MEMORIES FROM TOM SPANN
A NATIONAL THEATRE EMPLOYEE IN THE 1950'-1960'S

On a Saturday afternoon in the 1959 I was in a taxicab in with my grandmother. We were in Washington D.C. headed down 13th street, on our way to see Judy Holiday in a matinee performance of “Bells are ringing----the first production I had ever seen at The National Theatre.

We arrived at the theatre and made our way through the crowd.  The Head Usher directed us to our seats in the Orchestra. We read our Playbills. I really didn’t know what lay ahead. But, I knew I was experiencing a special moment. Soon, the house lights dimmed, the overture started, and the curtain went up. The show was wonderful.  Judy Holliday was magic. I was captured. My love affair with the National Theatre had begun.

The Playbill for "Bells are Ringing” announced that backstage tours were often conducted of The National. I wanted to take the tour. Days later, sitting in a high school history class out in the Maryland suburbs, I composed a letter to Scott Kirkpatrick, Manager of the National. I told him I loved “Bells Are Ringing”. I told him how much I would appreciate taking the tour mentioned in the playbill. Scott wrote back that he would be glad to make the arrangements.

On the appointed day, I took a bus from Maryland and met Scott outside the theatre. “Bells Are Ringing” had left town and the National was dark. Scott had come to the theatre from his apartment at The Jefferson Hotel for the sole purpose of showing me The National. It was a goodwill gesture I have never forgotten.  Scott unlocked the theatre and we went inside. He turned up the house lights. We made our way backstage. We walked onto the main stage area and Scott raised the asbestos fire curtain. A bare light bulb provided the only illumination on stage. Scott said it was called the “ghost light”. He explained what that theatre tradition was all about. He insisted I go downstage and make some sort of "speech" to the empty house. I have no idea what I said. I was 16 years old. He guided me through the entire theatre, the dressing rooms, the backstage area, the fly area, the orchestra pit, even the area under the stage, said to be haunted by the ghost of an earlier National Theatre manager.

It was a grand afternoon. It began a working relationship with The National and an affection for that theatre that continues to this day. Eventually, I went to work at the National as an Usher. I worked for Ed Love's, Theatrical Services Inc a company that supplied personnel for many special events in Washington. In addition to The National Theatre, this included everything from televised, closed circuit World Championship boxing events at RKO Keith’s Theatre to black-tie benefit performances of The Bolshoi Ballet at the Capitol Theatre. Later, Scott offered me a full time job. I was to be his Office Assistant. In the office I worked next to Tom Fox, the theatre’s Assistant Manager. Tom was a wonderful guy with a terrific sense of humor. We enjoyed many laughs. Ours was a good spirited work relationship. Also, during this period I was a ticket taker and theatre usher. One summer, during a long run of “The Music Man”, I worked as a stage doorman during the day. I have good memories of many of the people who worked at The National during those years. Adolph Meyer ran the box office. He was assisted by Helen Tess and her sister, Helen Brooks. The two women were shy, retiring types but they would fly out of the box office to watch Conrad Birdie’s big, rollicking, Presley-style, musical production number “You Gotta Be Sincere”, in the hit musical, “Bye Bye Birdie”.

The theatre’s Head Usher, Mary Jane Moore, a severe looking woman, stationed herself in the inner lobby and directed incoming patrons in the correct direction as they entered the theatre. In cold months, she wore a long black cape with gold braid and a high, stiff collar. She gave the appearance of a Salvation Army officer. One matinee, a theatergoer asked Mary Jane why she had directed him to the right staircase instead of to the left staircase. Both led to the same place. “Because I get a dime for everybody I send up those stairs”, she told the man. Another of my favorite National co-workers was fellow usher,

Charles Snyder. His love and knowledge of the theatre was as vast as his collection of framed Playbills that covered the walls of his DC apartment. I never knew anybody who could be as engaging as Charles in sharing a passion for the performing arts. I savored our conversations about the theatre. Richard Kidwell, was also a National usher at the time. Years later he would go on to manage the Kennedy Center Opera House.

The most memorable “special event” working for Theatrical Services was John F. Kennedy’s Inaugural Gala at the DC Armory. I was assigned to be an usher at the Armory that evening. The Gala was produced and hosted by Frank Sinatra. Performers included Peter Lawford, Gene Kelly, Joey Bishop, Leonard Bernstein, Sir Laurence Olivier, Sidney Poitier, Milton Berle, Nat King Cole, Bette Davis, Tony
Curtis, Ethel Merman, Eleanor Roosevelt, and many others. Even among the audience It was hard to look anywhere without seeing somebody you recognized from the entertainment field. I remember showing Dorothy Kilgallen to her seat and bumping into actor Gene Barry in the aisle.  Perhaps even more memorable than it’s showbiz attendees, John Kennedy’s Inaugural Gala will be remembered for snow. It was the night of one of the biggest storms ever to hit the Nation’s Capital. The snow started falling in the early afternoon. By show time traffic in the city was virtually paralyzed. Gala patrons and performers were stalled all over the Washington and Virginia. Many were hours late arriving. But, this was the inauguration and nobody was about to miss the party for the new President. Eventually the Armory filled and the show went on…albeit many hours past the scheduled starting time. In his remarks concluding The Gala, JFK noted that the time was after 1:30
a.m. Somehow, I made my way that night back to the Maryland suburbs, but it was well after 4 a.m. when I arrived home.

At the National, on Saturdays, I ushered at both the matinee and evening shows. Between shows Mary Jane Moore and others in our usher group went out for dinner---usually to Ceres, next door, or down the street to O’Donnell’s Seafood Restaurant.
After dinner we returned to the theatre to work the evening performance. On the closing night of a show, while audiences enjoyed the action on stage, tractor trailers were parked outside waiting to move the show on to its next location. This dismantling process began before the last patron had left the theatre. Lights wre taken down, sets were taken apart, and costumes and props were packed in trunks and rolled down the alley to the waiting trucks on the street. In a few hours it was all over. The stage was empty. The show was gone. This was a sad process to witness. A good friend, it seemed, was being packed in trunks and carried away. The National was drained of its lifeblood. To me, no place ever seemed as empty. In 1960, a touring company of “My Fair Lady” played the National for the entire summer. I worked for many performances of “Americas Favorite Musical”. All of us who who worked there came to be quite attached to “My Fair Lady”. But, sadly, like all the others, closing time came and the show and moved on. The musical, “Irma
La Douce” moved in. When the curtain went up on the new show, the people on-stage seemed more like squatters than actors. We missed our friend.

Scott Kirkpatrick used to love to tell the story of when Warren Beatty worked at The National as a stage doorman. On occasion, Beatty’s duties included shooing mice out of the stage door alley before Helen Hayes would start her exit down that long corridor to "E" Street. Warren Beatty’s stint as a stage doorman at The National did not last long. He returned there as an actor appearing in “A Loss of Roses” with Shirley Booth. Scott was sure Beatty was headed for stardom. He was so proud that the actor had gotten his start at The National.

It's hard remember Scott without thinking of his office. It was a spacious room just off the mezzanine. The office walls were painted in rich Federal gold. Deep, wall-to-wall plush carpets, also gold, covered the floor. Scott sat at a huge mahogany desk. The room was dark. Venetian blinds, always closed, covered the room’s windows overlooking the trolleys on Pennsylvania Avenue. A spotlight on the wall provided the room’s only illumination. It beamed a theatrical ray of light over Scotts shoulder and formed a little pool of light in the center of his desk. Scott himself looked like he was onstage .

Most notable about Scott's inner sanctum was the clutter. Scott’s desk was huge, but he had only a tiny amount of available work space. The desk was piled with mountains of paper…...hundreds of old, dusty playbills, bags of used theatre tickets, five-foot high stacks of yellowed newspapers, piles of business records, boxes of correspondence, posters and other memorabilia from shows which had long since departed.  Scott worked on the only square foot of uncluttered space that remained on top of the massive piece of furniture. Sofas and arm chairs in the room had long ago been filled to overflow with stacks of Scott’s theatre archives. Scott’s office was always an improbable sight to me given the fact that was always so neatly groomed and impeccably dressed.

Outside of his office, Scott was more than the National’s Manager. He was the National’s Ambassador. Nowhere did he play this role better than in the theatre’s lobby as playgoers arrived. In summer, dressed in a snow-white linen suit adorned with a fresh red carnation, Scott stationed himself nightly in the lobby next to the ticket box. At this post he was ready to greet patrons, friends, and Washington dignitaries as they arrived and filed through the doors. Morris Cafritz, a major Washington builder at the time, and his socialite wife, Gwen were frequent visitors to the National. They were always warmly welcomed by Scott. Scores of Washington diplomats, government and business leaders attended the theatre regularly. Scott welcomed them as if they were guests in his home. This was Scott’s party and he was the master-host.

Scott Kirkpatrick was a reserved man. He was not customarily given to outbursts of excitement. But one evening I witnessed an exception. Otto Premininger was filming “Advise and Consent” in Washington. A scene which called for local extras, was a black-tie Washington diplomatic reception. Marjorie Meriwether Post’s “Hillwood” mansion in Rock Creek Park was selected for the location shooting. Many notable Washingtonians, including Scott, received special invitations to attend the “party”. They were to be extras that summer evening. Scott was beaming as he walked out of the National lobby. He climbed in a waiting Yellow Cab and sped off into the night. This was a major “social event” and Scott looked like he was having ball being included.

Scott’s National Theatre memories must have been a rich archive indeed. Were he alive today I would imagine the opening night of Irving Berlin's "Mr. President" would be among his favorites. “Mr. President” was having its world premier at the National. Opening night was to be a gala benefit performance attended by President and Mrs. Kennedy, the Vice President and Mrs. Johnson, Attorney General Robert Kennedy and his wife Ethel and scores of other Washington notables. Because it was a benefit performance, Kennedy family members were trategically seated throuought the theatre, including the sky-high second balcony where I was stationed as an usher that evening.

The overture was played, the house lights dimmed, the curtain rose and “Mr. President” began. Minutes into the first act, and much to my surprise, Robert and Ethel Kennedy appeared at my side to be escorted to their seats. Nervous, and with flashlight in hand I led the Attorney General of the United States and his wife down the aisle. I prayed Ethel would not trip on the steep concrete steps and tumble out of the balcony. I also prayed that their seats would be empty and occupied incorrectly by some misplaced theatergoer. Happily, the seats for the Attorney General and Mrs. Kennedy were empty and Ethel did not tumble out of the balcony. I don’t know if I ever shared that story with Scott, but I think he would have enjoyed it as much as I have enjoyed remembering it.

Many other moments remain in my memory of those days at the National: …Carol Channing’s ad-libing after dropping a dumpling on the stage in “Hello Dolly”, …An elated David Merrick bounding up the steps during the intermission of Hello Dolly, clearly aware he had a big hit on his hands, …Jerome Robbins working with cast members day after day on the mezzanine just outside our office to rescue “A Funny Thing Happened on the way to the Forum” which was faltering in DC prior to its New York opening. His work saved the show. …Gigantic Charlton Heston having to duck his head walking into the theatre …Viven Leigh signing an autograph for me in that cold alley leading from the stage door. ….Rushing to the Harrington Hotel to get actress Kay Medford who was notoriously late for performances. ….Forrest Tucker’s valet ready in the wings with an ice cold cocktail in hand for the star when he came off stage during The Music Man. …Seeing Helen Hayes in the Glass Menagerie, …Sitting across the aisle from Jacqueline Kennedy as she watched a performance of Saint Joan.

I never saw Scott Kirkpatrick outside of The National Theatre. We were not close, personal friends. He was a southern gentleman, polite, somewhat formal, and, at times, even aloof. He was a private man. But he did share one thing with me……he shared his love of the theatre. Because of that he occupied a special place in my life during my Washington theatre years in my teens. Today, 57 years later, he remains the centerpiece of my recollections of those years.

Tom Spann
Hilton Head Island, SC

I would love to hear from anybody else who might have worked at The National during this period. Please email me! tomspann1006@yahoo.com