August 12, 1959: “People said it was just a whim — that they couldn’t understand why a young girl wanted to study law — that it would all go to waste — that I’d just spend time and money and then get married.”
Curtain Behind the Curtain
The magnificent Russian dancers are gone, leaving behind a vivid memory. Their seemingly impossible footwork, their leaps, their precision was breath-taking.
I saw them Monday in their final appearance in Hollywood Bowl, and afterward, while the tremendous impact of their grace and agility was still fresh, went backstage with Tom Cassidy of KFAC and Frania Natasha Igloe, the painter. Mrs. Igloe, exiled from Russia in her youth, speaks the language and we thought we might elicit some interesting comments.
| The performers she talked to were friendly and pleased when she complimented them. She asked one girl where they were going next and she said she didn’t know and darted off. It was the final show and they were understandably anxious after their workout to get to their busses and return to the hotel. However, there was nothing casual about the way we were asked to leave the dressing room. It was a grade A brushoff.WE WENT outside and listened to members of the troupe chatting in Russian before getting in the busses. They were relaxed and the onstage animation was gone from their faces. Mrs. Igloe singled out a husky young man lingering at the door and told him his performance was superb. Boyishly appreciative, he started to reply. Instantly a large, hard-faced, middle-aged woman moved in like a cold wind. “Thank you, I’m glad you liked it,” she said gruffly in Russian and grabbed him by the arm and hustled him away. She was one of several commissars with the troupe, Cassidy explained. He’d run into her before in trying to communicate with the performers. He’d learned, through an interpreter by the way, that they received the regular performer’s wage in American money, which they must spend in the country. Incidentally, they buy mostly clothes. It was difficult to dismiss the impression that the performers are puppets on a string, rigidly disciplined on stage and off, and apparently under orders not to fraternize with the enemy. Mrs. Igloe said it best: “If Khrushchev can talk to Nixon why can’t I talk to a Russian dancer?” :: A FURTHER NOTE on the confused state of our relations with Russia occurred on Wilshire Blvd. near Rampart. A busload of boys apparently bound for camp passed a Shriner wearing a fez and satin costume and one youngster of about 11
leaned out and yelled, “Communist!” :: HOWEVER, Jim Kalivas sees no basis for the rumor that Nikita, who is so eager to come to this country, will ask our political asylum when he gets here.
I can just imagine the mail Charles Schulz received for
A TALE HERE about a psychosomatic auto which stalled twice rather than pass a hateful intersection on Olympic Blvd., was no surprise to M. Richman of W. 8th St. He also has one, acquired from an estate. Not long ago he headed for Long Beach but got lost on a detour. He finally pulled into a gas station and asked where he was. San Pedro, the man said. Then he remembered the deceased had lived there. Twice after that he tried to get to Long Beach but reached a dead-end in you :: MISCELLANY — Did you hear about the photographer who fainted in the street? Someone in the crowd which gathered said, “Loosen his camera straps!” . . . The
TV cliche that gets bartender Chuck Port right here is the one in which the sinister villains are closing in on the fugitive hero who they erroneously believe did in their boss’ son, whereupon his girl friend says plaintively, “There must be something we can do!” . . . A southwest neighborhood paper had a window shade ad with a typo. Seemed to offer “Cloth Widow Shades.” |
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