Fosse (80 page)

“I’m very nervous,” he had said to her, Lola, at their first rehearsal in 1954.

“So am I.”

The ambulance took off for George Washington University hospital, a mile and a half from where Fosse collapsed, and arrived at the emergency room at 6:48.
At 7:23, he was pronounced dead.

When I got home,
there was a phone message on my machine. It was Bobby. He said he was looking forward to talking to me about this script I sent him about homelessness. He said he didn’t think it was for him, but he wanted to help me get it made. By then I knew he was dead, but he was right there on my machine still talking about show business.

—David Picker

I
’VE ALWAYS REVERED
the movie musical, its mandate for hard and irrefutable talent, for harmonizing all performing arts into a single expression of pure feeling—every stage at Lincoln Center meshed eloquently into one. But no matter how much Lubitsch and Minnelli thrill me, watching
One Hour with You
and
The Band Wagon,
I can only sometimes escape the sense of having only escaped, of breathing pink helium and no oxygen. Emotions of lasting reverberation are almost irrelevant to those movies; the point seems to be to have a beautiful time, and I do. But a part of me always wished I could inject boiling blood into Astaire’s veins. What would happen if Maurice Chevalier lost his cool? What would happen if Cassavetes came back to life and watched nothing but
The Pirate
? That movie would blow my mind.

When Jeanine Basinger, Wesleyan’s renowned film professor, brought us, her class, to Cukor’s
A Star Is Born,
I could feel, for the first time, real life creeping into the show. When she brought us to
All That Jazz,
I felt something harder and stranger, like depressive exhilaration, which felt real but better,
A Star Is Born
multiplied by all those MGM dream ballets that suddenly made sense. I loved the movie, probably too much. It ate my imagination. I’d had some version of that feeling before, of being consumed by a great work, but it had always registered more like catharsis. It felt good.
All That Jazz
I loved with an intensity that erased me.

That was 2001. Since then I’ve wanted to do something for Bob Fosse. I did not know what; that seemed to erase me more.

Three years ago, my friend and agent David Halpern suggested a biography. The idea excited me, but I told him I didn’t know how to put a whole life into one book—not to mention Fosse’s kind of life—that I was sure no one would want it, and even if people did, I’d mess it up. But over one dinner, Halpern delivered the sort of end-of-act-two locker-room sermon that (though I can’t remember it) was so heartfelt and fortifying, I’ll always think of it as the Agent’s Saint Crispin’s Day speech. I wrote this book, but David Halpern made it. He invented it, guarded it, cheered it. Then George Hodgman, this book’s first editor, acquired it. With a general’s conviction, he pointed me toward its future. Scribbling on menus and receipts, underlining big ideas, we debated our Fosse onto the horizon, like Omar Sharif in
Lawrence of Arabia.
Eamon Dolan, this book’s second editor, reeled that figure toward us. When I lost sight of him, or it, he held my frustrations. When ideas died, he let me release them with uncommon grace, at my own speed, and he sat shivah with me until I got pregnant again.

Halpern, Hodgman, and Dolan are
Fosse
’s Paddy, Herb, and Sam, the studio against the studio. My team.

Every biographer is Dr. Frankenstein and research is the lightning bolt. The single greatest pleasure of writing this book was harvesting that lightning person to person, from Fosse’s dancers, friends, family, lovers, collaborators, and enemies. I interviewed over three hundred. The common theme was love: Fosse’s for them, theirs for him. Every day since my first interview (Laddie, June 7, 2010), I’ve been hoping I could take that love they entrusted to me and use it to lightning Fosse
back to life, but without obliterating the anguish, anger, and isolation that so often edged his playful spirit out of view. If I did not succeed, I hope you all know my effort was sincere. For your time and compassion, thank you: Joe Allen, Rae Allen, Carol Alt, Susan Anderson, Eric Angelson, Jane Aurthur, Scott Barnes, Julian Barry, Patricia Baughman, Dwight Baxter, Jeanna Belkin, Gail Benedict, Sandahl Bergman, Mike Berkowitz, Ira Bernstein, Dr. Robert Bilder, Larry Billman, Nancy Bird, Grace Blake, Steve Blum, Shannon Bolin, Michael Bolton, Denice Pence Boockvor, Susan Braudy, Melissa Bretherton, Sandra Brewer, Richard Brick, Candy Brown, Kitty Bruce, Lonnie Burr, Ruth Buzzi, Stephanie Pope Caffey, Kevin Carlisle, Teresa Carpenter, Lynne Carrow, Eileen Casey, George Chakiris, Marge Champion, Emile Charlap, Suzanne Charney, Martin Charnin, Barrie Chase, Sybil Christopher, Wayne Cilento, Cheryl Clark, Madilyn Clark, Jill Clayburgh, Perry Cline, Marya Cohn, Peter Cohn, Christine Colby, Shaun Considine, Mel Cooper, Marilyn D’Honau, Danny Daniels, Joan Darling, Leslee Dart, Loretta Devine, Sara Dillon, Kathryn Doby, E. L. Doctorow, Arlene Donovan, Ervin Drake, Richard Dreyfuss, Diane Duncan, Mamie Duncan-Gibbs, Blake Edwards, Kevin Elders, Lisa Embs, Don Emmons, Harvey Evans, Tracy Everitt, Robin Utt Fajardo, Jules Feiffer, Jules Fisher, Gary Flannery, Ted Flicker, Liz (Erzsebet) Foldi, David Freeman, Bruce Jay Friedman, Victor Garber, Rita Gardner, Dr. Richard Gartner, Gene Gavin, Deborah Geffner, Ken Geist, Gary Gendell, David Warren Gibson, Norman Gimbel, Laurent Giroux, Tony Gittelson, Wolfgang Glattes, Maxine Glorsky, Ellen Graff, Charles Grass, Wayne Green, Robert Greenhut, Joel Grey, Charles Grodin, John Guare, Clyde Haberman, Buzz Halliday, Sonja Haney, Gordon Lowry Harrell, Karen Hassett, Bill Hastings, Bill Hayes, Jack Heifner, Alan Heim, Mariel Hemingway, Jim Henaghan, Allen Herman, Michael Herr, Gregg Heschong, Jim Hewes, Dustin Hoffman, Norman Hollyn, Celeste Holm, James Horvath, Jerry Jaffe, Leilani Jones, Sherri
Kandell, John Kander, Steve Kennedy, Patricia Ferrier Kiley, Peggy King, Carolyn Kirsch, Dorothy Kloss, Alice Korsick, Richard Korthaze, Michael Kubala, Alan Ladd Jr., Nathan Lane, Bonnie Langford, Jane Lanier, Sherry Lansing, Lionel Larner, Pamela Larsson-Toscher, Ken Laub, Diana Laurenson, Carmen LaVia, Dr. Drew Leder, John Lithgow, Jo Loesser, Susan Loesser, Tom Lofaro, Aarne Lofgren, John Henry Loomis, Lynn Lovett, Janice Lynde, Peter MacDonald, Neil Machlis, Norman Henry Mamey, Frankie Man, Fred Mann III, George Marcy, Larry Mark, Mary Ellen Mark, Marsha Mason, Paul Mazursky, Craig McKay, Donna McKechnie, John McMartin, Debra McWaters, John Miller, Dana Moore, Robert Morse, Sharon Murray, Gail Mutrux, Jennifer Nairn-Smith, Lenora Nemetz, Chris Newman, Leslie Newman, Phyllis Newman, Mark Obenhaus, Cynthia Onrubia, Stuart Ostrow, Stan Page, Janis Paige, Valerie Perrine, Valarie Pettiford, Wende Phifer, David Picker, Dean Pitchford, Jonathan Pontell, Linda Posner (Leland Palmer), CCH Pounder, Seymour Red Press, Frank Price, Harold Prince, Mimi Quillin, Tommy Rall, Phil Ramone, Marion Ramsey, Brett Raphael, David Ray, Lee Roy Reams, Donald Rebic, Carl Reiner, Ann Reinking, Frank Rich, Chita Rivera, Eric Roberts, Cliff Robertson, David Rogow, Owen Roizman, David Rose, Bentley Roton, Dr. Charles Rousell, Sandy Rovetta, Cyma Rubin, Eva Rubinstein, John Rubinstein, Cis Rundle, Vidal Sassoon, Blane Savage, Cynthia Scheider, Maurice Schell, Richard Schickel, Murray Schisgal, Betsy Schulberg, Stephen Schwartz, Jay Sears, Jeff Shade, Rick Shaine, Barbara Sharma, David Sheehan, Richard Shepherd, Phyllis Sherwood, Trudy Ship, Dan Siretta, Warren Allen Smith, Lew Soloff, Stephen Sondheim, Pamela Sousa, John Sowinski, Larry “Spoosh” Spivack, Tony Stevens, Leonard Stone, Susan Stroman, Bruce Surtees, Claudette Sutherland, Kristoffer Tabori, Celia Tackaberry, Harry Teeter, Terri Treas, Michael Tronick, Tommy Tune, Paul Turgeon, Larry Turman, Phoebe Ungerer, Ken Urmston, Beth Kellough Vandenboom, Jack Vartoogian, Ben Vereen, Chet Walker, Marie Wallace, Sigourney Weaver, Raquel Welch, Elmarie Wendel, William Whitener, Dan Wilensky, Kathy Witt, Emanuel L. Wolf, Hilma Wolitzer, Sandy Wolshin, Albert Wolsky, Michael York, Adele Yoshioka, Jimmie Young, and George Zima. I don’t believe in ghosts, but now I believe in those who do.

Without librarians and research advisers, I’d be running circles in the storm, swiping at thunder and plunging into mud. Thank you, Walter Zvonchenko, Patricia Baughman, and James Wintle, my Igors at Library of Congress’s Performing Arts Reading Room, home of the Bob Fosse and Gwen Verdon Collection, for keeping the box-flow flowing, for putting up with my last-minute queries, and for generally helping me master a holding thousands of items deep. Thank you, Charles Silver and Jenny He at the Museum of Modern Art, for leading me to some precious clippings (with a lovely view of the courtyard) and then letting me alone to Xerox like crazy. Jane Klain at the Paley Center for Media in New York was more than a knowledgeable source d’showbiz; she managed to help me uncover some material I thought had been lost forever. On one great day, she spoke the three little words every researcher dreams of hearing: “I found it.” I am grateful to you, Jane.

Aside from being one of the best shows in town, year-round and forever, the New York Public Library’s Theatre on Film and Tape Archive is the Père Lachaise of Broadway history. This book’s readers know why TOFT has almost zero Fosse, but the archive seems to have just about everything else, and for free, all week (except Sundays and Mondays). Sitting in those little cubicles, I come close to patriotism. Thank you, Patrick Hoffman and the rest of the gang at TOFT. And thank you, Ned Comstock, senior library assistant at USC’s Cinematic Arts Library. Everyone in the movie-book business knows and owes Ned. Late in the game, I called him with a long-shot question, and he came through in a way that was so extravagant, I don’t want to print it here for fear that no one interested in MGM will ever stop calling him.

The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ Margaret Herrick Library made this possible. Aside from being the best in the world, the facility has a beauty and serenity that actually elevates research to a sensual plane. As always, chatting with Sondra Archer down at the periodicals was a welcome relief, and Jenny Romero and Barbara Hall, hidden away like Oz, saved me more than once. Thank you all.

From the Margaret Herrick I go up La Cienega, past the
Point Blank
apartments, to the
Beloved Infidel
house, where a couple of infidels live at point-blank range to some very crisp drinks and a view of the city that should make Mulholland feel bad about itself. Herein dwell Freeman and Gingold, F. Scott and Zelda if they’d lived longer and converted to Judaism. Every evening chez GingFree is blessedly the same, and it has been for years. As the night goes on and the porch gets cooler, we move our drinks inside and start talking about dinner, whether we’ll go for Chinese at Genghis Cohen or to Musso’s (we pick Genghis), and then David calls ahead for a table and we go. The rest of the evening is spent in a black booth eating, drinking, debating, remembering. The same names come up. Hitchcock, Wilder, Mitchum, the writer Phil Dunne, Mazursky, Tony Richardson. They are our favorite songs. Sometimes we’ll be joined by Lynne Littman, Sarah Shepard, or Jack Dolman. The others are less fortunate but no less worthy. They are Jeanine Basinger, Pablo Davanzo, Lisa Dombrowski, Maria Diaz, Bob Dolman, the Goldblatts, Alex Horwitz, Lauren Kirchner, Andrea Martin, Nicky Martin, Jocelyn Medawar, Lynn Povich, Steve Shepard, Mom, Dad, and Sophie. Thank you for asking about Fosse and, in most cases, letting me give a long answer before you even asked. Your interest and encouragement made the small victories bigger, especially in the case of Freeman, this book’s Tom Hagen, and Mom, Dad, and Sophie, this book’s Mom, Dad, and Sister. They were flares in the dark.

And also Marie Grass Amenta, Jeffrey Banks, Nikki Donen, Judy James, Nick Kazan, Jacqueline Mention, Mike Ovitz, Rick Pappas, Tracy Roe, Meg Rutenberg, Gil and Joanne Segel, Martin Short, Sally Bedell Smith, and Kenneth Turan. You did mitzvahs. Thank you.

Thank you to Kathy Robbins, whom I must owe a thousand favors. It’s hard to tell because, like Zorro or Santa Claus, she works in the shadows and never breaks a sweat. Thank you, Kathy. And thank you to my friends at the Robbins Office, Arielle Asher, Rachelle Bergstein, Katherine DiLeo, Michael Gillespie, Micah Hauser, Ian King, and Louise Quayle. I’m relieved you are behind me and proud that you want to be.

Thank you to Jon Cassir and Matthew Snyder at CAA, who got tough but stayed soft, who reexplained for the billionth time, who had instant faith and never let it wane.

And thank you, thank you, Genevieve, clown-warrior.

SAM WASSON

JUNE 2013

I
AM FORTUNATE NOT
to be Bob Fosse’s first biographer. An intrepid guide, Martin Gottfried’s trailblazing
All His Jazz: The Life and Death of Bob Fosse
(New York: Bantam, 1990) cut the thicket ahead of me and unearthed bones where I might never have shoveled. Now priceless, his interviews with witnesses long gone helped to recover parts of Fosse that would otherwise be gone for good, and his judicious recounting of events served them well.
A complete inventory of the Bob Fosse and Gwen Verdon Collection at the Library of Congress is available online at
http://www.loc.gov/rr/perform/special/fosse.html
. In this section, the abbreviation
LOC,
followed by a box number, refers to the library’s Fosse/Verdon Collection.