The overpowering feeling...

Part 2 of a multi-part post

Picture it. Sicily. 1936. I was a young chorine. I packed my bags and hopped on a steamer to New York City to make my dreams of being in show business a reality.

Speaking of reality, a "chorine" is a female chorus member. The “steamer” was a grey hound bus. It was far from 1936. And making it in show business was a little different than I expected.

I met Amir (...In the rich man's world) while working at a theme park. He was stunning. It didn’t matter what your sexual preference was. Everyone found him to be beautiful. We became great friends. After our contract had ended, we made plans to find an apartment together. I had given up my pied a tier on 96^th street and Central Park West to go do shows. I was subletting from my friend Manuel. Amir was graduating from school.

As luck would have it, both of us kept working. There was never a moment where we were in the city at the same time to look for an apartment. Manuel and Amir became friends. When I got back into town, all of our mutual friends, Manuel and mine, asked where I was living. When I replied “with Manuel” the response was unanimous: “But Manuel and Amir got an apartment together”.

There’s a whole story of betrayal and backstabbing, which I’ll tell you over drinks. This moment is important because it’s when I came to the conclusion that there was no stability in my life, both personally and professionally.

At the time there was a huge difference between union and non-union performers. The difference wasn’t in talent or drive or any of the fundamental things that make a performer a performer. The difference lay in the fact that non-union performers almost always were paid on 1099s. That meant no taxes were taken out for the federal or state governments. No taxes taken out meant no unemployment insurance between jobs. 

Along with no unemployment insurance, non-union performers had no pension, no health insurance and no real guarantee for safety or well-being.

Union members were always paid better than non-union members. A performer had to be in the union to work on Broadway. Besides all of that, I thought the only real chance a performer had of purchasing a home was through the Actor’s Equity Credit Union. In short to be successful, to be on Broadway, to be “stable” with a home and good credit, I learned one had to have an Equity card.

And other than performing, I wanted all of those things. So I put “get Equity card” on my to do list. Included on that list was "find a place to live".

The rumors were true, even though Manuel initially denied them. He and Amir had gotten an apartment in midtown. Amir’s dad co-signed for them since Manuel was teaching and choreographing non-union shows and Amir didn’t have a job. In fact Amir never had a job outside of performing. His family was incredibly wealthy and generous, so Amir was completely set. He was living the dream. He could audition and take classes and network and see Broadway shows and party till his heart was content. Amir didn’t drink or do drugs so his “partying” wasn’t detrimental to his health or career.

My situation was quite the opposite, not the drugs and drinking part. I wasn’t dependent on my family for money. I had student loans. I had to work. I also had to find a new place to live.

Pedro, the guy I was subletting from, was supposed to finally come back. Even though Manuel was moving out, there was no way I could live with Pedro. He could barely speak English and he was a huge jerk. Or maybe he wasn’t and I just couldn’t understand him. At any rate, we didn’t get along. When Pedro came back to the apartment during his Easter break from tour, he announced that he was moving out. When he went back out for the next leg of his tour, he’d be leaving the apartment for good.

I was stuck with an apartment I couldn’t afford, in an area I didn’t like or feel one hundred percent safe in. On top of all that, I found a copy of the lease. Manuel had been forging his original roommate’s signature on it since that roommate left: ten years ago.

It was time to get stuff done. So I put my nose to the grind stone...

My bestie Thurston had just finished a cruise ship job. He had become friends with someone in the orchestra. Luckily that person was looking for a roommate. Done deal. I had the first thing checked off the to-do list. On to the next.

I got a job working on the Spirit of New Jersey, a dinner cruiser that sailed around Manhattan. I was hired to be a singing waiter. The performing part was a breeze. The waiter part, not so much. I didn’t have any experience waiting tables so I lied on my resume. It’s a lot harder than it looks. Tip your waiters well.

Great. I had a job and a place to live. Two of the three main things I had to achieve I achieved. The third proved to be a bit more elusive and took a bit more time.

When trying to get your name out there, I had always been told it was best to go to every audition. Cast a wide net to get cast. Now I had an expensive midtown rent of four hundred dollars (it deosn't sound like a lot today but back then working as a receptionist in a huge corportation paid about $8 an hour) I had to be highly selective on which calls I would attend. Auditioning was on an “I really need to go, that part is perfect for me” basis.

I was an EMC (Equity Membership Candidate) now. I was half way to Equity. Being EMC meant that I could audition for Equity shows, if the people behind the tables wanted to see EMCs and if they had time to do so. I thought my long days of sitting outside, in the hall of the Equity lounge, waiting, were over. Now instead of waiting to hear if the people behind the tables would see non-equity, I had to wait to hear if they would see “future members”.

On those audition days, there was no way to work the day job. Instead of being a waiter I was stuck waiting. I got to the hallway early in the morning and sometimes I would sit there, on the "bitter bench", until 430pm or 5pm, depending on how long the audition ran. Sitting. Waiting. Worrying about how to pay rent and not being able to leave, not even to use the restroom. (To pee or not to pee...) The fear was as soon as you stepped foot outside of that hallway, the monitor would announce that the people behind the table would see EMCs. Then you’d miss your name and have to resign up at the end of the list.  Your chances of getting in the room to audition then, were practically zero.

I was still able to book some non-equity performing gigs. I was “The Prince” in an off Broadway musical retelling of Sleeping Beauty, from his perspective. I worked on Holland America, sailing the Bahamas doing three shows including Smokey Joe’s Café. I understudied “Prez” in The Pajama Game. Was cast as “Daddy Brubeck” in Sweet Charity, was a replacement in The Wiz, and had my third go round in A Chorus Line at Surflight. 

But they were just more of the same: no unemployment, no pension, no health, no security, no money and no card.

Amir had no such problems. He was able to attend every audition. In fact he ended up getting his Equity card rather quickly. After that it was just a short amount of time before he got his first Broadway contract. Classes and networking paid off for him. As did having his family's money backing him.

I remember going to see Amir’s Broadway debut and being insanely jealous. I seethed with anger for quite a while. He’d made it. He got his card. He got his pension. He joined the credit union. And he got to be on Broadway. He was stable and his life was perfect. Mine not so much.

The cruise ship orcehstra roommate got a boyfriend and decided to move to the upper west side with him. So, the brother of that roommate moved in with me. The man was “mugged” twice within two weeks. Of course his rent money was stolen. I couldn’t afford my apartment alone, and I certainly couldn’t afford to live with someone who frequented questionable places. What if he brought some of that home? So I hightailed it out of there. I moved four blocks over to live with my friend Sean. We had met doing A Chorus Line at Surflight. Sean hated living with his current roommate. It was his apartment, so he kicked the roommate out and offered me the spot. And by "spot" I mean the sofa bed in the living room.

I went from a pied-a-terre on 96th and Central Park West, to a one bedroom, shared by three people, on 187th street, to my own windowless room in midtown, to sleeping on a sofa bed. I also went from constant non-equity work, to sporatic performing, to waiting tables and singing on a dinner cruiser.

All of this lit a fire under my butt. This was not what I had come to NYC to do. I worked long and hard. I budgeted and counted pennies. I even got on the work/study program at Broadway Dance Center. I did whatever I could to get to class. On top of that, I attended every audition humanly possible. I had one goal: get my Equity card.

And get my card I did.

“...And oh the towering feeling...”