Tuesday
Jul132010
That Old Slang Word 'Swell'
Tuesday, July 13, 2010 at 12:25PM
I graduated from the American Academy of Dramatic Arts (AADA)evening division in 1979. It was a two-year program, located at 31st Street and Madison Avenue. Years before it was the Colony Club, designed by the architect, Stanford White.
The summer of 1977, I had gone to their six-week daytime summer school program. I was the oldest by years among high school students. My scene-study teacher suggested I attend acting school at night, since I was already laden with degrees, and “you don’t have that much to learn.” I registered for the fall session.
This was the second time someone had told me acting was for me.
In 1975, I was in the Personnel Office, not Human Resources way back then, of a publishing concern. The woman interviewing me exclaimed, “I don't understand why you're applying for the job of secretary to the controller, in the accounting division. That's not a job for you. You’re an actor.”
How did she know that? I was in one play once, speaking one line once, in one high school production. Besides, Oscar Wilde had proclaimed, “People who know themselves are shallow.” Since I hadn't a clue as to whom I was, I thought that meant I had depth.
My prospective boss, as it turned out, wanted to see me. He offered me the job. I lasted two years working in a profession that I had no aptitude for, typing ninety words a minute, eighty being undecipherable. Moreover, I had no idea being a secretary meant being the boss’s confidante.
I had a big mouth.
Despite my adult age, and growing up in New York City, I was naïve. I was the issue of a man who appeared every night for dinner. I was now working for a married man who was dating other women. He took long lunch breaks, left work early or never showed up at all. He whiled away his time at Plato’s Retreat, a heterosexual swap club in the Ansonia Hotel. It was easy to figure out: I listened at the door.
Besides, so many women were calling him, with the same medical problem. They all had asthma, breathlessly asking for him as I transferred the call to his line, staying long enough to hear his, “I’ll be there shortly” to each of their entreaties. Then he left the office. It was anyone’s guess when he would return, which was what I said whenever anyone asked his whereabouts.
While there, I took a three-week vacation to Yugoslavia. I was not attracted to my boss, but the decrepit Marshall Tito intrigued me. He was moving slower, and dying his hair dark brown weekly. I knew his game. He was trying to fool his populace into thinking he was immortal. He was on his way out and I wanted to visit his country before he passed.
The wife of one of the men I worked with was a travel agent. She booked me on a three-week tour, which turned out had only two other particpants, two females traveling together. I had a lot of fun with each of them. They were both alcoholics.
When I returned to New York, one of the women sent me $330 for my birthday. I received the check just when my boss was showing me the door. With this unexpected cash, I decided to take acting classes. I chose AADA, because of cost, their summer school was $330.00.
When I graduated the evening school, I went to three auditions, one a month, for three months. After each audition I sought out inebriation, wanting to anesthetize myself from the experience. I felt rejected, this sensation, in part, was brought on by myself. I could not remember my audition monologue, the tool to get me inside the theater door. Yet I knew it cold at home, the words draining out of me, I guess, as I marched towards the subway.
Three times, I stared at a casting agent, uttering not a sound to the same inquiry, “So what do you have for me today?”My head was empty.
My cousin, a doctor, suggested “beta blockers.” He said something like, “You’re nervous. Your anxiety causes a “black out.” I fixed that. I never auditioned again. The experience registered as “vile.” I wanted “swell” from that day forward, as if, within me, was the power to control my reactions to whatever faced me.
Five days ago, I received an e-mail. A small, fledgling theater company wanted me to audition for a ten-minute play. The character was the female mayor of Wilkes Barre, Pennsylvania. She had built a fake embassy “to lure tourists to her city; however, when the State Department and local mafia got involved, her scheme exploded into a comedy of Pennsylvanian proportions.”
I called. I heard a voice on the line say, “Is 8 PM okay?”
"Sure," I said "that'll be swell."
The summer of 1977, I had gone to their six-week daytime summer school program. I was the oldest by years among high school students. My scene-study teacher suggested I attend acting school at night, since I was already laden with degrees, and “you don’t have that much to learn.” I registered for the fall session.
This was the second time someone had told me acting was for me.
In 1975, I was in the Personnel Office, not Human Resources way back then, of a publishing concern. The woman interviewing me exclaimed, “I don't understand why you're applying for the job of secretary to the controller, in the accounting division. That's not a job for you. You’re an actor.”
How did she know that? I was in one play once, speaking one line once, in one high school production. Besides, Oscar Wilde had proclaimed, “People who know themselves are shallow.” Since I hadn't a clue as to whom I was, I thought that meant I had depth.
My prospective boss, as it turned out, wanted to see me. He offered me the job. I lasted two years working in a profession that I had no aptitude for, typing ninety words a minute, eighty being undecipherable. Moreover, I had no idea being a secretary meant being the boss’s confidante.
I had a big mouth.
Despite my adult age, and growing up in New York City, I was naïve. I was the issue of a man who appeared every night for dinner. I was now working for a married man who was dating other women. He took long lunch breaks, left work early or never showed up at all. He whiled away his time at Plato’s Retreat, a heterosexual swap club in the Ansonia Hotel. It was easy to figure out: I listened at the door.
Besides, so many women were calling him, with the same medical problem. They all had asthma, breathlessly asking for him as I transferred the call to his line, staying long enough to hear his, “I’ll be there shortly” to each of their entreaties. Then he left the office. It was anyone’s guess when he would return, which was what I said whenever anyone asked his whereabouts.
While there, I took a three-week vacation to Yugoslavia. I was not attracted to my boss, but the decrepit Marshall Tito intrigued me. He was moving slower, and dying his hair dark brown weekly. I knew his game. He was trying to fool his populace into thinking he was immortal. He was on his way out and I wanted to visit his country before he passed.
The wife of one of the men I worked with was a travel agent. She booked me on a three-week tour, which turned out had only two other particpants, two females traveling together. I had a lot of fun with each of them. They were both alcoholics.
When I returned to New York, one of the women sent me $330 for my birthday. I received the check just when my boss was showing me the door. With this unexpected cash, I decided to take acting classes. I chose AADA, because of cost, their summer school was $330.00.
When I graduated the evening school, I went to three auditions, one a month, for three months. After each audition I sought out inebriation, wanting to anesthetize myself from the experience. I felt rejected, this sensation, in part, was brought on by myself. I could not remember my audition monologue, the tool to get me inside the theater door. Yet I knew it cold at home, the words draining out of me, I guess, as I marched towards the subway.
Three times, I stared at a casting agent, uttering not a sound to the same inquiry, “So what do you have for me today?”My head was empty.
My cousin, a doctor, suggested “beta blockers.” He said something like, “You’re nervous. Your anxiety causes a “black out.” I fixed that. I never auditioned again. The experience registered as “vile.” I wanted “swell” from that day forward, as if, within me, was the power to control my reactions to whatever faced me.
Five days ago, I received an e-mail. A small, fledgling theater company wanted me to audition for a ten-minute play. The character was the female mayor of Wilkes Barre, Pennsylvania. She had built a fake embassy “to lure tourists to her city; however, when the State Department and local mafia got involved, her scheme exploded into a comedy of Pennsylvanian proportions.”
I called. I heard a voice on the line say, “Is 8 PM okay?”
"Sure," I said "that'll be swell."
Reader Comments (9)
How did that play end up? Was it a "swell" experience? Your previous posts have been very entertaining too, i enjoy reading them.
Good Luck Jane. I think you would be great as a mayor. All that piss and vinegar goes well with political figures. Just relax and be you own quirky self at the audition.
Jane for Mayor! Let us know if you perform!
I read my father Eddie's v-mail letters back and fourth to his brother whose name was Liberty during World War two. The word "swell" was used throughout all of them! I guess it was like the word "cool" in the 60's.
My father was injured and came home. My dad would send candy and pepperoni to Liberty as often as he could. Liberty would always write back, "Gee, that candy was swell!" I still have those letters.....
Diane
Break a leg Jane! Let me know if get in show and where/when performing!
Your Honor,
Can't wait for "the rest of the story!"
They couldn't pick a better Mayor!!!! I know you'll do great!!! Keep us posted on the rest of this swell story. I still us that word every once in a while. There's nothing better than feeling Swell! Break a leg!!
You used that word in a correspondance recently...the idea for this blog must have been germinating...I'm eager to hear about your experience with this audition. Personally, I do not like the word 'cool' bit I've always liked the old fashioned response "That was swell"; it soundss so genuine. I think I'll start to start using it again.
I don't recall "swell" being part of my vocabulary, even Back In the Day. I do recall PLATO'S RETREAT, where Bette Midler "launched" her career with the strong support of the Swell's and the Swellish's....... and of course Stanford White, and his girl Evelyn the Girl In the Red Velvet Swing and the wonderful building at the end of West 72nd now dwarfed by the Swell Trump.
Swell seemes to have been replaced by Great and All right even WOW. But i think it was SWELL of you to remind us.
Please -- did you get the part -- do you want the part? Keep us posted!