Whatever possessed me to think that I was going to be a star on Broadway? I was 17 years old, I had no money, no training, my parents were dead set against my being in show business, and I had just been fired from my first acting job in a touring company of Junior Miss. Yet here I was on my way to New York.
I had just given my last performance in Philadelphia, packed up my makeup kit, grabbed my suitcase, and headed for the train. An actor in the company, Louis, who'd become my good friend, had taken me into the city a few days before to show me how to make the rounds of agent's offices, and help me find a furnished room I could afford. I had managed to save a few dollars from my salary in the play, but I knew that wouldn't last very long. It was Louis who had assured me that since so many actors were being drafted into the army, I could get a job immediately. And I was now a member of Actor's Equity, a requirement to get into a Broadway play.
I wanted to believe Louis, but in the back of my head I kept remembering what Guerita, an actress who was in the same play, had said to me: "If you insist on going to New York, have enough money saved up, because it'll take you five years to get a Broadway show." I wonder if I'd known what was going to happen, would I have stayed on the train, not gotten off at New York and just gone home to Boston? But, of course, I couldn't go home and let everyone know that I was a failure.
