THE SIREN CALL OF THE THEATER, Part I

The last scene of the film South Pacific

When I was twelve years old, The Players of Sarasota decided to present one of the all-time great musicals, South Pacific.  My mother had a beautiful lyric soprano voice and had played the leads in all her Catholic school musicals.  She assumed she was too old for the lead, Nellie Forbush, but being in the chorus was fine with her.  I had never gone to a community theater tryout before, so I went along.  Mom was nervous, but sang beautifully. I was entranced by all the beautiful voices.  Toward the end of the auditions a lady came up to me and asked if I would like to try out.  I was speechless.  My mother said with a smile, "She doesn't sing."  I had inherited my father's singing voice--none--but suddenly I wanted very much to try out.  I stood up and walked onto the stage.  I smiled at the pianist and announced that I had no music, but I would sing anyway.  I launched into a loud rendition of Dungaree Doll, a pop song of the day.  Since I was not at all musical, I was spared the realization of just how bad I was.  My mother appeared to have gone into shock.  I finished my song to loud applause and actually curtsied.  A few days later my mother received a call from the director.  "Oh, I see," she said.  "All right.  Yes, I will."  "Did you get cast?"  My mother looked at me as if she didn't quite know who I was.  "No," she said.  "You did."

I had been cast as Ngana, the Eurasian daughter of the lead, Emile de Becque.  I had to sing, dance and speak French and I could do none of the three.  I didn't care; I was starstruck.