Tevye and the Truth
August 26, 2008
I love Broadway musicals.
I believe in breaking into song and dance.
Call it corny, I don't care -- I love musicals because they raise my spirits.
My grandmother lived in NY all her life at 93rd and Central Park West in a rambling old apartment that she could afford on social security. Thank rent control, and the fact that she lived there for decades.
I thought it might be cool to live there -- the apartment unfortunately isn't with the family any more -- so a few months ago, I located the realtor for that apartment building and asked the price. I lived with my grandmother, my grandfather and my parents there until I was three and a half; I visited most weekends while going to school in the suburbs; and I lived with her the year after college graduation.
So I ask the guy how much.
"Nine million dollars," he says, "Would you like to see it?"
"Oh I know it quite well," I say and tell him the history.
Holy crap. I lived in a nine-million dollar apartment!
That's not what was valuable. It was my grandmother scrimping to buy tickets to Broadway shows so my little brother and I could escape into this rich, fabulous fantasy. To this day, strong emotions evoke songs that just pop into my mind. I may not know what I'm feeling, but if I analyze the lyrics to the song, I'll get it. Hey, "Don't Rain on My Parade."
So I receive with great delight the book HISTORIC PHOTOS OF BROADWAY: NEW YORK THEATRE, 1850-1970. Something strikes me right off about the book, but instead of puzzling over it, I pour through every page.
I find reference to LONG DAY'S JOURNEY INTO NIGHT, written by Eugene O'Neill, and I reflect on the paper I wrote on O'Neill in tenth grade. The teacher gave us the choice of any playwright, and when I asked a literary family friend for a suggestion, she recommended that I research O'Neill, noting that I would relate to him. Then I discovered the violence and alcoholism in O'Neill's family.
Back to the theatre. I remember seeing PETER PAN and THE SOUND OF MUSIC on Broadway, along with many other shows. I wander through the book, seeing black and white photos of a young Fred Astaire, Imogene Coca, Helen Hayes, Jimmy Durante, Bob Hope, Ethel Merman (who began life as Ethel Zimmerman), and Katharine Hepburn.
Way past page 200, I begin seeing some of the shows I grew up with.
Then it hits me. FIDDLER ON THE ROOF. It's the next page in the book, and it's on the cover. I'd seen the musical on Broadway, and when I was in college and the show was on campus for a week, I went to every performance. I felt compelled. I wanted to immerse myself in the story. There was something in that story that connected so deeply with me, but I didn't know what.
Until a couple of years ago. That's when a family friend revealed a fact about my family that my secretive mother had never mentioned. I knew my mother's mother was born in Peru, and that my grandmother's hyphenated Latina name ended in -berg, but these pieces never connected until one day my family friend said to me, quite out of the blue. "Your grandmother's father was a Russian Jew."
He lived in Russia about the time the character Tevye did, and also had to emigrate.
We always know the truth.
I love Broadway musicals.
I believe in breaking into song and dance.
Call it corny, I don't care -- I love musicals because they raise my spirits.
My grandmother lived in NY all her life at 93rd and Central Park West in a rambling old apartment that she could afford on social security. Thank rent control, and the fact that she lived there for decades.
I thought it might be cool to live there -- the apartment unfortunately isn't with the family any more -- so a few months ago, I located the realtor for that apartment building and asked the price. I lived with my grandmother, my grandfather and my parents there until I was three and a half; I visited most weekends while going to school in the suburbs; and I lived with her the year after college graduation.
So I ask the guy how much.
"Nine million dollars," he says, "Would you like to see it?"
"Oh I know it quite well," I say and tell him the history.
Holy crap. I lived in a nine-million dollar apartment!
That's not what was valuable. It was my grandmother scrimping to buy tickets to Broadway shows so my little brother and I could escape into this rich, fabulous fantasy. To this day, strong emotions evoke songs that just pop into my mind. I may not know what I'm feeling, but if I analyze the lyrics to the song, I'll get it. Hey, "Don't Rain on My Parade."
So I receive with great delight the book HISTORIC PHOTOS OF BROADWAY: NEW YORK THEATRE, 1850-1970. Something strikes me right off about the book, but instead of puzzling over it, I pour through every page.
I find reference to LONG DAY'S JOURNEY INTO NIGHT, written by Eugene O'Neill, and I reflect on the paper I wrote on O'Neill in tenth grade. The teacher gave us the choice of any playwright, and when I asked a literary family friend for a suggestion, she recommended that I research O'Neill, noting that I would relate to him. Then I discovered the violence and alcoholism in O'Neill's family.
Back to the theatre. I remember seeing PETER PAN and THE SOUND OF MUSIC on Broadway, along with many other shows. I wander through the book, seeing black and white photos of a young Fred Astaire, Imogene Coca, Helen Hayes, Jimmy Durante, Bob Hope, Ethel Merman (who began life as Ethel Zimmerman), and Katharine Hepburn.
Way past page 200, I begin seeing some of the shows I grew up with.
Then it hits me. FIDDLER ON THE ROOF. It's the next page in the book, and it's on the cover. I'd seen the musical on Broadway, and when I was in college and the show was on campus for a week, I went to every performance. I felt compelled. I wanted to immerse myself in the story. There was something in that story that connected so deeply with me, but I didn't know what.
Until a couple of years ago. That's when a family friend revealed a fact about my family that my secretive mother had never mentioned. I knew my mother's mother was born in Peru, and that my grandmother's hyphenated Latina name ended in -berg, but these pieces never connected until one day my family friend said to me, quite out of the blue. "Your grandmother's father was a Russian Jew."
He lived in Russia about the time the character Tevye did, and also had to emigrate.
We always know the truth.
Labels: books, Broadway musicals, Eugene O'Neill, grandmother, HISTORIC PHOTOS OF BROADWAY, LONG DAY'S JOURNEY INTO NIGHT, NY, PETER PAN, SOUND OF MUSIC, Tevye, transcending the trauma, truth
posted by Diana Page Jordan @ 9:48 PM
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