Chita Rivera : Bye, Bye Birdie was my very first Broadway production. After approximately five minutes, I was infatuated with Dick Van Dyke for the rest of my life.
I didn’t want to be just like him—tall and lanky, with loose arms and limbs, acting like a clown imprisoned in an attractive man’s body. I aspired to be like him.
Since dancing with the captivating, captivating, spark-emitting dynamo Chita Rivera beside him would be possible thanks to that transference, which was one of its many wonderful benefits.
Of course, I had witnessed a lotIt was nearly too much for this child to handle, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, how controlled she was, and how quickly she could turn around to match her amazing elegance.
It was similar to experiencing a cerebral freeze after eating your preferred flavor of Lemon Ice King of Corona ice cream too rapidly, yet you still kept licking.
I came under a spell that would last for the next fifty years by the time Rivera concluded her great song, “Spanish Rose.”
I saw every Broadway production in which she starred as well as her cabaret shows whenever I could. of people dancing on the big screen, having liked musical movies since I was a little child.
Although Rivera had extraordinary talent and a radiant glow that made her a captivating presence, it wasn’t her extensions or deft footwork that inspired our shared admiration.
Her passion to choreography, along with the delight on her face and the spark in her eyes, made her feel as though dancing was her true calling rather than her means of survival.
Cases would have been sold out at intermission if the makers could have sealed such joy in a bottle.
At a period when nobody was miked as if they were serenading Allegiant stadium, Rivera’s voice was also ideal for live theater.
It was sharp with just enough grit to make every note linger in your memory, rather than bellowing like Kelli O’Hara or Sutton Foster. She left her impression even in underperforming shows.
Go Google “Don’t Ah Ma Me” from Kander & Ebb’s zany musical The Rink, and marvel at how she shoots her daughter, Liza Minelli, dead with a shot from weapons and a mile-a-minute rant that would intimidate even the most scholarly of Gilbert & Sullivan devotees. It’s possible that the show was awkward. Nevertheless, Rivera received a Tony.
However, the most significant reason she was always a joy off stage is that I never met someone who ever stated, “I don’t care for her,” which would have ended that connection in an instant.
She was a frequent guest of Joe Allen’s, the renowned theater restaurant, where I was a server while she was dating Mr. Allen.
Despite being barely 5’3″, Rivera seemed to have a ghostly electrician trained a pin point to detect her presence as soon as she entered the dining area. Before the label “gypsy” was dropped, everyone who worked at Joe’s back then was an actor, singer, waiter, or dancer.
Whether it was inquiring about our go-sees or offering advise on anything from headshots to audition songs, Rivera always acted like one of us. Not because we were bothering her, but rather because she was so at ease with us, her ever-stoic lover had to kick us out to get any solitude. Rivera was the epitome of the “gypsy.”
She was linked to every person who has ever performed in front of 1500 strangers when, just before the Broadway production of Chicago opened, Actors Equity struck, causing Broadway to close down.
The strike was sparked primarily by the low pay of those singers, understudies, and swing actors, who filled multiple roles simultaneously. Until the strike was resolved, Rivera would spearhead protests in Shubert Alley practically every day with her equally unique co-star Gwen Verdon.
A memory of being in the choir and yearning to go on stage never left any of these extraordinary abilities.
The original production’s opening night was therefore one of the most exciting nights I’ve ever spent in a theater, not only because these two legends danced and entertained as if lives were at stake, but also because they managed to fill the balcony with “gypsies” in a constant state of cacophonous euphoria watching their heroes do what they did best onstage.
As a result, though A Chorus Line stole Broadway’s 1975 season (though Chicago’s current revival is now the second longest running musical in Broadway history), the original production’s arrival was truly thrilling.
