Getting My Equity Card
While I only worked in festivals or at lunchtime my humble station in life saved me from the sansculottes of the profession. As soon as I appeared in St. Martin's Lane, a deputation from Equity, waving its tattered banners, marched on the Duke of York's Theater to ask the management why it was employing someone who was not a member of the union. Mr. Rix, never completely at a loss, explained that I was not acting - that I was very sincere. This argument was thought to be specious so now, in one small respect, I am like the great Maxine Sullivan. At the public meeting in New York, I once heard her say, 'I know I am an actor because I have an Equity card.'
One night at the Duke of York's Theater one of the questions asked was, 'Can't you prevent the audience from laughing too soon? I'm a little hard of hearing.' . .It now dawned on me, though dimly, that it was up to me to decide when laughter was permitted. I remember having heard actors talk of controlling the audience and now presumed that it was of this problem that they were speaking.
A day was soon to come when I seemed to be about to learn the answer to this conundrum. Instead I learned something better.
A friend told me that Elaine Stritch wished to meet me. . . Miss Stritch is much milder than when on television she is bringing the immaculate Mr. Sinden to heel. . . I realized that our meeting was the opportunity that might never come again to ask an undeniable expert what was meant by this to me mysterious notion of audience control. 'Don't bother with any of that honey,' she said, 'Just get 'em to like you.'
Since that unforgettable afternoon, I have tried to make what historians will one day call 'Stritch's First Law' the guiding principle of my life.
One night at the Duke of York's Theater one of the questions asked was, 'Can't you prevent the audience from laughing too soon? I'm a little hard of hearing.' . .It now dawned on me, though dimly, that it was up to me to decide when laughter was permitted. I remember having heard actors talk of controlling the audience and now presumed that it was of this problem that they were speaking.
A day was soon to come when I seemed to be about to learn the answer to this conundrum. Instead I learned something better.
A friend told me that Elaine Stritch wished to meet me. . . Miss Stritch is much milder than when on television she is bringing the immaculate Mr. Sinden to heel. . . I realized that our meeting was the opportunity that might never come again to ask an undeniable expert what was meant by this to me mysterious notion of audience control. 'Don't bother with any of that honey,' she said, 'Just get 'em to like you.'
Since that unforgettable afternoon, I have tried to make what historians will one day call 'Stritch's First Law' the guiding principle of my life.