Hold the Roses (9 page)

I guess you could say I was quite a promoter-the kids loved my
ideas. I became like the Pied Piper of Epiphany. I put on a play in the
church hall. I got all the kids who were interested to help with the playwriting, and whoever wanted to act got parts. I did the lighting, choreography and directing. Not bad for a twelve-year-old! My next project was
a bazaar. The church needed money-don't they always?

Baby Rose Marie at the end of an era-about to
leave the "Baby" behind

Well, dear readers, this was a bazaar to end all bazaars. We raised
$506, a tidy sum in those days. When I first got the idea to do this, I told
Father Banks to announce the event at every Mass. I guess I must have
sounded very authoritative, because he agreed.

This bazaar didn't cost the church a single penny. I promoted everything. I went up to the attic in my house and took my mother's crystal and
sold it for ten cents each. You can just imagine my mother's reaction when
she found out. I told the kids to bring whatever they could from their
houses (with the approval of their parents, of course). I had a friend who
owned a candy store, and we got all the Coca-Cola we wanted. All of the mothers were assigned tasks. One made lemonade, one made popcorn,
and three or four made muffins and cookies. Mrs. Sheffield made several
of her famous cakes. We set up booths and made up games to play. The
prizes were plush toys. Sammy Ward gave me the money to buy these toys.
Herbie Steiner supplied the dolls. Even the makers of the Baby Rose Marie
dolls gave some of them to us for our event.

We then participated in a Catholic Youth Organization (CYO) radio
competition, which I got my friend Norma Cuny to write. She didn't even
go to my school. Once again, I was the director. We used about fifteen kids
from my class as our actors. We did our show-a variety-type show with a
serious playlet at the end-on a local station and won the competition.
They have the trophy to this day in the church hall.

I graduated from Epiphany. My diploma is still there. I never picked
it up. I decided to give up school again. I had no time for it. I was doing a
fifteen-minute program on NBC three nights a week with a big orchestra.
That too fell by the wayside after a few months. I was now at that awkward
stage. Twelve years old. In between. Too young to be a grown-up, too old
to be a child. We changed Baby Rose Marie to Miss Rose Marie and I
started playing what were known as roadhouses in New England. It was
the beginning of the lean years.

Don't misunderstand me, the roadhouses I worked were like country inns.
They were geared toward families-with or without kids. They had a dining room, a bar, and a dance floor with a twelve-piece orchestra. Families
could enjoy dinner and see a good, clean show with chorus girls in very
pretty costumes, as well as a comic, a dance team, and a singer. Guess
what? I was the singer. My wardrobe was a nice street dress and those damn
Mary Jane shoes. I wore Mary Jane's until I was fifteen.

I couldn't find the right clothes for the stage that would be appropriate for me at my age. Thank God for Deanna Durbin. She was fifteen or
sixteen and in the movies. The studio made some beautiful, youthful evening
gowns for her. Lord and Taylor in New York had copies of those dresses. I
opened a charge account there and got three of them. It is still my favorite
place to shop. I wore those dresses until I was sixteen. So I was able to get
clothes that were right for me.

Kids in those days had a rough time going from twelve to sixteen
years old. There were no "in-between" clothes or shoes like kids have today. It was Mary Jane flats, Red Cross shoes, or high heels. The dresses
were either too young-looking or too old-looking. Today, kids wear all
kinds of nutty clothes. You don't know if they're twelve years old or thirty.

I worked in Fall River and New Bedford, Massachusetts, towns like
that. It was a rough three years, but I worked wherever I could. It was the
best experience I could get. It was a completely new and different way for
me to work. I wasn't cute Baby Rose Marie anymore. I had to go out and
develop a new style of working and singing, and I had to get used to a nightclub type of act. I have found, through the years, that you work differently in each medium. Each has its own style and rules. You work one
way in TV, another way in the movies, another for legitimate theater, and
still another (perhaps the hardest) way in nightclubs.

I remember one particular thing while working those roadhouse dates.
I think it's the reason I don't drink. My father and I were sitting at a table
in the back of the dining room-there's always one table in the back where
you can sit in between shows. There was a big commotion going on by the
bar, which was on the other side of the room. A drunken lady was making
a lot of noise. Two men were with her. They were all over her, touching her
here and there, laughing and making fools of themselves. My father said,
"See that woman over there? She's drunk and the two guys are taking advantage of her. They'll probably ruin her for the rest of her life, all because
she's drunk and doesn't know what she's doing." My God, I thought, Ruin
her for the rest of her life? I thought about her not being able to have
children.... They could give her a disease and she would die.... Oh, how
terrible! I must say, I think that really did it for me. No drinking! I've got to
know what I'm doing at all times. Besides, I didn't like the taste of booze.

Things were really getting rough. It was hard to get any theater dates.
Vaudeville was dead, so I did club dates, one-nighters, and parties. I worked
the Borscht Belt, which I truly hated, even though it paid pretty well. I
played all the hotels in the circuit; Grossingers, the Concord, the Grand
Hotel, Laurel in the Pines. You name the hotel, I played it.

I also worked in Newark at a theater where they put on a show every
week. Jackie Gleason was the MC. We became very good friends and he's
very special in my heart. More about Jackie later.

There were a few times when I didn't work for weeks at a time. The
mortgage was overdue. One of the club date agents, Abby Greshler, would
cancel an act and put me in, just so we'd have some money. I'll never forget
his kindness to me.

Finally, it got desperate and my father went to "the boys" for help.
We still lived in Palisades, New Jersey, about a mile away from the Palisades amusement park, which isn't there anymore. It's now all high-rise
buildings. Across the street from the park was a pizza place and bar. It was
a small place, but it was where all "the boys" from New York and New
Jersey hung out. For some reason, Jersey was a great place for all that.

My father went to Tommy Brown (also known as "Three Fingers"
Brown and "Tom Luchese") and asked him for a loan. He gave it to my father with the promise that we'd pay it back as soon as I started working.
At least now the mortgage was paid up. I suddenly got a few good dates:
Providence, New Haven, and a three-day date at a theater in Boston. Things
were getting a little better, thank God. Of course, the first thing we did
was pay off the loan. You just don't mess around with stuff like that. God
bless those guys. They were very good to me and helped us out in more
ways than one.

I was not yet fourteen. Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart were doing
a new show called Babes in Arms. Richard Rodgers called the house and my
brother answered.

The voice said, "Hello, is Rose Marie there? This is Richard Rodgers."

My brother Frank said, "Yeah, and I'm Napoleon," and hung up.

Frank started to laugh and told me, "Someone is playing a joke. He
said he was Richard Rodgers.

I said, "Who would play a joke like that?"

With that, the phone rang again. This time I answered it. The voice
said, "Listen, I'm not kidding. This is Richard Rodgers and I want to talk
to Baby Rose Marie about a part in a new Broadway show."

I almost died. I said, "This is Rose Marie. Hello, Mr. Rodgers."

He said, "I guess whoever answered the phone thought this was a
joke. You must have some strange friends."

He then went on to tell me about his new show and that they had
written a part called Baby Rose Marie especially for me. I couldn't talk. I
was so thrilled.

He said, "Can you meet us tomorrow for lunch and we'll tell you all
about it?"

Well, being the shy girl that I am, I said, "I can make it today."

He replied, "No, tomorrow will be fine. 12:30 at Sardi's." Sardi's! Oh
my God! The hangout of all the stars on Broadway!

I told my mother that I wanted to go alone. If any deals were to be
made, my father could come later.

I couldn't sleep that night. Did they want me to sing for them? What?
Sing at Sardi's? Nah. What should I wear? God! I was scared stiff. This
could be the big, big break. Broadway! Wow!