Brass Diva: The Life and Legends of Ethel Merman (35 page)

Dorothy Fields was the daughter of veteran entertainer-producer Lew Fields,
one-half of what they called the "Dutch" (Jewish, Yiddish) vaudeville comedy team of (Joe) Weber and Fields, one that generated the gag, "'Who was
that lady I saw you with last night?' `That was no lady, that was my wife.' "
When Fields turned from performing to producing, his Broadway shows included the all-black revue Blackbirds of 1928.8 Producer Fields was credited
with discovering the song-writing team of Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart.

Dorothy was one of Fields's four children, three of whom went into the
theater. Of her two older brothers, the younger, Herbert, was a librettist. He'd worked with Rodgers and Hart and, later, with Cole Porter, writing
Panama Hattie and Something for the Boys. Although Dorothy was also a librettist (Mexican Hayride, Let's Face It, and, with brother Herb, Somethingfor
the Boys and Annie Get Your Gun), she was known primarily as a lyricist.
That's how her career started, with hits such as "A Fine Romance," "I Can't
Give You Anything But Love," and "On the Sunny Side of the Street," the
upbeat, flip side to Yip Harburg Jay Gorner's sorrowful Depression anthem,
"Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?"9 In these and other works, Dorothy Fields
used a deceptively simple combination of urbanity and unsentimentality, and
her lyrics conveyed an affectionate, nonjudgmental humanity. She also had
a great gift for internal rhymes and integrated vernacular language into lyrics
with ease. "What I like best about Dorothy Fields," Stephen Sondheim later
summed up, "is her use of colloquialism and her effortlessness. "'o

Fields achieved a rather remarkable level of success in the maledominated world of Broadway, where women were expected to be big on the
stage, not behind it. Fields was one of few exceptions, along with Betty
Comden. "I must say," she said, "all the boys were simply wonderful. I was
the little sister. They were very solicitous of me, very careful not to say anything wrong in front of me, and they got furious if anyone used improper
language in my presence."" It helped that Dorothy was a relatively unthreatening figure. Neither glamorous, nor physically imposing, nor a prima
donna in her behavior, she was reliable, respectful, and professional. The
Broadway community was united in its adoration of Dorothy, responding
not only to her talent but also to her wit, generosity, and warmth. Everyone
knew her as a good egg.

"Dorothy was a gal who took time for friendship," said Merman. "She was
a woman of great warmth and wide experience."" The two got along well
professionally and personally and remained close until Dorothy's death in
1974. Today, her son, songwriter and performer David Lahm, recalls that
whenever he or his mother saw Ethel, she greeted them with great warmth.
He has a photograph of Merman congratulating him and his wife, singer
Judy Kreston, at one of the cabaret shows they often do together.

Although Rodgers and Hammerstein are lionized as the creators of some
of Broadway's most memorable musicals, their career as producers of other
people's works-such as John van Druten's I RememberMama in 1944-is less
widely known, and for some reason, Annie Get Your Gun was the only musical they ever produced. They were as good with the business of Broadway as they were in creating its hits; they seemed to know every detail that was necessary to make a show a success.

For Annie Get Your Gun, they brought Jerome Kern in for the songs. He
was the genius behind Showboat, which he had composed with Hammerstein, and Hammerstein was himself a respected mentor to young Dorothy
Fields, who was slated to do song lyrics with Kern. The two had teamed up
before, writing the beautiful Academy Award winner "The Way You Look
Tonight" for Swing Time in 1936. Now, in 1945, Kern had not been on Broadway for six years, when his last show, Very Warm for May, had closed after
fifty-nine performances, and he was understandably reluctant to return.
Dorothy Fields pleaded with him, and Richard Rodgers telegrammed him,
"It would be one of the greatest honors of my life if you would consent to
write the music for this show."13 Kern accepted.

Kern was never to enjoy his comeback. The day after returning to NewYork
to start work, he suffered a severe stroke. Less than two weeks after that, on
November it, 1945, the maestro was dead at the age of sixty. Dorothy Fields,
along with the rest of the Broadway community, was devastated. Not since
the death of George Gershwin in 1937 (at thirty-eight) had the Big Stem
grieved so collectively. Even Merman's scrapbooks-not prone to widely detailed context-convey this. Amid dozens of clippings about her upcoming
show is a simple white card framed in black: "The family of the late Jerome
Kern acknowledges with deep appreciation your kind thought and expression
of sympathy."

Rodgers and Hammerstein did not panic long. What about Irving Berlin?
After all, Berlin wrote fast and could seemingly pull show-stoppers out of his
hat (or his trunk). And, as Kern had said, Berlin was American music and
thus ideal for an American frontier story. But like Kern, Berlin had not had
a success on Broadway for six years. His last had been Louisiana Purchase,
which played at the beginning of the decade, when DuBarry was running.
Since then, Berlin had been in Hollywood and then with the army, doing
This Is the Army.

During Berlin's absence, however, Broadway had changed. Oklahoma! had
taken it by storm, and the new character- and narrative-driven book musical
was starting to eclipse the less "integrated" musical comedy, for which
Berlin-and Merman-were known. Understandably apprehensive about
doing what he called a "situation show,"14 Berlin would be not only competing with Richard Rodgers on new turf but also working under Rodgers
on his terms as the producer. Berlin was also concerned about the show's
theme: what on earth did he know about what he called "Hillbilly music"?

With some nudging from his wife, Ellin, Berlin was in and, within two
weeks, had written most of the show's classics, famously penning "Anything
You Can Do" in a fifteen-minute cab ride. Recalled Ethel, "In eight days, he
turned out ten great songs, ranging in form from sentimental ballads to risque
comedy.... With all due respect to the Gershwins and Cole, Irving had given
me range, allowing me a kind of vulnerability that was missing in girls like
`Nails' Duquesne, Blossom Hart and Hattie Maloney."15 Berlin's songs provide
not only emotional range but musical variety as well, including a march ("Buffalo Bill"), a razzle-dazzle anthem ("There's No Business"), a romantic ballad
("I Got Lost in His Arms"), and a novelty number ("Anything You Can Do").

Ironically, Berlin didn't think "There's No Business Like Show Business"
was going to be well received and pulled it until Rodgers and Hammerstein
insisted he bring the song back in. Later, in previews, Hammerstein told reporters, "Irving Berlin ... gave us a superb score. A score which never once
deserts the mood or the story. The book didn't get in Irving's way. He
strengthened it! ... In fact, he really went overboard one day when he insisted that if a certain sure-hit song ["There's No Business"] didn't suit the
situation he was going to yank it out! We had to be fanned."" Berlin wrote
the number with the intention that Bill and his associates would sing it to
convince Annie to join their show, but Richard Rodgers was so sure of its firepower that he insisted on finding a way for Ethel to sing it. The solution was
to show Annie listening to a few verses and then saying, "You mean ... ?" before singing the song back to them.

Of course, the kind of "show business" Annie champions was at the time
retreating in the face of the new kind of show making that Oklahoma! helped
usher in. According to Berlin's delightfully biased biographer Laurence
Bergreen, "As Rodgers and Hammerstein repeatedly (and profitably) demonstrated, audiences responded to a treacly blend of self-conscious Americana
and heartening liberal sermons with as much enthusiasm as an earlier generation had brought to the spectacle of flashing thighs and heaving bosoms."17
Although Annie Get Your Gun acknowledges that new model, it hardly capitulates to it. Its self-conscious theatricality is in sharp contrast to the naturalized narrative worlds of Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals. Annie's
emphasis on putting on a show has more in common with an older, presentational style of musical comedy-the one that says, "Hey, look at all this fun
we're having!" with entertainers such as Jolson, Cantor, Brice, and Duranteand Merman, in song.

Despite the emotional resonance given to Annie Oakley's character, both
the show and her character are far from nuanced. The story makes few bids to social consciousness (compared with the later musicals of Rodgers and
Hammerstein, The King and I and South Pacific), and the community it
lauds is its own: the entertainment world. Moreover, it is less the personal
or expressive dimension of performing that Berlin's show champions than
the business in show business. There is no community of the "land" or region as in Oklahoma! In fact, as Andrea Most notes, the show positions the
American West as nothing but a series of stage sets, a world of artifice, in
which happiness and success are measured by personal achievement and
profit. She writes, "As if in direct response to Oklahoma! this play rejects
claims of naturalness ... insisting that America is theater, and that only
those who understand and embrace America's inherent theatricality are destined for success. Moreover, success in the play is financial, and American
theatricality is intimately linked to capitalism."" Indeed, the precarious finances of Buffalo Bill's and Pawnee Bill's operations are crucial themes of
the show and, as David Lahm notes, "drive a good deal of the comedy."19
The show evokes another myth of Americana: the overnight success story,
which was embodied by both Oakley and Merman and practically urged
people to conflate Ethel Merman with the sharpshooting heroine she
played. After all, their stories seemed to flow together: Annie, like Miss Zimmermann, moved from an untrained world in which she "does what comes
naturally," using skills that enabled her and her partners to become successful in theater and commerce.20

For Broadway historian Cecil Smith, Annie was devoid of novelty or aesthetic risks, "a thoroughly standardized product produced ... with the unerring comprehension of all the ingredients and proportions of the recipe for
success."21 Although a few critics at the time complained that Annie's tunes
were a string of hits rather than pieces integrated into story lines or that its
characters were colorful but undeveloped, the criticism is not quite fair. Yes,
it is stuffed with show-stoppers, but plenty of numbers help express Annie's
feelings and thoughts ("I Got Lost in His Arms") rather than simply promoting gags. To be sure, "I Got Lost in His Arms" has not had the afterlife
that "Anything You Can Do" has had, even though in 1946 it was the ballad
"They Say It's Wonderful" that had most of the radio airplay.

Papers first reported that George Murphy would play Frank Butler, but then
on January 4, 1946, they announced that the role had gone to Ray Middleton (1907-84) the tall, Juilliard-trained opera baritone who had arrived on
Broadway via Hollywood, where he usually played bad guys (Roberta, Lady from New Orleans, Lady for Night, The Girl from Alaska) in a career that wasn't
igniting. Sitting Bull was played by Italian American Harry Bellaver, who'd
been an underemployed farmhand and coal miner in the Midwest before
turning his sights to the stage.

The spectacular sets were by virtuosic Jo Mielziner (1901-76), and Helen
Tamiris (1905-66), who'd done Showboat on Broadway, choreographed. In
contrast to her contemporary Agnes De Mille, Tamiris did not use dance to
advance the plot or a character's inner thoughts or dreams so much as to show
off the songs. Her work in "I'm an Indian Too," the show's most elaborate
number, was an audience favorite. There she westernizes indigenous dance
movements and, when Annie joins the number, pulls those features back,
partly out of respect for Ethel's limited dancing skills. Tamiris also mapped
out Ethel/Annie's shooting numbers in the Wild West Show. Costumesranging from Annie's bumpkin garb to show biz cowgirl to evening gown to
ceremonial Indian dress-were by Lucinda Ballard. Ballard had to respond
to complaints Ethel voiced through management that her buckskin outfit
was too heavy. After toughing it out for several shows, Ethel found herself
exhausted and sweating profusely in the outfit, and Ballard found a lighter,
look-alike fabric.

Joshua Logan (also a choreographer, writer, manager, and actor) was
signed to direct. Ethel was still beaming with appreciation for his compliments about her acting when they did Stars in Your Eyes and was delighted to
work with him again. Logan, like Berlin, had been in Europe during the war,
serving in the U.S. Army Air Corps and, also like him, had not done anything on Broadway since then. ByJupiter, which closed in June 1943, had been
his last show.

Juilliard graduate Jay Blackton (1909-94) arranged the score. A diminutive
man who had been afflicted by polio as a child, Blackton quipped that his musical skills "meant he would be able to earn a living sitting down."22 At the
time of his appointment, Blackton was working with the New York Opera
Comique when he was called in to replace arranger Philip Lang in a dramatic,
last-minute switch. Blackton had also been orchestral conductor for Oklahoma! and would be paired with Merman again in Call Me Madam, Happy
Hunting, and as her longtime accompanist when she turned to solo touring
toward the end of her career. Conducting was Milton Rosenstock, who had
toured in the army with Berlin as conductor of This Is theArmy; he, too, would
work again with Ethel on Gypsy (on Broadway and on tour). Ethel's understudy was Margie Knapp and later Mary Jane Walsh, both of whose primary
role seemed to be causing columnists to speculate about another pregnancy for Ethel Merman. The casting was finalized by early 1946, and calls went out for
gypsies' auditions on February 8.