I have decided that this will probably be my last visit to a New
York City Museum. I am nearing 80 and although in good health, save
for a strong case of emphysema, I am finding it more and more
difficult to get to and around the City...more annoying, really, than
difficult. And I decided on this exhibition as my last because many
years ago I knew Peter Hujar, slightly, I knew Tennessee Willams,
slightly, and they had known one another, slightly, at that same time
and so I could not let the occasion pass without commenting on it:
This is the first time, late in my life, when persons I have known
have been the subject of museum exhibitions. But it is also an
example of it being a small world. In the exhibitions there were some
other familiar faces from my life experience and so the social triad
became the leitmotif of the day.
What follows immediately will be notes, random notes, with a nod to
Mr. Williams’ notes for writing plays. At the end I will comment on
Peter’s photography.
To begin: The setting.
The Morgan Library and Museum.
I moved to New York just after Labor Day 1959. The first winter I
lived on East 47th Street near Third Avenue and then later
on 82nd Street also near Third Avenue. After a summer of
summer stock in 1960 I sublet an apartment on Second Avenue and 25th
Street. I lived in that neighborhood for about four years. It was
probably at that time that someone or other suggested to me that I
visit the Morgan Library ...it being within the distance of a Sunday
walk. It could have been the set designer I worked for: he had
studied at the Yale School of Drama under Donald Oenslager and he
knew that his wife, Mrs. Oenslager, was active with the Morgan
Library as a volunteer. Whatever the date of my first acquaintance
with the Library, I was somewhat more familiar with it in 1964 when I
took a friend and his visiting mother there. In 1965 when my mother
came from Kansas to see the World’s Fair, I took her there as well.
` I cannot say that everything about the Library has been of interest
to me. I have never cared much for Middle Eastern cylinder seals, nor
for Gothic painting ...except for its brilliance of color. Not being
religious illustrated bibles and books of hours leave me cold
...although I do understand that the art of painting , in the west,
began with these tomes. But I do like drawing and in the late 80’s,
when I was studying figure drawing with an artist on West 26th
Street, (perhaps it was she who suggested a visit) I discovered that
the Morgan is one of the very best venues for the study of master
drawings of the West. Since that time I have rarely missed any of the
many excellent drawing exhibitions presented there from other
collections.
And while the original buildings are the very definition of
sumptuousness, over the years I have come to see them as an example
of Frank Lloyd Wright’s remark on classic revival architecture: “It
is a copy of a copy of a copy.”As for the recent expansion, see
this blog 2008, it was not my cup of tea on first encountering it and
over the years my opinion of it has become even less positive: this
is a really badly designed museum space. It is not an entity so much
as it is now a series of isolated galleries all of them to the sides
of an unattractive dining area thrust into the open, vacuous, center
court. Why that space was not used as gallery space, as it had been
in the past, is a mystery to me. Does New York really need yet
another museum dining room? And if it does must it be presented as so
completely dull and beside the point?
Tennessee Williams
In 1956 Mr. Williams was at the high point of his Broadway career.
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof had continued his success and his work had
achieved a similar acclaim in Hollywood. He, however, was not happy.
With little fanfare, apparently his agent Audrey Wood was unaware of
it, he went into production for a new play, Sweet Bird of Youth,
which was staged at Studio M, a small off Broadway-like theater in
Coral Gables, Florida ...as per the publication of the play in a 1957
issue of Theatre Arts Magazine. I believe I remember being told that
Peter Harvey, the set designer at the Coconut Grove Playhouse, worked
as the designer on this production.
For most of its history Broadway has had a make or break creative
environment and it makes perfectly good sense to do out of town
workshop productions before getting into the heady atmosphere of the
commercial mecca. Unfortunately there were very, very few regional
theaters at that time.
Enter Owen Phillips. In 1956-57 Owen began his first year as
managing director of the Coconut Grove Playhouse. If Tennessee
Williams was agreeable to having his new work performed outside New
York City, he was more than agreeable to hosting him at The Grove,
all of it to be paid for by producer George Engles’ Texas oil
money. And it would be an additional feather in his cap if he, Owen
Phillips, were to be the director as well of the new plays ...Owen
had previously been director and managing director at the Barter
Theater in Virginia. He and Tennessee were nearly the same age, Owen,
a nelly-assed queen, still lived with his mother, a Southern Belle
from an earlier epoch, and Owen assumed that he and “Tom” would
see eye to eye on everything artistic as well.
Enter Peter Hujar.
During the winter of 1957 Peter went down to Miami to visit his
friend Paul Thek who was the sometimes boyfriend of Peter Harvey.
Photographs show that these chaps were also friends with Tennessee
Williams and his boyfriend Frank Merlo. At the end of his visit Peter
Hujar returned to New York as the boyfriend of Paul Thek.
My entrance. (Ahem)
In that same issue of Theatre Arts Magazine there was an ad
soliciting hopefuls to come to The Coconut Grove Playhouse in Miami,
to study acting and to appear in plays with Broadway and Hollywood
Stars! When I went to college as a theater major in 1957 it had been
my intention to focus on acting. But I was given a job in the
university scene shop and because I had a natural ability to paint
faux finishes, the resident designer turned me into a scenic artist
almost overnight. But as I still wanted to be an actor, I left
college and went to Miami in late August 1958. No sooner had I
completed the first three or four classes than I was cast in a
workshop production that was presented at Studio M. Invited by Owen
Phillips, Tennessee Williams attended with his friend Frank Merlo.
The cast was introduced to them after a performance.
When the play closed after its two week run, Owen had a cast party
at this home. Tennessee graciously accepted an invitation and
appeared with his mother. At the end of the evening one of the other
young actors was asked to drive the William-es back to their hotel in
Downtown Miami and he, not wanting to sit in the front by himself and
feel like a chauffeur, as he had when he drove them to the party,
asked me to accompany him. And so I did.
Settling myself in the front seat of the car I was immediately aware
that I had entered into the presence of theatrical legend. I knew
that this woman was the model for the mother in Glass Menagerie. But
little did I think that she would soon launch into a recital of her
recent visit to her daughter Rose in the institution where she had
been placed. Tennessee Williams was quiet and disinclined to promote
the conversation ...with his fame and his personal life in
conjunction, he responded as if his privacy was being completely
violated. Unfortunately Miss Edwina did not take the hint. Out of
respect to him my friend and I made chit chat about the passing
scenery along the highway.
Soon after the workshop production closed, the Playhouse announced
that they were to present the world premier of Williams new play,
Period of Adjustment. But unfortunately for Phillips, it was to be
directed by Williams himself. That was his only demand. (Owen was
crushed; but soldiered on.) A designer, fresh out of Yale, see above,
was hired to do the sets and I, with my impressive one year college
resume, was designated his assistant ...as well as local scenic
artist, there being no one else with that talent in all of Miami;
Peter Harvey had moved on to New York at the end of the previous
season.
Delighted for their friend’s good fortune, T’s chums Gore Vidal
and William Inge took up residence in the theater during the
rehersals to give him moral support (and to keep the spirits
flowing.) In fact Gore Vidal was so enthralled with the idea of
directing that he signed on for a run of his play: Visit to a Small
Planet.
This time agent Audrey Wood knew what was going on and she too
camped out in the theater to prevent T. from making a complete career
blunder. It was obvious that they were no longer getting along; the
tension in the air was palpable. (There was also tension between T
and Frank Merlo.)
After the weeks of rehearsals the play opened to some acclaim and
Mr. Williams and his pals hosted a party for the cast and crew in the
home on Biscayne Bay of Mrs. Marion Vacarro. (Her husband was, I
believe, United Fruit. She was referred to as The Banana Queen, but
not to her face.) At the close of the play there was yet another
party at the home of Owen Phillips, now referred to by T and his
chums as “Goody Phillips”, with a tip of the hat to Arthur
Miller. And once again, at the end of the evening, my friend was
asked to drive the pack back to their hotel. I too was asked to “go
for the ride” even though there was no space for me. “You can sit
on my lap” a voice slurred from the backseat. Wary, I nonetheless
accepted the offer. Of course it was Mr. Williams. I apologized for
being so skinny and having such sharp bones. But he assured me that
at that late hour it did not matter. There was much laughter all the
way to downtown Miami; but about what I did not know. Looking out of
the corner of my eye I saw three of America’s reigning playwrights,
Tennessee Williams, William Inge, and Gore Vidal plastered into stiff
upright positions like bobble dolls gurgling with laughter.
Ten years later, in 1969, a play that I had written was read at the
O'Neill Playwrights conference and as a result I received a
Rockefeller Playwrighting grant administered by Audrey Wood. When I
made my first ...and as it turned out my only...visit to her enormous
corner office in the JC Penney Building on 6th Avenue and
52nd Street...she told me, regretfully, that she had no
idea what to do with me. I suggested Hollywood scripts, as she had
done for T. No she said. In the end I was dismissed without further
input from her. But I was in good company. My fellow playwright and
friend from that summer, Derek Walcott, was similarly dismissed. He
did, however, go on to receive the Nobel Prize for literature ...even
without her assistance.
In the exhibition I noticed that prior to signing with Audrey Wood
Tennessee Williams had been scouted by Freda Fishbein. In the late
60’s after I had been writing on a daily basis for several years a
friend felt that I was ready for some commercial attention and
introduced me to Miss Fishbein. She assured me that despite her age
she understood modern theater: she had discovered Elmer Rice. For
several years she did read my work and encouraged me to press on.
Eventually she retired and handed me off to a person I did not care
to know.
A month or so after the run of Period of Adjustment, Jessica Tandy,
the original Blanche du Bois, and Hume Cronin appeared at the theater
in a program of one act plays, Triple Play. I was also the assistant
to the house manager and so it was my job to open the theater at 6
P.M. so that they could go to their dressing room and prepare for the
evening performance. When I worked in the New York film industry in
the 1970’s their son Chris was a friend and fellow union member.
Toward the end of the season the play Look Homeward Angel closed on
Broadway and the cast agreed to extend the run to two more weeks in
Miami. For some reason I was elevated to set designer. (I was still
only nineteen!) I was warned that the star, Miriam Hopkins, would
chew me to pieces if I was not careful. It turned out to be quite the
contrary: when Miss Hopkins requested a change to the steps on the
set, I had the union carpenter take care of it immediately. And it
was done quickly and to her satisfaction. Thereafter I was her pet. I
don’t know that I have ever known that Miriam Hopkins starred on
Broadway in the original production of Band of Angels. Seeing her on
that playbill has brought back many of these memories.
Eli Wallach starred in the original Broadway production of The Rose
Tattoo. In the 1970’s his son Peter video taped one of my off off
Broadway plays. Peter and I shared the same birthday. I was
introduced to Eli at a gathering. He was rude.
In 1980 I worked on a film shot in New York that starred Ben
Gazarra, the original Brick in Cat. He too was rude...unbearable.
Later I learned that this had been a low point in his life.
In the summer of 1957 I worked as a busboy at the Teller House Hotel
in Central City Colorado. In August at the opera house next door the
touring Broadway play, Separate Tables, starring Geraldine Page was
performed for the month. I had a nodding acquaintance with her as she
sometimes had breakfast at the hotel. After a party one night during
which I had played an over the top villain in a melodrama spoofing
the hotel and acting company, word came to me that Miss page wanted
to say hello. Shyly I went to her and announced that I had played the
villain. She told me she had enjoyed my performance. I told her I
wanted to go to New York and be an actor. She leapt up and shouted:
“No! No! You silly boy! Don’t do that!” I did go to New York in
the spring of 1959 and the first play I saw on Broadway was Tennessee
Williams’ Sweet Bird of Youth starring Geraldine Page and Paul
Newman ...out of respect to my good friends Tom and Gerry.
In his cups or sober Tennessee Williams was always a gentleman,
never rude. While he was reputed to be testy at times, I never saw
it. He was always quiet, respectful of others, and somewhat
compassionate. He was not a verbal person. I never saw him in
conversation nor could I imagine him in a conversation. Writing, as
the exhibition tells us, was his refuge.
But writing is a solitary pursuit. It requires isolation and
solitude. The theater, and film, are considered collaborative
endeavors. Only the playwright works without the others. When they
begin to work on a piece, he is everyday more removed from the
process. (Only playwrights like Moliere and Shakespeare, who were
also actors, have an ongoing place in the company.) Plawrighting can
engender feelings of alienation.
And I learned subsequent to having known him that this had been a
low period for Tennessee Williams. I believe he felt that Kazan was
contributing too much to his work ...Cat was, I think, the beginning
of their end. And although he had begun by writing poetic plays Miss
Wood successfully guided him into the Broadway heavens. I think he
disliked that, I think he began to dislike her for it. I think he
began to dislike himself for feasting on it. Here he refers to this
time as “the catastrophe of success”. But he did take the money
and he lived well on it.
The exhibition focuses on the years of his beginnings up to Cat on a
Hot Tin Roof. Those are the plays for which he is well known. But he
wrote a great many other plays after those...many many plays ...about
which few of us know anything ...even though many of them were
performed in New York City. Eventually he turned his back on Broadway
...or it turned its back on him, and in celebrity crazed America
without that imprimatur as a playwright he was no one, nothing.
Considered a poet, it’s sad that we only remember him for his
commercial success and a fame he detested. And even sadder that in a
vitrine featuring his published works, we can see that they were
offered to the public in cheap, poorly made editions ...so unlike the
hand-sewn leather covered works in the ersatz medieval library across
the hall.
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