GO AWAY: Some Memories of Fred Ebb

You can spray wherever you figure

The streptococci lurk
You can give her a shot
For whatever she's got
But it just won't work

If she’s tired of getting the fish-eye

From the hotel clerk

A person could develop a cold

                From “Adelaide’s Lament” by Frank Loesser (“Guys and Dolls,” 1950)

After charmingly singing this verse with his native New York accent on “Broadway: The Golden Age,” a touching documentary by Rick McKay released in 2004, the year of Fred’s too-early death at age 76, lyricist Fred Ebb said, with his signature frankness, “Augh!  I would kill to have written that.”

Always modest, he doesn’t mention all that he did write during his 50 plus-year career (which preceded three shows that were produced on Broadway posthumously), including 17 stage and screen musicals with his long-time song-writing partner, composer John Kander, the time-honored smash hits Cabaret, New York, New York and Chicago being the most famous of them. 

One of my favorite Fred Ebb lyrics is from a lesser-known, light-hearted and humorous ditty, “Arthur in the Afternoon,” from The Act (1977), a thin-plotted star vehicle for Fred’s beloved protégée Liza Minnelli, who famously sported elegant costumes designed by Halston for the spectacle, and who won a Tony Award for her block-buster performance:

He has a small apartment in the center of town
I'd hardly say it was posh
But I gun my Hyundai and I hurry on down
To hear the banister squeak and the waterbed slosh

While there is a simple A – B – A – B rhyme scheme in this verse, I love Fred’s cleaver use of mid-line alliteration and rhyme.  In many of his songs, Fred shows us time and again that alliteration can be just as, if not more, effective than rhyme in songwriting ("Hyundai" and "hurry" in this example).  I also love the mid-line rhyme of “gun” and “Hyun(dai).”  Seemingly insignificant word choices like these were labored over by Fred during his creative process, and the results made you want to listen to the songs over and over, in the same way that so many people are finding the “Hamilton” cast recording addictive today.  Even Fred’s name plays on his technique, with his monosyllabic first and last names both playfully sporting a short /e/ sound.

The storytelling in Fred’s lyrics is also fabulous.  My favorite example is, “Ring Them Bells” from the television concert Liza with a Z (1972).  When I told Fred how much I love that song, he said, “It’s a true story!”  He was so proud of that.  My family groans every time I launch into that song, because it’s long, but I love it.  It starts with, “Gather around, I’ve got a story to tell, about a Manhattan lady that I know very well…”  Aren’t you just dying to know more?!  Ditto for the introduction to “Cabaret:” “I used to have a girlfriend known as Elsie, with whom I’d share four sordid rooms in Chelsea…”  Tell me more!  (Note the internal rhyme of "four" and "sor(did)!")

But Fred’s genius never got the attention it deserved, primarily because he didn’t want it.  One time, when we were out to lunch together and he was beguiling me with fabulous stories of his life, I suggested that he write an auto-biography, or have someone write a biography of him.  He demurred, saying that he hated those tawdry, “tell-all” books.  Plus, I knew he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself because he was humble, to a fault in my opinion, but I pressed him anyway.  I told him that his book didn’t have to be a “tell-all,” but he wasn’t convinced.  Finally, in 2003, the book Colored Lights: Forty Years of Words and Music, Show Biz, Collaboration, and All That Jazz came out in the form of a long interview of the duo “as told to Greg Lawrence.”  Since only around four people read this blog, I figure I’m safe to shower Fred with accolades here.

I was introduced to Fred by his musical partner John Kander in 1991, when my dear director friend, Jay Berkow, proposed to me that we produce a revival of The Rink (1984).  I had met John while I was working at Theater for a New Audience and we were producing Romeo and Juliet at the Victory Theater on 42^nd Street (before it was renovated).  When I told him of our interest in The Rink, he confessed that The Rink was a favorite of his and Fred’s, and would love for us all to have a go at it.  John and Fred were always very supportive of young, talented enthusiasts.  (We were both in our late 20s.)

From a video I found on YouTube posted by the Inge Center in Kansas in 2012 (although it seems to have been filmed in 2003 or 2004), here is what Fred had to say about the Broadway production:

It looked like a sure thing, but those are the projects to beware of.  The sure things really aren’t, ever.  And there we had Chita and Liza and five wonderful guys – Jason Alexander being one of them.  It was quite a piece.  And I thought it was wonderfully well directed, which it was, and wonderfully performed, which it was.  And, I don’t know.  It just didn’t seem to appeal to the critics – who I hate anyway - but they didn’t buy it.   I don’t even know why, not even now do I know why.  Some shows, if they don’t get everything you wish for them, you can read a review and say, “Oh, yea, well I can see why he didn’t like it.  I don’t agree with him, but I really understand that.”  And I don’t understand “The Rink.”  I just don’t.  It was just really well done.  Everybody was at the peak of their powers, I thought.  Chita was magnificent.  Liza bit off a part that nobody expected her to play, which, by the way, I didn’t think helped us.  You know, they wanted these Halston sequin things, and she played the whole thing looking like kind of a schleppy girl.” 

In a nutshell, that’s what Fred told Jay and me back in 1991.  It turned out that Fred and John both lived close to me on the upper West Side, and invited us to attend several meetings at Fred’s apartment, where they introduced us to Terrence McNally, the book writer, and we set to work on The Rink.

John was, and still is, such a kind man.  I didn’t know what to expect when I met Fred.  After all, he’s the guy who wrote some hysterical but caustic lyrics, like these from a show I appeared in in college:

Now, every son-of-a-bitch

Is a pain in the ass

Whatever happened to class?

            - from “Chicago” (1975)

When I nervously arrived at his apartment for that first meeting, I was greeted by this doormat:

Gulp! 

Fred and Terrence weren’t as warm as John was in the beginning of our relationship, but as I got to know Fred, I discovered that he was a pussy cat.  He was sweet, sensitive, kind, and thoughtful.  I will always treasure the gift from Tiffany’s he sent when my first daughter, Jackie, was born in 2000.

And I’ll never forget that lunch we had when we talked about a possible book.  I mentioned to Fred that I would be moving to France for a year with my husband, and he told me that when he was in grade school, he won a prize for his recitation of a famous fable by Jean de la Fontaine (1621 – 1695), Le Corbeau et le Renard.  Then, without missing a beat, he launched into it:

Maître Corbeau, sur un arbre perché,
Tenait en son bec un fromage.
Maître Renard, par l'odeur alléché,
Lui tint à peu près ce langage:
"Hé! Bonjour, Monsieur du Corbeau.
Que vous êtes joli! Que vous me semblez beau!
Sans mentir, si votre ramage
Se rapporte à votre plumage,
Vous êtes le Phénix des hôtes de ces bois."
A ces mots le Corbeau ne se sent pas de joie;
Et pour montrer sa belle voix,
Il ouvre un large bec, laisse tomber sa proie.
Le Renard s'en saisit, et dit: "Mon bon Monsieur,
Apprenez que tout flatteur
Vit aux dépens de celui qui l'écoute:
Cette leçon vaut bien un fromage, sans doute."
Le Corbeau, honteux et confus,
Jura, mais un peu tard, qu'on ne l'y prendrait plus. 

I was so charmed, and I was kicking myself for not having thought of bringing a tape recorder to our lunch.  (These were the days before cell phones.)  How I wish I had recorded our discussion, although in my heart of hearts, I know he probably wouldn’t have allowed me to tape it. 

I had no trouble imagining how adorable Fred must have been as a child.  He even admitted it, in his own self-effacing way, early in the 2003 book, when he says that he used to win talent competitions in Atlantic City, because, “I guess I was sort of cute.”

In reading the book, I often smile to myself, because several times in the first chapter, when Fred refers to a certain lyric, John says, “Go on.  Recite it.  I know you’re dying to.”  And then he does.  I can just see the twinkle in both of their eyes.  And I’m so glad I got a private recitation, in French even!

Throughout our working together on The Rink, I always tried to figure out the essence of John and Fred’s relationship.  I watched them closely.  I looked for a crack in the veneer, or for mutual affection.  But all I ever really saw was professionalism and respect.  I remember sitting at Fred’s kitchen table when John arrived for a meeting one morning, and John greeted him by saying, “Hello, partner!” to which Fred replied, “Hello, partner” in return.  And then we got to work.

At the beginning of a compilation of Kander & Ebb sheet music published by their friend Tommy Valando, there is a brief interview with the pair, and the last question was, “Would you consider yours a happy collaboration?” Fred replied, wearing his heart on his sleeve, “Having been brought up to be truthful, I will tell you exactly how I feel.  Our collaboration is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

But for all Fred’s success, it was clear to me that he was fundamentally a lonely man, and I didn’t quite know what to do about that. He was envious that John had a longtime relationship.  He told me, “I don’t have that.”  I felt helpless.  I wished there was something I could do for him.

I also know that Fred felt that John had a privileged upbringing in Kansas City compared to his own in Manhattan.  He mentions something in the book that he once told me: “John was brought up on warm goat’s milk!  I didn’t have that.”  Frankly, at the time Fred told me that, I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want warm goat’s milk.  But I guess it's a generational thing!

More often than not, when I saw Fred, he was wearing his NYU hoodie.  He was an undergrad there, and I went to grad school there, so I felt we had a connection.  This is how I will always remember him.  I never took a photo of us together, in my effort to hide my dumbfounded admiration and to appear to be professional.

I wish Jay and I could have made a big hit out of the revival of The Rink for Fred.  Who knows?   Maybe we will someday.  

Detail from an autographed poster from “The Rink,” 

a gift from my former English professor and dear friend June Schlueter.

For further reading:  http://www.broadwaycares.org/fredebb2014

A Word about Teachers

See if you can follow this: I have a friend here where I live, whose sister has a friend who lives in Australia.  My friend's sister told me that, immediately after her Australian friend gave birth to a child with special needs, a check from the Australian government arrived in the mail.  No forms to fill out.  No evaluations to schedule.  The Australian government understood that there would be extraordinary expenses associated with having a child with special needs, and they were pro-active and generous.

Not so here in the US.  Ask any parent about his or her experience in raising a child with special needs, and you will hear one harrowing tale after another.  My husband and I had our daughter Audrey evaluated when she was still a baby, and she starting receiving Early Intervention services by her first birthday.  But we discovered rather late in the game that these public services (speech therapy, occupational therapy, physical therapy and cognitive therapy) were generally inferior to those offered by expensive private practitioners.  So, we shelled out some big bucks for supplemental “out-of-network” services.

When Audrey was three, Early Intervention ended, and she was enrolled in Special Education through our public school system.  The teachers there didn’t know what to do with her.  In our efforts to have her placed in a “least restrictive environment,” we ended up with teachers and administrators who were clueless about how to help a child as severely disabled as Audrey is.  I spent a stressful and depressing year meeting, arguing, cajoling, and fighting.  It was awful.  The next year, we placed Audrey in a more restrictive environment, where she was surrounded by other severely disabled kids, and where she was generally ignored for two academic years.

Enter the Rock Brook School.  Actually, Audrey’s class pictures tell the story best.  When she was three and in a district school, the school photo came home of her crying, and a teacher’s arm was in the frame trying to keep her from bolting off the stool.  The next two years’ photos weren’t much better.  Then - and I still thank God regularly for this - Audrey was moved to the Rock Brook School.  Here is her 2011-12 school picture:

What a smile.  And as we are completing our fifth year at Rock Brook, the photos still tell the story.  Not that it’s all about the school pictures.  Audrey loves Rock Brook, her friends there, and her teachers.  Plus, she’s learning!

At every Rock Brook parent-teacher conference and IEP meeting, I thank Audrey’s teachers and therapists, and the school’s administrators.  I say something along the lines of, “We are so fortunate to have you and this school in our lives.  I don’t know what we’d do without you.”  And my eyes well up.  Even as I write this, I’m tearing up again. 

The Rock Brook team is knowledgeable, loving, patient, generous, dedicated, selfless, and nothing short of a blessing to our family and to all the families it serves.  During Staff Appreciation Week and throughout the year, we can’t show our appreciation enough for all that they do, and the peace of mind that they give us beleaguered parents, who can rest assured that our children are being given superlative educations.  Imagine my elation when the school announced its expansion into high school last year.  What a relief to know that Audrey can have the benefit of staying at Rock Brook for ten more years. 

THANK YOU, Rock Brook staff, for all you do for our precious children!!!!!!

Rock Brook School * 109 Orchard Road * Skillman, NJ 08558

www.rock-brook.org * Telephone: 908-431-9500 * Fax: 908-431-9503