My People

I initially wrote this post on June 7th, 2007, to celebrate my the 25th anniversary of my move to New York City in 1982. 38 years later, I still feel the same.

We are vagabonds, we "show" people. Our world is full of possibilities and disappointments ... risks and rewards ... hellos and goodbyes ... movement and change. Love of performance never goes away; it can go dormant, be dramatically affected by life events, but it never goes away. I have been listening to the musical "Curtains". A Kander & Ebb song from this show clearly describes what I feel when I'm not singing - "I Miss the Music".

In June 1982 I moved to The Big Apple. I arrived with two suitcases, two National Tours under my belt and $10,000 in savings. In my initial weeks in the city, I had three callbacks for the Broadway production of "Annie", three callbacks for the national tour of "Pirates of Penzance" and was offered a job at The Paper Mill Playhouse, a top regional house. It was quite the heady introduction to the City.

“Annie" taught me to keep my mouth shut at auditions. (You never know who’s listening to your chatter). A casting assistant at the time, (She became an influential casting director) misunderstood something I said due to nerves and for 25 years refused to see me for shows she was casting. Not everyone likes you, it's not reasonable to expect so, but it’s a lesson I learned the hard way.

"Pirates" taught me patience  -  that sometimes it is indeed "who you know". I had been cast in the National Tour of “Pirates". At the last minute, the tour switched musical directors. Don Jones, the new Musical Director, wanted to use a friend of his who I had worked with on the national tour of “Fiddler on the Roof”; I was dropped because Don didn't know me. 

Later on Don became my vocal coach. When I eventually told him what had happened, he said, "I can't believe I did that! I grew up with Charlie in Buffalo, NY, so I cast him. You're a much better singer. If I had known you, I would have hired you." I learned each coaching session, each audition, each gig was an investment. You never knew who would play a role in your life going forward.

The Paper Mill audition taught me to research the show for which I'm auditioning. I thought I was singing for a 1940's review called "Blue Moon"; instead I was auditioning for the Sigmund Romberg operetta, "The New Moon". I was cast after singing the last four bars of "Being Alive" (essentially one held note). I signed a contract before I left the room. It wouldn't have mattered anyway ...I always sang "Being Alive" ... the same song ... no matter the show, but you really should tailor your music to the audition, have several audition pieces ready.

Thus closed my first weeks of opportunities in New York City ...  What a rush! And it was only the beginning!

For the first three weeks in The Big Apple, I slept on the couch in my friend Jackie Teamer’s apartment or booked a room at the Edison Hotel. At the time, Jackie was playing Jewell in "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas" on Broadway. As I blew through my money, I moved from couch to couch, sublet to sublet.

I wound up with an apartment on 100th and Broadway in what was once The Whitehall Hotel. A 400 sq. ft. studio, it was the only apartment in NYC for which I ever held an actual lease. Before I could get settled in, I was hired as a Broadway singer for six months by Holland America. I paid for that studio apartment for six months only visiting it one day a week when my cruise ship was in port. I was then asked to complete a contract on another ship for three months. In the nine months on Holland America ships, I took 30 cruises. 

Once I finished singing on the ships (which I loved), I lived in sublets in Sheridan Square in Greenwich Village and at 103rd and Broadway in a 5th floor walk-up. My final sublet was in January, 1985; the shotgun apartment was located at 51st and 1st on the East Side and featured a bathtub in the kitchen. After that, I only came to New York for key auditions, rehearsals or to visit friends. 

As I look back, I wonder ... Could I approach New York, Broadway or auditions  again without filters? Could I be as fearless as I once was? Could I take on so much risk in hopes of reward? Could I approach my life with the wide-eyed innocence and enthusiasm of youth? The answer is no. History and experience teach you lessons and perspective. In some ways, innocence protected me. I remain proud I competed in the world’s biggest market and it did not make me cynical or broken. I was successful. I am successful.  My love for musical theater remains. There's still no people like show people. My People.