A year and a half after what you and your husband turned into a once in a lifetime experience, I’ve decided to write you an open letter. My previous attempt to mail you was thwarted. I dropped an envelope in a post office box to you on my way to the airport. I was leaving town to do a show. Three months later, I found the same envelope in a pile of mail. It had been returned and I never got to thank you or your husband for lifting my spirits when I so dearly needed it.
It was Winter. Not too long ago I’d booked “Rent” in South Carolina. Had I gone down, I would have played Mark in a brand new theatre and gotten my first taste of Southern Charm. However, shortly before I was to leave, the producer made sexual advances toward me. I quickly clarified our relationship and almost as quickly, he told me I was too young to play opposite their Roger. I still have the libretto they gave me on my shelf.
Had I gone down I would have also missed out on what I now recognize as a very important relationship in my life. At the time though, I was feeling the strain of his disatisfaction with his own place in the entertainment industry. I desperately needed a reminder why I was living in New York with hardly enough money to pay my bills much less eat. As luck would have it, a company I do some promotional work with gave me a ticket to see Looped. I’d heard about the show when I was living in L.A. It was at the Pasadena Playhouse and a manager sent me a courtesy note with the breakdown and recommended I audition. At the time I was foolish and didn’t have my priorities in order. I had to work and never attended.
Years later, it was opening on Broadway and I had a free ticket. Growing up I used to listen to old radio broadcasts and several times had come across Bankhead’s program The Big Show. I was also familiar with her from her appearances on I Love Lucy and Batman. I had no idea what to expect from the play. The moment you walked out on the stage swearing and drinking and smoking I knew that I was in for a treat. Then came the moment where you, no Tallulah, started talking about Tennesee Williams. How he wrote that role for you. How when you finally got to perform Blanche, they laughed at the ridiculousness of you, Tallulah. Then you delivered that amazing monologue: you Blanche, you Tallulah, you Valerie. The play ended and I felt I had seen one of the greatest performances to ever be on the boards. I thought of Larry Moss talking about watching the greats perform on Broadway and thought, one day I will tell people I was there when you did this. The only other performance that has moved me as much was Cherry Jones in Doubt.
New York was in the middle of a whiteout. Snow flakes assaulted the ground and as the performance ended people rushed to grab cabs or make it to the 42nd Street Station. I couldn’t do that. I had to meet you. To this day it remains the only time I’ve waited at a stage door. For quite some time I was alone in the snow until a man popped his head out of the door. He was very concerned, “Come inside before you freeze.” I gladly waited inside while he asked me where my gloves were. I tried to convince him that I was fine. He finally relented. “Valerie should be out in a moment.” When you showed up I complimented you and you graciously replied, “Isn’t it a wonderful story. They both learn so much from each other.” You also told me I’d make a good Danny when I get a little older. Then you introduced me to the man who’d ushered me inside. He was your husband. As we left the theatre he insisted I take his warm wool mittens and a ten dollar bill. I still have both. I know he wanted me to spend the ten dollars on some food or a hat or something like that but I couldn’t. I decided it was good luck. To this day I carry it around with me in the binder I use at readings. I know if I ever need it, it’s there. The gloves are very warm and I call them my producer gloves.
That night kept me going through what would be months of struggle. At the end of that year I found myself in Florida performing in the world premiere of A Taffeta Wedding and preparing to audition for the Caldwell Center’s production of Next Fall, a role I still very much want to play. I was able to get the audition sides for Looped and prepare the monologue when Danny reveals his love of another man to Tallulah. Before doing it for the audition I decided to show it to our director and co-producer Arthur Whitelaw. He asked me what it was from and I told him about Looped. He told me he knew you and your husband. I’ve thought of asking him several times if he could get my letter to you. But finally, I decided to post it here for all the world to see in hope that one day it will make its way to you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, to you and your husband for your kindness and for inspiring me. That night means so much to me and to this day when things get tough, I think of it. May all be well in your lives my kind and talented friends.
Yours truly,
Matthew