Spencer Tracy_ A Biography - James C. Curtis [58]
Tracy joined rehearsals on September 9, 1926, the day he signed an Equity contract with Eddie Dunn, Cohan’s longtime press agent and general factotum, calling for a salary of $175 a week. “I rehearsed; John Meehan directed it. And it was about a week before George M. came in.” The first public performance was scheduled for the night of September 13. “George would never fully direct his shows,” actor-playwright Jack McGowan said. “Sam Forrest or Julian Mitchell or Johnny Meehan would block them out and then George would take over, sometimes as late as two days before the opening, and give it his special touch.”
Tracy had performed six Cohan plays in stock—and had actually played Cohan’s parts in two of them—but the mere thought of shaking hands with the greatest living figure in American theater had him terrified. One morning, Cohan strolled onto the stage and greeted all twenty-two members of the cast individually. When he came to Tracy, he turned to Meehan, grinned, and said, “I don’t believe I have met this gentleman.” Then, said Tracy, came the “terrible moments” when they rehearsed for him. Cohan didn’t say a lot; his manner was curt and snappy. “Taught me to keep my hands out of my pockets. Oh, yes. Don’t be a lazy actor. Don’t start hiding your hands, so you’ll never know what to do with them.”
Louise left Johnny in Milwaukee and met the company in Buffalo, where Yellow was set to open a week’s stand at the Shubert-Teck Theatre. “I was scared to death,” Tracy said. “Christ, I thought I was going to get canned any minute. In those days they could fire you anytime up to ten days.” Tracy’s character, Jimmy Wilkes, was obvious business, a newlywed who serves as Chester Morris’ best friend, getting him out of scrapes long after the audience has given up on him. He had only two good scenes in the entire play, only one of which really gave him the chance to make an impression. In stock, he could simply “glance through his lines” (as Louise put it) and then run through them a couple of times with the rest of the cast. He was, in other words, used to holding back in rehearsal, but now with Cohan out front, that was no longer an option. The final dress—practically an all-nighter—took place in Buffalo, and the mood was decidedly tense. Cohan had a reputation for knowing all of the parts in all of his plays, and Tracy had somehow convinced himself that the Prince of Broadway would only use him up until opening and then go on in his place.
“During rehearsals,” said Selena Royle, “George M. sat in the front row of the orchestra pit, his feet high in the air crossed on the railing in front of him, his mouth down to one side in its perpetual characteristic lopsided grin, and as he gave you a direction his upper foot pointed the way he wished you to go … Spencer was rehearsing a scene when suddenly George M.’s feet came down from the railing with a bang and he sat up straight. Through his tight lips out of the side of his mouth he barked, ‘Tracy, you’re the best goddamned actor I’ve ever seen! Go ahead!’ His feet went back to their crossed blades position and he relaxed again on the tip of his spine.”
As an actor, Cohan had grown up admiring the amiable Nat Goodwin, whose expressive face and dry manner of delivery had taken him from vaudeville to light comedy and eventually to Shakespeare. Then he saw the versatile French