Broadway Tails (5 page)

Of all the celebrities who came to the show, Sandy’s favorite was Benji. Our press agent heard Benji was coming to New York for the opening of
his new film and arranged a photo op. His owner and trainer, Frank Inn, was one of the best in Hollywood, and I was a little nervous about meeting him. Sandy did a few behaviors in the show and not much else. I felt that was enough. When Frank and Benji arrived, Sandy went crazy; it wasn’t until Frank said, “Come here, girl,” that I understood why. Sandy was in love, and it took all my strength to hold him back. All Sandy wanted to do was have a love scene with Benji, and I had to put Andrea in the middle with her arms locked around Sandy’s neck to get the picture—which made the front page of the
Daily News
the next day.

Frank did a demonstration for us. Benji knew twenty or thirty behaviors, which she did effortlessly. As my self-esteem was running out, I realized that when Frank was not interacting with Benji, she did not move. Andrea had noticed it too. Benji looked like she was programmed to never take her eyes off of Frank. The more we watched, the sadder we became. After Frank and Benji got in their limo and went off, Andrea hugged Sandy and said she felt so sorry for Benji. “It’s like she has no free will. Sandy may not be as trained as Benji, but at least he’s happy.”

After we had been running for about a year, Sandy’s understudy Arf died suddenly. I returned from having just walked the two dogs when he began screaming. He convulsed violently and died in my arms in the hallway outside my dressing room. It was very traumatic because the whole backstage area could hear his screams. Andrea and the kids were so upset, we had to hold the curtain for a half-hour to calm them all down. At first we thought it was poison from some deranged fan, but an autopsy showed that a brain tumor had burst in his head. We missed that dog a lot because he was very sweet, and we were sad that he never got a chance to go on.

A few weeks earlier, I had adopted a stray dog that had been found on Park Avenue. He had been badly abused—someone had poured a flammable substance on his hindquarters and set him on fire. The poor creature was so frightened that he tried to bite any human who came near him. Since this dog looked like a Sandy dog, the woman who found him called me. I knew he would probably be euthanized because no one would want to pay his medical expenses, so I said I would take him. I called him O’Malley after my Irish roommate, Patrick.

I brought O’Malley to my vet and the prognosis was bad. He had scar tissue on the base of his tail and legs where he had been burned. He had all sorts of intestinal worms. But the worst news was that he had heartworms. The medicine used to treat heartworms is based on arsenic—so if the worms don’t kill the dog, the treatment might. My vet successfully administered the cure but said O’Malley would need a stress-free environment for at least a month, to let his heart recover. Fortunately, I had an unfinished basement in the house I had just bought, so I made him a little apartment down there. When I first turned him loose, all he did was hide. I couldn’t get close enough to put a leash on him without him lunging and trying to bite me.

Finally, after six weeks of him still trying to attack me, I thought it was time this dog learned I wasn’t a bad person. I got an old overcoat and some car-washing gloves and went downstairs. In a very calm voice, I kept saying
Good boy
. I tried to pet him. As soon as I got close to him, he bit me on the sleeve of the coat and held on. I didn’t run, I just let him bite. He kept at it for an hour and a half. But when he was so tired he couldn’t move, he saw that all I wanted to do was pet him, so he finally let me. And slowly but surely, after that night I could pet him, touch him, take him out, and have others touch him. I knew if he really got scared he was ready to defend
himself, but I made sure he was never placed in that kind of situation. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to use him in the show because he had been so abused. But it was like a miracle. Once he learned to trust me and to believe that I truly cared for him, he was one of the best-trained dogs I had. He was so willing to please. I always believe that animals know when you save their lives and are appreciative.

Anyway, when Arf died, I was left without an understudy. O’Malley was healthy by that time, and he trusted me, but he was still totally untrained. To fulfill my contract, I decided to bring O’Malley in. Our cast was so kind, loving, and understanding, that very soon he learned to trust many people. Within six months, except for the black scars on his hindquarters (which we covered with makeup because the hair never grew back), you’d have thought he was the happiest dog in the world. And Sandy must have known O’Malley needed some extra help, because he never had a problem with him and accepted him as part of our family.

While the show was running, I rehearsed with Andrea’s understudy, Shelley Bruce, who took over the role when Andrea left. Shelley lived in New Jersey and had grown up with dogs. She had also been with us since the Goodspeed production and was friendly with Sandy. Every Thursday we’d run the show in understudy rehearsal, and Sandy would do his behaviors. When Shelley went on for Andrea, Sandy was a little concerned, but still did fine. Everything went smoothly.

The time finally came when Andrea had to move on. It was a very sad time for us all. You become like a family, and now one of the kids was all grown up and leaving. We all knew we would see Andrea again, but Sandy was somewhat concerned her last night, when everyone was crying. I’m sure he figured,
Those crazy humans are acting up again
, and went on.

The following Tuesday, Shelley came in, and while Sandy did the show, I could see him looking around for Andrea. As the week progressed, he became more and more lethargic; he was missing his first love. Try as we might to play with him, kiss him, and talk to him, he just moped around. Then I remembered the old saying, “The way to a man’s heart is through
his stomach.” I had always given Sandy Milk-Bones as rewards in the show, but now I decided I had to up the ante. The theater was next door to the world-famous Gallagher’s Restaurant, where we had most of our parties. Sandy ate there so often, his picture is still on the wall today. We told them the problem and they started sending over their best prime rib. The first time Shelley gave him some, he was a little surprised—but after that, he followed her around like a little lost puppy. We were soon able to eliminate the prime rib because Sandy came to love Shelley for herself.

One of our more comical moments came with Sarah Jessica Parker, our third Annie. She was one of eight children of Barbara and Paul Forste. Her parents and all the kids were in show business at one time or another. They would often do tours, performing in
The Sound of Music
or
Peter Pan
as a family. I was not much older than Sarah’s oldest brother, so they just adopted me like another kid. Sarah had been brought in to understudy Shelley when Andrea left. She was the first kid I worked with who didn’t have much experience with dogs. Her family traveled a lot, so they had never had a dog—they were really cat people. But because of our friendship and her professionalism, Sarah worked hard learning how to relate to Sandy. Of course, Sandy went through another depression when Shelley left, but a little prime rib solved that problem.

While Sarah was playing the role, we were asked to appear on a Bob Hope special being filmed in New York. Sandy had done many television spots, but this one was a little different—Sarah would be singing live with Sandy in front of twenty thousand troops on the deck of the USS
Iwo Jima
. Nothing about the performance would faze Sandy, but I knew he had never been near anything like the unusual sounds and smells of a battleship. The day came, and we were picked up by limo and taken to the ship, which was docked in New York harbor. Because Sarah and Sandy were such pros, they had no rehearsal planned, just two takes—one to check the sound level with the orchestra, and an extra one for good luck.

When it came time to perform, we were taken to the deck. It was an incredible sight—thousands of servicemen and -women were packed in, all
over the ship. There was a big stage with a full orchestra behind us. They put a body mike on Sarah so she wouldn’t have to hold a mike, and when Sarah and Sandy made their entrance and she sang our hit song, “Tomorrow,” the troops went wild. When she was done with the first take, I went up and rewarded Sandy and praised Sarah and stayed with them for a few moments. Unfortunately, it was a hot July day, and the sun was beating down on the deck. Sandy was quite warm and was panting to cool himself off. Now, in private, Sarah would kid me about the dogs, but in public, she would hug and kiss Sandy. In that minute, while we were waiting for them to set up the next take, Sandy accidentally salivated on her arm. With a big smile on her face, Sarah leaned over and in a voice of sheer disgust whispered in my ear, “Gross! He drooled on me.” As she said the last word, we heard her voice echo from the back of the ship and realized her mike was still on. Twenty thousand troops began to laugh and applaud. The look on Sarah’s face was utter embarrassment, but I fell over laughing. From then on Sarah would wait until we were completely alone to joke about Sandy. Sarah ultimately grew up to be a true dog lover.

When Sarah outgrew the role, she was replaced by Allison Smith. Allison was our youngest Annie—she was ten years old and had no theater experience except for a small role in
Evita
. Allison was also truly afraid of dogs. Her mother had been bitten as a child and had instilled her own fear in her children. When I first met Allison and her mother, Joann, they both stayed away from Sandy. As I tried to explain that Sandy was great and that they would become best friends, Allison started to cry. I decided not to work that day and just talked to them instead. I could see that Joann was rather strict with Allison, and she was very well behaved—but as I continued to watch her, I could also see that Allison had the same streak of mischief as Andrea, which was perfect for the character of Annie.

The next day I took Allison into the rehearsal room without her mother. As we talked, she told me it was tough being the youngest of six kids because everyone bossed her around. And she admitted that everyone in the family was afraid of dogs. I asked her if she’d like to play a dirty trick
on everyone. For the first time I saw a little smile and a flicker of interest. Our trick would be that whenever she could she would sneak up behind her mom and scare her with Sandy. Of course, to do that, she would have to learn to train him.

By the end of the hour, Allison was petting Sandy. Within a couple of days, all the love and affection that kids have stored up inside for a pet came rushing out, and she attached to Sandy like glue. And Sandy seemed proud to have a new child showering him with affection. We never told her mom what we were up to, and at the end of the first week, Allison came out of the rehearsal room, snuck up behind her mom, and made Sandy bark. Poor Joann nearly jumped out of her skin. Allison smiled at me, and I knew she had a bond with Sandy that would be very special.

After two and a half years, Allison also grew out of the role, and it was decided that she would be replaced by her understudy, Alyson Kirk. The switch took place in September 1982, but Alyson Kirk didn’t get to play the role for long.
Annie
closed in January 1983. At that time, it was the eighth-longest-running show in Broadway history. Sandy went into the record books as the longest-running dog on Broadway. We’d gone to the White House four times, met all sorts of celebrities, and I had written a children’s book about Sandy. And although I sometimes was jealous of Sandy’s fame, in my heart I knew this was just the first step toward my real career.

For the final show, Martin Charnin invited the producers, managers, designers, and every actor who had ever appeared in
Annie
across the country to attend, so he could bring them onstage one more time. It was very emotional—children were crying, adults were crying. There were about two hundred people when he was done. Even the stagehands came onstage. I remained in my spot in the wings, where I was giving Sandy the hand signal to stay. And then it was over. People were asked to leave the stage, and I was still offstage. Andrea, Shelley, Sarah, Allison, and Alyson all came offstage, angry that after seven years on this show, Martin had forgotten to thank me. As I looked at those five girls who were now young women, I felt a sense of pride that they still cared about Sandy and me.

The only two left onstage were Martin and Tom Meehan, the writer of
Annie
. They had prepared a little script. Martin said, “You know, Tom, maybe we should do a sequel.” And Tom replied, “Yes—we could call it
Annie 2
.” And in that moment of intense emotion, with the five young ladies who had played Annie all standing around me, I thought,
Oh no—here we go again
.