But who was George Gershwin? What did he care about? What did he love? What drove him? What inspired him? What saddened him?
I returned to my studies, rereading every available Gershwin biography. I … spent time with anyone still alive who knew George personally, specifically, Kitty Carlisle Hart. I copied pages of George’s orchestral scores by hand in an effort to understand his musical thinking. I studied his recorded playing and his recorded radio shows for CBS from 1934-35. The Gershwin family graciously opened up the Gershwin Archives to me in Washington's Library of Congress which includes George's manuscripts and correspondence, where I touched the actual paper and pencil markings of the first ever written notes of "I Got Rhythm..." I visited every location in the United States that still exists where George either lived or worked. I studied George and Ira’s correspondence as well as their use of language. Most importantly, I studied the structure and then learned to play, every one of George’s pieces of music.. Where did the talent and ideas come from? What inspired him? I compared details and dates of his letters with dates of good or bad reviews, always looking for something to guide me deeper into the mind and heart of this American genius, always wanting to be one step closer to the man who gave America its sound.
January 27, 1995
Auschwitz, Poland. Morning of the 50th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. I am an envoy of Steven Spielberg and his SHOAH foundation. I managed to get a coveted position interviewing Holocaust Survivors at the 50th anniversary ceremonies for Steven's archive project. I volunteered for this most important role, and was one of four interviewers sent to Poland. As a child of a family of Holocaust survivors, it was something that I wanted to do. I was ultimately chosen because I speak English, Yiddish, Hebrew, French and have a basic knowledge of Hungarian, German and Russian. I was set to interview the twins who survived Mengele's in vivo experiments. Late on the night of January 27th, I was called to a Café Haus in Kazimirez, the old Jewish town in Cracow, to interview Helmuth Spryczer, Mengele's Jewish gopher boy who later told me that he was called the "Kunstfeifer fun Berlin - The Magical Whistler from Berlin" because he would whistle for the Germans. He told me that he whistled "Rhapsody in Blue" - even though it was banned. He said that George Gershwin was a prophet, because he wrote the "Rhapsody" in 1924, and he wrote the sounds of dying people and trains and so on… and some twenty years later, if one listened to the "Rhapsody in Blue", one could hear the screams of the dying. It was way past midnight, but he asked me to play the "Rhapsody" on the honky-tonk piano in the café. Suddenly the piece took on an unbelievable quality. The "Rhapsody" to me was always, a "fresh and contemporary piece of metropolitan New York." But this man could hear screaming, and suddenly it became clear to me that while this man was whistling the "Rhapsody" for the German guards, people were being gassed. Later I would return to Los Angeles, where I was living at the time, and discover that George had described his "Rhapsody in Blue" as something he composed on a train "while on the way to Boston. I could hear the rattlety bang of the train, the whistle, the click, click, click of the tracks…" The train - the image of cattle-cars - the Holocaust. Helmuth Spryczer could not have known about George’s description. I told this story every opportunity I had.
March 11, 1998
SING! A Musical Journey premieres to a sold out audience at Freud Playhouse in Los Angeles. SING! Is based on the lives of two survivors, one of them being Helmuth Spryzcer. Helmuth comes to Los Angeles for the premiere, and I perform his story, and take on his persona to tell it. I follow the story with a complete performance of "A Rhapsody in Blue." The critics and audience laud the show. The critic from the LA Times says "You will never hear the Rhapsody in the same way again."
April 3, 1998
Contacted by Warner/Chappell Music Inc. That Grand Rights were not acquired for the production therefore any further use of the "Rhapsody" in SING! would result in an infringement of copyright. Having made the argument that SING! was a concert with stories, Grand Rights would not be necessary. Unfortunately that didn't prove to be the case.
July, 1998
I telephone friend Greg Willenborg who is best friends with Michael Feinstein to ask for help with the Gershwin family. Greg has brought Michael to our home, and we have seen him on a number of occasions. Michael Feinstein gives Greg, Leopold Godowsky III's (George Gershwin's nephew, and estate trustee) telephone number who in turn gives it to me.
September, 1998
Lynn Roth, friend, Screenwriter/Producer/Director most well known for her Movies of the Week, and for producing and writing "Paper Chase", sees a video of SING! She says that I should think of playing the role of George Gershwin himself. She isn't sure that I should set my sights on Broadway with a Holocaust story, playing a sixty-five year old German. She feels that doing the role of George Gershwin, one that has never been done before, would be a brilliant Broadway debut. Terrific, but I had the feeling that the Gershwins weren't going to let this happen all too easily. Lynn began helping me on a script. I presented the idea to Adam [Gershwin] with clear instructions that we had become friends, and that a "no" may make me sad, but would never ruin the friendship. I begin work on the script.
January 5, 1999
In New York. A visit to Kitty Carlise Hart's apartment on 64th between Madison and Park. Kim and I arrive, and Kitty is rehearsing "September Song" with her accompanist. 89 years old and still performing her show "My Life Upon The Wicked Stage." We sit and talk for a couple of hours about what she remembers about George. She remembers a Passover Seder sung to Jazz with George's sidekick Oscar Levant. She talks about George's and her relationship. I play the Rhapsody for her. I accompany her while she sings Jerome Kern's "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes" then she sings "The Man I Love" while I play. I don't play it well. She has a "fake sheet" of the song - I try to remember George's own accompaniment. Makes for interesting ensemble. Kitty doesn't seem pleased with the result, although she did say that her piano had not heard a Rhapsody like the one I played in a long time…
April, May, June, 1999
Panic. The script isn't working. Dump it. Start all over. Piles and piles of notes. What is George about? What's the core of the play. Having trouble finding it.
June 24, 25, 26
Sleepless. But I find the hook. Michael Donaldson, attorney for the project, is helpful. He has good insight into writing character. I discover the secret (of the moment, at any rate…) Less history. More emotional drive. Stop trying to be funny. Just trust the story. It will work.
July 5, 1999
I start researching Beethoven. What I did was nice, but the Gershwins will never let it happen. After all, it's George that we're talking about, here!
July 15, 1999
Reading more and more about Beethoven. Already figuring out how the character can be stage worthy. Not to mention how to make great use of the fact that he was deaf. Well, back to Broadway with a German after all. A telephone call from Adam, I remember the words exactly--- "I know that because we are friends, you want me to call your lawyer about this stuff, but I thought that I would tell you. The family would like to go ahead with your project." I couldn't believe it. But wait - "go ahead" is a loaded (and you have no idea how loaded) phrase.
July 22, 1999
Off to Washington. Stay at the Hay Adams Hotel over looking the White House. Go to the Library of Congress, and see George's piano in the Gershwin Room where a permanent exhibit is on display. Try to contact Ray White to see the Gershwin correspondence, but Ray is in computer training for the next two days. Oh well. I'll have to come back. Back to New York, but not before touring The White House, and the rest of Washington. It reminds me of Hollywood. Lots of keeners, lots of wanna-bees. Amazing.
July 29, 1999
Back to The Library of Congress. Can't wait any longer. Take the 6 am train and get to the library for 9:30 am. The reading room opens at 10. I see Ray White, explain my project (I wasn't certain that he was convinced of what I was up to…) and he gives me the correspondence, and some of George's notebooks and scores. There was no plastic on the letters. They are all stored in a temperature-controlled area. I was touching George's letters directly as well as his original hand-written scores. I was floating on a cloud. I was there from ten am until 5 pm. I didn't move, nor drink, or eat, not even "ablutions." I got permission from the Library to quietly tape my own reading of the text of unpublished letters. One of the letters, from George Palay, a friend of the Gershwins to Irene Dreyfus, the wife of George's publisher describes in detail how George died. The letter made me weep. Listening back to that portion of the tape is painful. I finish up and travel forward 63 years in time. Back to New York on the night train. Exhausted and happy as ever.
October 24, 1999
The first reading of the new script at our house. We put up a stage, lights. There it is. People are watching George Gershwin. As I'm reading, something feels mixed up. The storytelling isn't clear. It's hampering what's going on. PAIN! Folks have come to know that it's worthless not to tell me what they think. I need to hear the truth (or their truth, at least…). The consensus is that there is a play there, but the average theatre go-er will be confused by such a "reading." Many of the guests don't know this part of the process. So many comments come from left field. Joel Zwick, who has only worked on the script, and hasn't worked on the piece on its feet (or with me as an actor…) says during the intermission - "I gotta tell you, Hersh, you are a MUCH better actor than I ever thought you would be." So I say that I have been on stage as an actor since I was a child. He says. "Fine. How should I have known?" Point taken, but all in all - good news. He says that getting me in order to do this will be much easier than he thought. He also liked many of my acting choices, not all ones that he expected! (Again - good news.) Back to the writing grind. Gotta get rid of the artifice in the play.
December 10, 1999
We have discovered that the show is one act, not two, and we don't have to change anything, except eliminate a chance to go to the bathroom. The Rhapsody is now the final piece, absolutely nothing after it. Joel and I run the show for the entire team which has been assembled over the past two weeks. They laugh. They stare. They hold onto the story. It's going to be okay. I don't need to push the acting. It's all there. As if by magic. (And lots of hard work.)
February 16, 2000
The first day of rehearsals on a new script. I'm on my feet with a lousy cough. Memorizing is torture. But it comes quicker than before. The new material is playable. I feel like the world we are looking for is finally being created with language. I think we have a play. Did I mention that Joel Zwick is a genius?
March 25, 2000
Into the theatre for review. Lighting looks good. Who knows what will be. The theatre is overbooked by 40, but as it turns out – only 90% show up. I can see the Gershwins who all wear glasses, throughout the performance. Terror. Are they sleeping? Must be. The show goes well, only one small flub, and not serious, and not noticeable, just searching for a line. Standing ovation. People seem happy. I don’t believe them. I introduce the Gershwins at the curtain call – and when the lights go up, they aren’t running away. I think they got it. We line everyone up for photos, and the Gershwins are happy to take photos with me and with the crew.
March 28, 2000
Opening night. The house is sold out. 75% are full priced tickets (!!!???!!!). The show goes remarkably well, and I am happy. People get it. Above all – I feel that I have WORKED to make it work, and the work on the stage feels wonderful. I am physically and technically free –(thanks to Joel and the great preparation…) and I am happy.
April 2, 2000
The evening show was wild. The guests from Chicago and New York, came back to see the show, and later on said “now THAT was the show we came to see! “ (No kidding…)We were oversold (by a LOT!) and Anne Bancroft came with Carl and Estelle Reiner, and Betty White, and Barbara Bain, and so many other wonderful people, the Consul General of Israel, the Consul General of Austria, the Consul General of Switzerland, the Consul General of England… producers, directors, politicians, patrons – who all came over to the house after the show. We had Chinese food. We set for eighty, and had a hundred. Magic, magic, magic. Theo Bikel came over after his own concert and we played music until the wee hours of the morning. We laughed, we smiled… we had SO MUCH fun. I was happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Kim and I were at home doing what we loved most. Being happy.
October 17-November 4, 2000
It seems that Broadway is becoming less and less of a possibility since the hit show Dirty Blonde is playing at the Helen Hayes, and it is doing brilliant business. It seems that it will be ensconced well into the New Year. Ah well. So much for getting to Broadway. Richard and I are now in NY to see what can be done. We have a wonderful interview with Peter Filichia from Theatre.com and Marty Markinson joins us for the interview. Naturally - any Broadway announcement is a moot point, because Dirty Blonde is in to stay!
January 20 - February 14, 2001
Marty Markinson, Owner of the Helen Hayes theatre on Broadway informs Richard and myself that since Dirty Blonde is still playing at the Helen Hayes Theatre, and is doing nice business, anybody's guess is as good as mine as to when the next show will be able to come in. In the meantime, we all wish Dirty Blonde health and happiness. It is what one must do - it is good Karma. What will be, will be. In mid-February, we get the word. The Helen Hayes Theatre is ours. George Gershwin Alone will have its first Broadway preview on April 17th, 2001.
April 30, 2001
OPENING NIGHT ON BROADWAY. A warm, almost summer day. The reviews are in, but they only appear in the papers on the next day. The bills are paid, and I even let myself get a little excited. I hear from Keith, the PR guy. It is standard that calls are placed to the papers to hear about some of the buzz prior to the reviews appearing. Only two reviewers return calls – Bruce Weber of the NY Times, and Howard Kissel of the NY Daily News. They both say nice things. Not one other critic returns a call. I tell Keith that this is a sign – like the jury that looks at the defendant just before proclaiming the verdict. If they don’t look, the verdict is always “guilty.” I go to the theatre in the afternoon, I wander about town, I still feel so much like an outsider, and here I am, on Broadway, with my own one-man show that I created, wrote and produced. Well, not really on my own, because it takes so many committed people to make this work. The fact remains, whether I have real faith or not, I cannot tell you, but I am not prepared to let people who worked so hard fall with me – even in theory. It just wouldn’t be right.
I am in the theatre at about 5:30 pm. Curtain is at 7 pm – early - for press and party. Al Hirschfeld and his wife are the first to arrive. They take their seats before the house opens, because Al is older, and it isn’t best for him to wait standing in the lobby. As the Hirschfelds take their seats, I run through the" Rhapsody". I feel the great artist’s eyes and ears upon me. Hard to focus. When I finish he says. “That was good. Very good!” I convince myself that I am going to win the opening night audience over – but what I know is happening is that I need a good dose of denial to get through it. I of course, ask my self the question. Am I preparing for disaster because I am afraid of success? Am I going to shoot myself in the foot, as the excuse for failing? The answer is clear to me. No. I have a feeling – I have always had feelings like this. I know what’s coming, and I brace myself.
The performance goes over nicely. The audience is pleasant enough, but I am working hard to reach them. I hate this stage in this theatre, it is much too high. The piano sound in this theatre is ugly. There are no mistakes in the performance. Technically all goes well, but there isn’t that inexplicable magic that happens with an audience. I make a curtain speech thanking everyone who has ever been involved with the production. If anything, I am honest. I do the unthinkable. I say a “shehechiyanu” from the stage – the Jewish blessing that celebrates “firsts…” the first of the year, new clothes, a new idea…other such things. The audience answers “Amen.” I feel the emotion, I feel the tears. I know it will offend most tough New Yorkers and certainly those are primarily theatre people, as opposed to “people.” But at that moment, I know that I am making a statement about myself and my life, but the fact is that I haven’t reached the level yet where the statement is made by my actions, the statement must still be made by making the statement. One day I will be ready for the world stage. At that moment, I know that I am not, maybe one day I will be. I simply don’t know, but I’m just not ready to give up. Yet.
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