I Was a Dancer - Jacques D'Amboise [95]
Wearing Tanny LeClercq’s sweater and jumping over George, Australia, 1958 (image credit 10.8)
Recently, laughing over our many years of adventures together, Paul told me, “Can you imagine? I found out later Maria was pregnant, and, it’s fantastic! The doctor had told her not to dance. You see? I’m a fortune-teller!”
After the opening in Sydney, André left, and the papers trumpeted, “Isn’t Australia good enough for the superstars?” It was thrown upon Melissa Hayden and me to carry the company. The critics in Sydney were skeptical, but we eventually won them over. The audiences thrilled to Balanchine’s choreography, and our reviews were glowing. Milly and I danced, and danced, and danced for two months, in Sydney, followed by two months in Melbourne, till it was time to say goodbye to the many Aussie friends and fans we had made. We headed for our final engagement, in the Philippines.
Paul Szilard is Hungarian. In ballet class in the late 1940s and ’50s, he always wore a white short-sleeve T-shirt, black tights, white socks, and white ballet shoes, everything sparklingly clean. He was as neat and clean as a dancer and seemed to know everything and everyone. To this day, Paul, now in his nineties, books tours for the Alvin Ailey and Martha Graham dance companies, and quietly sends money to dancers he hears are in need.
Paul had spent World War II in Manila during the Japanese occupation, until he was liberated by the American G.I.s under General Douglas MacArthur. He cashed in those early connections to bring the company to Manila for the final week of our tour.
It was the end of September, and hot. The Philippine people were thrilled that we were there. It was a little over a decade since the Japanese had been forced out. Recovery was slow. Our theater was about an hour’s drive, on the outskirts of Manila. We drove in a bus through dark roads, no lights, just twilight from the sun. The houses on the side of the road were teeming with people, waving at us and calling out greetings in Tagalog, their language. The houses were wood and carved with figures and designs, built off the ground on stilts, hoping to catch a breeze and be above the bugs, insects, and jungle stuff.
On arriving, we discovered our theater was a giant metal Quonset hut, aluminum or tin. Shaped as if a half of a watermelon was hollowed out, but over a city block long—three thousand folding chairs filled 90 percent of it. I doubt if more than the first few rows of people could really see. We were dancing on four-foot-high wooden risers covered with splintered plywood. The orchestra sat on the dirt floor at the base of the risers. Hopefully, to make a breeze, they had cut holes on the side of the hut and peeled back the metal like opening a can of sardines. All day long, the hot sun had been cooking this oven, and, open as it was, millions of mosquitoes were buzzing in residence. We had no need to do a warm-up to prepare for performance—I did one plié and found myself in a puddle of sweat. As we performed, we slipped on our own droplets on the floor. By the end of four ballets, the floor was sopping wet. All the dancers’ muscles were cramping from loss of fluids, potassium, and salt. Looking out front into the audience, we saw three thousand flapping fans … not just people but their white programs trying to make a breeze.
The actor and singer George Irving and I once shared a bottle of wine (actually, several). I posed the question, “George, how old were you when you first did it? How did you lose your virginity?” His answer involved the outskirts of Manila.
George was drafted during World War II. After basic training, recruits lined up, and were told, “You’re going to Japan; you’re going to Europe; you’re going to Italy; you’re going to France; you’re going to …” When George reached the front of the line, the guy deciding looked up and recognized him. They had done summer stock together. “Hey George, how did you get in the infantry?” “Drafted!” George replied. “Well, you should be in the USO, in the entertainment arm, performing! How about