Kay Thompson (13 page)

“Kay was completely scornful whenever Alice Faye came up in conversation,” recalled
Eloise
illustrator Hilary Knight. “She would say things like, ‘Alice has the biggest cold cream jars I’ve ever seen in my life.’ I guess she didn’t think someone like her should need cold cream, but Kay was jealous of anyone who was pretty.” Especially a pretty girl who had stolen her radio gig.

Just before Kay signed the contract for
Radio City Revels,
however, she demurred. A much more intriguing opportunity had come her way: Vincente Minnelli wanted Kay to be a leading lady in his new Broadway musical,
Hooray for What!

T
he genesis
of
Hooray for What!
began when Broadway impresarios Lee and Jake Shubert were in search of a vehicle for the popular comic Ed Wynn. Upon hearing this, E. Y. “Yip” Harburg dusted off an unproduced story outline and the Shuberts went for it. Harburg and Harold Arlen were commissioned to compose the songs, Howard Lindsay and Russel Crouse were hired to flesh out the libretto, and Vincente Minnelli was engaged to direct the show and design the sets.

Ed Wynn would play Chuckles, a horticulturist and inventor who, as Harburg described it, “had an apple orchard, and he was trying to invent an insecticide that wouldn’t kill [his beloved] worms.”

A manufacturer of poison gas for the military is convinced that Chuckles has developed “a gas so terrible that whoever had it could conquer the world.” European superpowers get wind of the discovery, then trip over each other trying to acquire the formula first.

Leading the arms race is Stephania Stephanovich, a modern-day Mata Hari with a thick Eastern European accent—think Natasha Fatale, Boris Badenov’s
vamp from
Rocky and Bullwinkle
. In a tight black dress, oozing duplicity, the dragon lady seduces Chuckles while using a hand mirror to catch sight of his formula. After writing it down, she escapes to Switzerland.

There, at Le Grande Hôtel de l’Espionage, the walls have eyes and ears—literally—with every oil portrait hiding a spy (a device Kay would later adapt for her book
Eloise in Moscow
). Secret agents steal the formula from Stephania, then from each other, but in the end, they discover it is nothing more than laughing gas. Why? Stephania’s notations were backward due to the mirror’s reflection.

Vivian Vance, who later immortalized Ethel Mertz in TV’s
I Love Lucy,
campaigned tenaciously for the role of Stephania. Back then, however, Vivian was just an anonymous chorus girl who, because of her similar size and features, had understudied for Ethel Merman in
Anything Goes!
and
Red, Hot and Blue!

Crouse and Lindsay had written the librettos for both Merman productions and had seen Vivian step into Ethel’s shoes on the exceedingly rare occasions when the star allowed hell to freeze over. They liked her, and Vivian had begged them to write a part for her in their next project.

“We didn’t think of [Vivian] for the part of ‘Stephania,’ ” Russel later recalled, “because we knew a ‘name’ was wanted. ‘All right,’ she said, when she heard the bad news. ‘I’ll go into the chorus again.’ ”

The Shuberts thought Beatrice Lillie would be ideal for Stephania, but after agreeing to pay Ed Wynn a fortune, they were not about to part with another star’s ransom. When the door opened for lesser known performers to be considered, Russel proposed Vivian. He had his heart set on her—in more ways than one. Despite her marriage and his own rekindled relationship with his ex-wife, Vance and Crouse carried on an affair that was anything but clandestine. As a result, Russel’s casting preference was written off as hopelessly biased.

Meanwhile, the same week that Thompson and Joe DiMaggio were pictured in all the papers, Minnelli invited Kay to audition for the role of Stephania. Minnelli thought that Thompson’s natural comedic impulses, her love of silly dialects, her lanky appearance, and her red-nailed talons made her a delicious choice to play the femme fatale. He also felt her arranging talents and choral direction could be used to great advantage. Her audition impressed everyone—with the exception of Russel, who continued his one-man crusade for Vivian.

The final decision was made public on August 14 when columnist Larry Wolters broke the story in the
Chicago Daily Tribune
: “Kay Thompson and her Rhythm Singers have been engaged for the new Ed Wynn musical,
Hooray for What!
”

As a consolation, Vance would be hired as Thompson’s understudy. Outwardly, Vivian kept a stiff upper lip, but privately she was furious. It was one thing to understudy Merman, a bona fide star, but Thompson had never set foot on a Broadway stage. Vivian had paid her dues—in the wings and under the sheets. If Russel couldn’t deliver, she’d find someone who could.

The next thing everybody knew, Vance attached herself to Yip Harburg. “I thought she might be having an affair with Yip Harburg because they were dating a lot, pretending it was platonic,” Hugh Martin recalled. Of course, Russel was jealous and both men began vying for Vivian’s affections.

At a rehearsal space in Manhattan on East Fifty-fourth Street, Kay practiced her part in the show while pulling together her largest chorus yet—eight men and eleven women—including Hugh Martin, Ralph Blane, and Meg Mundy (who later played matriarchs in
The Doctors
and
All My Children
).

To Kay’s utter disgust, however, the Shuberts’ business manager, Harry Kaufman, spiced up both the chorus and the ranks of the dancers with an assortment of floozies to appease his bosses and certain investors.

“I had to take them,” choreographer Agnes De Mille chafed, “and I couldn’t fire them, not if they fell down dead drunk at my feet, not if they were three hours late. They wore fine furs over their bathing suits, and diamonds, and platinum slave bracelets. Great limousines with liveried chauffeurs fetched them at the stage door.”

Thompson did everything in her power to thwart the moll invasion but that only intensified inappropriate advances on her proper ladies. Nevertheless, she soldiered on.

With Her Singing Spies doing backup harmonies, Kay’s solos would be “Moanin’ in the Mornin’,” “The Night of the Embassy Ball,” “I’m Hangin’ On to You,” and the musical’s first act finale showstopper, “Down with Love.”

On their own, the Kay Thompson Singers would perform “Viva for Geneva,” “Click Ze Heel,” and “Hooray for What!” Ralph Blane, the best male voice in the chorus, would sing the lead vocal on “A Fashion Girl.”

“In the Shade of the New Apple Tree” would be sung by ingenue Hannah Williams (wife of prizefighter Jack Dempsey) and her love interest, Roy Roberts, with a male quartet from Kay’s chorus (Martin, Blane, Harold Cook, and Johnny Smedburg); “God’s Country” would be sung by Roy and the chorus; “I’ve Gone Romantic on You” and “Napoleon’s a Pastry” were duets for Hannah and Roy; “Buds Won’t Bud” would be sung by Hannah; and featured dancer Paul Haakon would perform two spotlights, “Life’s a Dance” and “Hero Ballet.”

Astonishingly, there were no numbers for the star of the show. Because
Wynn couldn’t sing or dance, he was to stick to what he did best: delivering one-liners. At first, he didn’t have a problem with that until he began to feel like an extra lost in a pageant of vocalizing and dancing. As time went on, his mood progressively soured. That’s when Vivian Vance suddenly “became friendly with Ed Wynn,” and soon she had
three
men chasing after her.

Meanwhile, the show was in serious trouble. With a two-week out-of-town tryout set to open in Boston on October 28,
Hooray for What!
was nowhere near ready for public consumption. Three days before the opening,
The New York Times
reported that a second choreographer had been hired to stage additional dances: Bob Alton—the dance instructor Kay had met years earlier in St. Louis—now a top Broadway choreographer.

The stress took its toll on Arlen and Harburg, who both fell ill with stomach ulcers. Then, at the recommendation of a friend, Minnelli began popping uppers and downers to keep up with the frantic pace.

“We were all treated to the spectacle of our chiefs screaming and reviling one another across the theater,” De Mille reported. “Harburg, who had just gotten out of a hospital, denounced Minnelli; Minnelli, his eyes bulging from his head with fixed fury, turned on Wynn; Wynn took his time; [Kaufman] harassed and chivied Crouse and Lindsay. Hannah Williams was in tears; Jack Dempsey wanted to poke someone but did not rightly know whom; Kay Thompson was grim-lipped and sardonic.”

“The dress rehearsal lasted, without break, three days and two nights,” De Mille recounted. “We went into the theater on a Tuesday and came out on Thursday at noon.” Incredibly, the show had never been performed straight through. No one had a clue how long it was, nor if it had any pace or coherence. And yet the curtain was scheduled to go up at eight o’clock that night.

“Then with no warning, this super human collapsed,” Minnelli confessed. “My system couldn’t absorb such drugs.”

“Vincente Minnelli took to his bed,” De Mille explained. “The Shuberts’ lawyers flew around like bats near a burning belfry . . . there was no one to take charge.”

With Minnelli, Arlen, and Harburg out of commission, it was unthinkable to open that night, yet somehow they had to. Known for getting sick before shows, Kay puked more guts out than ever before. Everyone did. Staggeringly, the performance lasted
six
excruciating hours. Elinor Hughes’ review in the
Boston Herald
was surprisingly charitable, singling out Thompson as “a striking blonde girl with a husky voice and an original style.” However, the general consensus among other critics was that the show would never make it to Broadway.

“The next morning I was fired,” said Agnes De Mille. She returned to New York, licking her wounds, and Bob Alton took over the show.

When performances on Friday and Saturday showed little improvement, the producers insisted on a midnight rehearsal in the wee hours of Sunday—the morning of Halloween—at which time Harry Kaufman’s bad karma came back to haunt him.

Dead asleep in Manhattan, Agnes De Mille was awakened at 2:30 a.m. by a telephone call. It was Thompson.

“I have good news for you,” Kay sneered. Savoring every detail, she explained that Kaufman had lost his balance and plunged from the stage into the orchestra pit, sustaining a serious back injury for which he had been rushed to the hospital.

“This isn’t true,” Agnes gasped. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.” But no one could have dreamt up such poetic justice.

With Minnelli still feeling sick, the Shuberts assigned Bob Alton to direct the musical numbers, and Howard Lindsay to direct the dialogue sequences.

To lighten the load, one of Kay’s songs, “I’m Hangin’ On to You,” and one of her chorus’s numbers, “Click Ze Heel,” were thrown overboard; Hannah Williams’ only solo, “Buds Won’t Bud,” was nipped in the you know where, and verses from other numbers were slashed.

Crouse and Lindsay had no choice but to truncate their book, de-emphasizing story in favor of Wynn’s slapstick. Looking out for himself, Wynn hired joke writers to punch up his lines.

On a daily basis, Kay had to memorize revised dialogue, learn new dance routines, change vocal arrangements, rehearse her chorus, and guard her belles from molestation. She never dreamt that putting on a show could be more gnarly than her experience on
Low and Behold!
yet it was, by far.

On Friday night, November 5, after nine days of performances in Boston, Thompson was heading toward her dressing room when the stage manager, Archie Thomson, tapped her on the shoulder.

“That will be your last performance, Miss T.”

It took a moment for the information to sink in. Was the show closing? No. The news was worse. Starting with the next day’s matinee, her understudy, Vivian Vance, would take over the role of Stephania until another star could be hired. There was no gentle way of putting it: Thompson had been fired.

“An absolute
scandal
,” Hugh Martin declared, still fuming seventy years later. “To fire that marvelous woman was unforgivable. We all knew Kay was great. Star quality! She could have been another Ethel Merman. Nobody could understand it.”

Unable to breathe, Kay proceeded to her dressing room, shut the door, and fell apart.

“It was the worst thing I have ever,
ever
heard.” Hugh shuddered, pained by the memory. “The screaming and the sobbing were something you can’t imagine out of Kay—she went to pieces in such a spectacular way. Kay is so cool, so sophisticated, and so in command of herself that to picture her going to pieces is almost incredible. And yet I heard it. I heard her sobbing in the most ghastly, pitiful, heartbreaking way. I never got over it. It haunts me to this day.”

The Shuberts claimed in the press that “Thompson had throat trouble and withdrew from the cast.” The lie did little to ease the pain.

“We all said, ‘Kay, we want to leave out of loyalty to you,’ ” Hugh recalled. “And she said, ‘No, you’ll protect my work if you stay and besides, you need the jobs. I don’t want you all to be out of work because of me.’ She made us all promise to stay, which was very generous and sweet of her.”

Kay saw no dignity in trying to incite an uprising among her loyal troops, so she took the high road and got the hell out of town.

“If you’re going to be a target, be a moving one,” she later philosophized. “It’s not as easy to be hit. If you stand still and allow yourself to be hit from various angles—emotionally, psychologically—you might not get where you’re going. But if you have a goal, particularly a career, you can’t let these things get on you like mosquitoes. You gotta just go on and go. Go to the next thing, and go with a joyous heart.”

Who was responsible for the crime? Some believed it was Harry Kaufman’s order. But a decision of such magnitude would had to have come from the very top, from the Shuberts themselves.

While the producers tried and failed to lure such replacements as torch singer Libby Holman and cabaret chanteuse Ethel Shutta, Vivian Vance sank her fangs into the role and, with every ounce of her feminine wiles, campaigned relentlessly to keep it. Eventually, with time and money running short, the Shuberts gave in.