I had their attention before someone swept me back to the boring cousins I began to do a little soft shoe, pulled Teddy from behind my back where he had been waiting to make his debut and began to rock, tap and sing. “Me and my teddy bear, had no troubles, had no cares, me and my teddy bear jus play and play all day …….” Mother leapt from her Queen Anne side chair and was heading to me saying “Jimmy, honey, now you go back to the table with you brothers and cousins. This is embarrassing”. Then it happened just as I planned. Aunt Amy was afoot almost as quickly as mother” He’s not embarrassing, Mari” as she swept me up and into her arms “he’s precious!” Done. It worked.

From that day forward we were best of friends and that lasted until the day she died at eighty-three. My first foray into theatre had been totally successful. I would have a life long love of the arts and what they could produce forever.