If she'd heard it once, she'd heard it a thousand times,
What an unusual name.
And, if she'd explained it once, she'd explained
it a thousand times, "My mother's name is Ruby
and my grandmother's name was Ella."
Rubella
Being thirty-eight, she'd come to
New York City to be an actress rather late in life.
Her controlling mother had been furious
to learn that her daughter had quit her
stenographer job of 16 years to run
off and pursue her "dream."
"You're nothing but a foolish old maid -
running off to chase some crazy notion
that you can be a Broadway star.
It's ridiculous and it's embarrassing.
You mark my words - it will never happen.
That city will chew you up and spit you out!
If you have any sense at all, you'll
immediately go and beg for your job back."
It took everything she had to hold her tongue as
her mother shamed and berated her. Rubella understood
that most of her mother's hostility was borne out of
fear: fear for her own security, as she regularly
helped her mother pay the rent; and,
perhaps ... just perhaps, her mother
might harbor a modicum of concern
for her daughter's well-being.
Despite all the maternal doom and gloom,
she would go.
She would pursue her dream - no matter how
foolish her mother thought it was.
But dreams don't always come true; at least not
right away. She arrived in New York City
in the spring of '56, and it was now
transitioning from fall to winter, 1957.
It started off quite nicely. Her second
day in town she happened to notice a note
pinned to a bulletin board at the YWCA:
Quiet single woman looking for same
to share two bedroom apartment.
She called the number and before she knew
it, she was officially a New York resident.
Her plan was to support herself with
the money she'd managed to save over her
16-year career as a stenographer. But it wouldn't
be long before she discovered just how quickly
one's funds can be depleted when you're
trying to survive in the "big city."
Every day there were auditions and
casting calls, and she was there
for every one of them. Although
she regularly met with rejection, she
persevered - bound and determined
to work on the stage.
Ever the dutiful daughter; once a week she called
her mother, who was also determined; determined
to crush her daughter's ambitions of Broadway stardom.
"This is getting to be laughable, Rubella. Ida Roster
came by yesterday and asked about you, and I was too
ashamed to tell her what you've been up to. So I told her
you were visiting a sick friend out of town. Look at what you're making me do! Lord, forgive me; I've taken to lying to my friends."
Over time her mother's berating became
increasingly cruel and hysterical. So much so,
that she began to dread even the thought of calling
her. The stress of that, combined with the
fact that her funds were dwindling at an alarming
rate, caused her to realize that something had
to be done; she could not go on like this.
It was an overcast afternoon when she and
her roommate traversed the cluttered streets
of Midtown Manhattan as they made
their way to W. 44th St.
Dressed in her newly acquired costume, Rubella
spotted an abandoned milk crate sitting on the
sidewalk in front of the Shubert Theater.
"Here, I'm going to sit on this," she said as she
placed the crate in the middle of the sidewalk.
"Make sure you get some of the theater in the shot."
"I will, I will. Now cross your legs and lean
forward a little. That's it. Perfect!"
Her roommate held the camera to her
face and snapped several photographs.
Once they'd finished, the milk crate was put back where
they'd found it, and the two of them made their way back home.
A week would pass before Rubella had the
developed pictures in her hands. Removing
them from the envelope, she carefully
examined each shot until she found just
the right one. Once that was done, she
pulled out some hotel stationery she'd managed to finagle from the
doorman at the
Sherry-Netherland Hotel.
On it she wrote:
Well, Ma, it finally happened.
I landed a part in a Broadway production!
As you can see by the photograph,
I play an Arabian gypsy. Isn't my
costume beautiful? Now you can
show your friends and neighbors
what your daughter's "been up to."
My dream is coming true, Momma.
I'll write more later - I've got to rush
off to rehearsal. Hope all's well with you.
Love, Rubella
P.S. I've put a little something in here to help with the rent.
She licked the 3 cent stamp and carefully
applied it to the envelope which held the
letter, the photograph, and a twenty-dollar bill.
A feeling of anxious melancholy swept over her as
she pulled the gypsy costume out of her closet. She laid
it across the bed and walked over to her vanity,
where she stared into the mirror for a lonely minute.
There was only time for a few brief tears, as she didn't
want to be late for her first night.
Running slightly behind, she exited her building in
her costume and quickly dropped the letter to her
mother in the mailbox across the street. That task
completed, she rushed down to the subway that
would take her uptown for her big debut.
The subway was packed, and she couldn't help but notice
the curious stares she was getting from the weary rush
hour travelers. How could she blame them - it's not
everyday that one gets to share the subway
with an Arabian gypsy.
The dark of evening was falling as she
stepped out onto West 57th Street and
started walking the 5 blocks she needed to go.
Soon she could see the flashing neon sign in the distance:
ARABIAN NIGHTS
As she reached the building, she stood for a
moment and composed herself; then taking a deep breath,
she pulled the massive front door open and walked into the building.
As she entered she was immediately greeted by the manager.
"Well, hello Rubella - are you excited?"
"Yes, Mrs. Strausman, I am."
"Nervous?"
"A little."
"Well, that's to be expected. Everyone's a little
anxious their first night on the floor by themselves.
But, I must say, all the girls who helped train you
said how well you did, especially considering
the fact that you've never waited tables before.
Follow me. I'll show you which tables are yours."
As the manager lead her through the grand dining
room of the renowned Arabian Nights restaurant,
she turned and asked, "So, Rubella, what did you
do before this?"
She paused a moment, then proudly answered,
"I'm an actress ... a Broadway actress."
Dumb question....what is the connection between Ken Edwards and Timothy Eldridge?
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