There is a beginning to everything. And this is where (much of) my life’s work and dreams truly began. This non-descript brick building in the center of town in Milford, Connecticut.
I passed by here the other day while I was in CT for the weekend visiting family. My friend Rich took this picture after I told him the story. It is now a different dance studio but the change of ownership and passage of time can not take away the lessons I learned, the skills I was taught.
I began taking dance lessons in the 3rd grade (my older sister did as well) – at the local firehouse hall. I took the basics – ballet, jazz and tap – each year culminating in a big dance recital, complete with lavish costumes, makeup and big hair, sprayed with an entire can of Final Net. Simple, wonderful memories. I was hooked.
The dance school changed locations and I had no form of transportation, as I was not yet old enough to drive. Mom was busy, sis was done with dancing, and I was stuck. And then came an ad in the paper for lessons at Children’s Theatre Workshop in Milford (close to home).
Mom was the one who brought it to my attention and signed me up. I was placed in classes of my ability. But this was no regular dance school – it incorporated theatre training – acting, singing, dancing (the old triple threat) – which came together in a year end production of a big name musical. Recital meets Broadway.
And at the helm was Constance Moore – our leader. An imposing woman wrapped in black, complete with headscarf tied under her chin, fancy hat, thick pancake makeup and false eyelashes that practically swept the floor. Miss Connie, as we called her, was larger than life. She had a cigarette laugh and a booming, deep alto voice. She would scowl at us when we fooled around or didn’t get a step right, often causing tears to roll down our trembling cheeks. She was serious and direct and did not mince words. The theatre was serious stuff – and if you wanted a life in Show Business, you were going to have scrape, and crawl and work harder than ever before. She was filled with war stories of her time as a professional – which fueled my unearthed desire for a life in “the biz.”
My most memorable moment there was my first audition. That years production would be the musical “Gypsy.” As part of our class one day, any student interested in getting a part (other than just dancing) had to get up and sing 16 bars of a song from the show. I sat under the dance bar against the mirrored wall, with my knees tucked to my chest, arms wrapped tightly around them as I watched and listened. I wanted to get up but I was scared. Of what, I’m not sure, but I’m pretty sure it was rejection and failure (something I had come to deal with over my years as an actress.)
My mother was sitting quietly near the piano, with the other mother’s as they always did during class, looking over at me. She tilted her head to the side and nudged it out – silently gesturing me to get up and sing. I shook her off, as a pitcher does from the mound. My mother knew I wanted to get up – and was giving me the permission to do so. I finally did – I don’t recall what forced my feet to get underneath me – but something did. The early fire in my gut or the fact that I didn’t want to let my mother down – either way it didn’t matter. I stood there and sang – the famous stripper song “You Gotta Get a Gimmick” and lo and behond, I got the part! My role was Electra – the stripper who’s gimmick was using lights on her body that lit up strategically…oh that Electra – she was one bright broad (pun intended.) There I was, a 15 year old girl, auditioning and landing the role of a stripper.
I should’ve known this profession would be trouble.
