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Two people who were there at the beginning recall the early struggles and triumphs of New York City Ballet.
IN THE BEGINNING ...
The author recalls her work for Ballet Society, immediate predecessor of New York City Ballet.
On November 12, 1947, I had my first sighting of George Balanchine. I had just begun working for Jean Rosenthal, who did the lighting and production for Ballet Society which, within a year, would become New York City Ballet. That fall I had applied for several jobs connected with the theater, but I particularly wanted to work for Jean's company, Theatre Production Service (TPS); the place had the real smell of the greasepaint. Every week I would stop by to remind TPS that I was available. Finally, the first of November, Jean hired me at $30 a week.
At 9:00 A.M. my first day I raced up the stairs. The door to TPS was open. Clevy, a warm, cheery man from Barbados, was standing there talking to the secretary. He was the shipping department, and my job would be to collect, from all over New York City, such items as Chinese fans, ten-gallon hats, glitter dust, guns, and stuffed penguins. This business paid the salaries, but Jean was also one of the foremost lighting directors in the country. Starting with Orson Welles and his Mercury Theatre, she had worked on Broadway and for small dance groups, such as those headed by Jose Limon and Nina Fonaroff. Martha Graham's company and Ballet Society were central to her life, however. She performed miracles for them. If you are poor, you do it with lights.
When I appeared, Clevy was waiting for me. "Good morning," he said. "Jeanie wants you to bring these plugs to her at the theater immediately." I stood there--I had no idea which theater or what was going on in it. Clevy added, "They are setting up for a ballet performance tonight at City Center." I didn't know about the ballet, but I did know where City Center was. With determination I found the stage entrance, saw the stage through the teasers, and negotiated the cables on the floor and the stagehands carrying lights and props. Nananne Porcher, Jean's stage manager, finally saw me, left the light board, grabbed the package, and said a quick thank you as she rushed back. Jean barely realized I was there--she was fussing with the hang of a doorway that had been cut into the painted drop. I didn't know whether to stay or leave. But at last Jean focused on me. "Jane, get me two four-foot battens." She had the grace to add, "at the nearest lumberyard--look in the yellow pages."
Ballet Society was a private subscription organization begun by Balanchine and Lincoln Kirstein. It was their latest attempt to create a dance company for George. In another year it would evolve into New York City Ballet. This was their second season, but they had no permanent theatrical home. They had rented City Center for four Monday nights during the 1947-48 season. November 12 was the first performance, and then there would be ones in February, March, and April. In addition, Ballet Society would produce an opera in January, using the theater at Hunter College for two performances.
"The schedule is brutal," Nan told me. New York City Opera had the house through Sunday night. After their sets were struck, Jean would move in about midnight and, working with the same tired crew, she and Nan would supervise the hanging of the various backdrops and curtains, and the placing of the many Fresnel and Leko lights. Even if all went perfectly--and it never did--it was very tedious and time-consuming.
At 10:00 A.M. the conductor, Leon Barzin, would rehearse the orchestra. Finally, a rough and ragged dress rehearsal: dancers in costume working with the orchestra for the first time. Some people then got a rest, but we stayed in the theater working on missed light cues, curtain problems, and general logistics. After the performance, Nan, Jean, and I would stay for the strike, and at seven the next morning Nan and I would be back to oversee loading everything onto trucks.
Mr. B was the calm at the center of the storm. I had picked him out soon after I had arrived in the morning. Though he never raised his voice, one sensed his authority. He was onstage most of the time, quietly conferring, answering questions, encouraging. I caught the hint of a twinkle in his eye--no sign of fatigue. An article in Theatre Arts once described him as a "chipmunk in the white heat of creation." At forty-four he was slight and taut, with a sloping forehead, a fine, long nose, and high cheekbones that in profile did look chipmunkish. When he was creating a ballet on his dancers, the concentration was certainly at "white heat." But at 8:00 P.M. this evening, when I went to Maria Tallchief's dressing room to call half-hour, there was George, gently massaging her foot as he talked to her.
On my first day I was exposed to one of the rituals of opening night: I was sent to the studio of Madame Karinska on the first of many visits to plead for the costumes for the new ballet. Not until five o'clock was I able to lead the triumphant run across Fifty-sixth Street with two of her assistants following behind me, all of us carrying tutus over our arms. The dancers never had a chance to wear them before the performance. Even this did not upset Balanchine. He knew Madame; all would be well.
That night I noticed that Mr. B stood in the wings throughout the performance, watching the dancers from just inside the first tormentor (a vertical side curtain). What I did not realize was that he was giving them counts. For weeks the dancers had worked with a rehearsal pianist in a studio, where the rhythm was emphasized for them. The one rehearsal with the full orchestra had been sloppy at best. Now they were working with the orchestra again, and Barzin was showing more interest in the music than in the often confused corps. So here was George unobtrusively conducting the dancers from the wings. In the performances I saw, he never showed them any sign of dismay or displeasure. Just affirmative nods and smiles. Problems would be worked on later.
Although seemingly frail, Balanchine was the company's strength. Composers loved to work with him: he was called the musician's choreographer. His dancers worshipped him. I was in awe. I later learned that Mr. B was a fabulous cook, and that his other serious ambition was to be a conductor. For one City Center performance the following season, George led the orchestra. He was realizing a dream, and he loved it. Jean put a small spotlight on him so the audience could see him. After that, Barzin demanded a spotlight, too.
While Balanchine was optimistic and always inventing ways to achieve desired ends, Lincoln Kirstein was frequently pessimistic and dejected. He had the biggest responsibility, raising money, and the company was always broke. He would arrive onstage while we were setting up, sit on anything handy, even an Isamu Noguchi sculpture, and look the perfect picture of dejection. He was convinced that the show would never get on. Mr. B would smile and chat for a moment and then go on doing the work at hand.
The most exciting and complicated ballet that I worked on was Orpheus--choreographed by Balanchine to a commissioned score by Stravinsky, with costumes and sets by Noguchi. During the early spring of 1948, I spent many evenings at the School of American Ballet watching Orpheus rehearsals and getting acquainted with the score. I call them rehearsals, but Mr. B was actually creating sections of the ballet as they worked. Sometimes Stravinsky was there observing. Their relationship was warm and very respectful, with comments and jokes in Russian. Stravinsky was to conduct the opening performance. The dancers weren't happy about that, but they expected George to be there behind the teaser. Nan was depending on him as well, since the lighting and production cues were intricate and often taken on a music cue. On the big night when we were all backstage waiting, Mr. B came over to me and asked if I would help Stravinsky down the stairs and into the orchestra pit--Stravinsky did not see very well. And, of course, I would guide him back to the stage for curtain calls. A big moment!
