by Susan Lucci
It was a lovely summer evening benefit made extra special by Marvin Hamlisch performing some of his most memorable hits in this very intimate setting. Just as we were leaving, Marvin’s wife, Terre Blair, came over to say hello. She asked if Helmut and I would like to come backstage to meet her husband.
“Marvin would love to meet you,” she said.
I had never met Marvin Hamlisch before that night. I had no idea that he would have the smallest interest in meeting me, let alone know who I am.
“He is a big fan of yours, Susan. He watches your show all the time,” she said.
I was very touched and delighted to have the chance to meet him. We went backstage, where we were greeted by Marvin, who was so warm and generous with his comments. We spoke about the current season of All My Children, and the story line in which Erica became addicted to prescription painkillers. The story had been done in real time. The network had arranged for me to speak with doctors and counselors at the Betty Ford Clinic so I could act the part in the most authentic way possible. It was a very successful story line that was also a tremendous challenge for me because it was way outside my comfort zone. I shared this information with Marvin as he and I spoke. I told him it was very important to me to make sure I showed a lot of respect for people who are really struggling with addiction. Marvin must have sensed the sincerity in all I was conveying, as he was very complimentary—going so far as to tell me I should definitely win that first Emmy for my acting throughout that particular story.
“Susan, I just want you to know that winning the Emmy has nothing to do with your talent. You are very talented and so it should happen for you soon,” he said.
Unfortunately, I didn’t win the Emmy that year, but it was nice to hear that someone thought I should. Here, he had just finished a wonderful performance and he somehow found the time and words to offer encouragement to me. I was very grateful for our meeting and for all of the nice things he had to say.
Not long after we met, Marvin called to ask if I’d like to appear onstage at a benefit he was doing for Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh. He said he’d like to write a song for me to sing. I told him that I had no formal training as a singer. Thankfully, that small detail didn’t seem to sway his desire to write a musical number for me. In fact, he jokingly suggested that I could simply dance in the show with a group of handsome boys from the school if I liked. That, I said, I’d be happy to do!
A few weeks later, Marvin called to sing me the song he’d written to the tune of “Hello, Dolly!” I held the receiver to my ear and listened as the Marvin Hamlisch serenaded me over the phone. This was definitely one of those great life “pinch myself” moments.
Helmut and I went to Pittsburgh to join Marvin, where I did several performances with him onstage at Heinz Hall. I also had a wonderful opportunity to speak to some of the students at Carnegie Mellon, which was really terrific. I loved hearing their comments about the show, my performance, and anything else these kids wanted to ask me about or to share with me.
Marvin and I really bonded during that experience. Before heading back to New York, he turned to me and said, “Susan, if there’s anything I can ever do for you, please let me know.” I thought that was very generous. I had no plans to ever take him up on that offer—that is, until I began thinking about doing Annie Get Your Gun.
Helmut suggested I give Marvin a call to talk about the opportunity. I was too shy to reach out to him myself, so Helmut made the call for me. Although Marvin was in Scotland when we finally connected, he was an absolute doll. He told Helmut he would be back in New York in a few days and could make some time for us when he arrived that Sunday evening. He literally got off the plane and met with us that same night.
“Come to my apartment at seven-thirty. I’ll have Susan sing through some of the songs from Annie Get Your Gun and I’ll give her my honest opinion about whether I think she can do it or not,” Marvin told Helmut.
I thought this was a very good plan. I felt that Marvin was now a good enough friend to tell me to go for it or let it go. I was extremely nervous to sing for him, but I figured if I could get past Marvin Hamlisch, maybe I had a real shot at this part.
I was breathless as I rang the bell to Marvin’s apartment. I could hardly believe what I was about to do. The whole experience was surreal. We walked into his home, a beautiful prewar gem, where we were met by Marvin; his wife, Terre; and his lyricist. Marvin sat down at his piano and began to play through all of the music. I froze for a moment when I realized that Marvin would be the one accompanying me on the piano. I had been rehearsing but hadn’t yet sought out any professional training. I figured I would get more aggressive when and if Marvin gave me his approval.
I picked two songs to sing that I thought the Weisslers would want to hear. I selected “I Got Lost in His Arms,” a ballad, and “You Can’t Get a Man with a Gun,” a song I was certain they’d want to hear. Those two songs epitomized Annie Oakley. Strangely, when we first spoke about the role, Fran and Barry didn’t ask me to sing for them. I asked if they would allow me to. I didn’t think it was right to hire me for their musical without first hearing my voice. They eventually agreed that yes, it was a good thing for us to do. I wanted them to know what they were getting into if I were to accept the part.
I sang the selected music for Marvin as if I were auditioning for the very first time. It was very reminiscent of A Chorus Line, one of Marvin Hamlisch’s all-time greatest shows, except I was not in a theater trying out for a part with a slew of other hopefuls. No, I was all by myself singing in Marvin’s apartment.
When I finished, Marvin pulled his hands back and placed them on his lap. He looked up at me and said, “You can do this.”
I was thrilled and shocked all at once. I wanted to jump up and click my heels three times.
“And now I am going to go stand in the back of my apartment. I want you to sing to me again, knowing I am all the way back here,” he said.
Marvin’s lyricist sat down and began to play as I belted out song after song.
When I was done, Marvin slowly walked toward me. He looked me right in the eyes and said, “Oh yeah, you can definitely do this—if you really want to.” Marvin began to explain that it would be a heavy load, especially on top of my already overscheduled life and work obligations. He was very reassuring that if I really wanted this, I could most definitely do it.
“You’re very brave, Susan. Tall you’re not, but brave? Yes!” Marvin made me laugh with that summation. He suggested I work with his lyricist for ten days or so and then come back to see him one last time so we could assess where I was and what I should ultimately do. Marvin explained that his lyricist, Craig Carnelia, was a wonderful musician and a fantastic vocal coach. I agreed with the plan and spent the next ten days working with him at his apartment. When we were ready, we went back to see Marvin once again. I was more scared this time than I expected to be. I like a big stage where there’s a little distance between the audience out there in the darkness and me. I don’t like to see faces when I perform. That’s one of the things I like best about doing television—I don’t have to see the audience. I can just be my character. Theater wasn’t going to offer that same luxury. That was definitely something for me to think about.
When I got to Marvin’s, he and his wife sat on their sofa directly in front of me. I sang and did my best. When I finished, everyone there was very supportive. They each felt I could really do this. I was ecstatic, which felt amazing. Marvin made one final suggestion to me. He said I ought to get my sheet music printed up so I looked very professional when I sang for Fran and Barry. Note to self: Get that sheet music printed up because you are definitely going to go for this.
Once I had Marvin’s stamp of approval, I began working with his lyricist so I would be absolutely ready to sing for Fran and Barry. I knew that if I decided to move forward, I’d have access to the greatest teachers in the world. Several people had suggested that if I took the role, I ought to try to
work with Joan Lader, the most spectacular vocal coach in all of New York. She has worked with all of the Broadway greats, including Patti Lupone and Mandy Patinkin, and with Madonna while she prepared for her role in Evita, and so many more famous names in the business. I was very motivated. I was loving every minute of this journey.
When I felt absolutely ready, Helmut and I took my beautifully printed sheet music and headed to the Weisslers’ apartment. I stood outside their door for a moment, took a very deep breath, and rang the bell. Much to my surprise, John McDaniel answered the door. I had met John a few times over the years—many of you may remember him as the musical director from The Rosie O’Donnell Show. It turned out that John was also the Weisslers’ musical director. He was very warm and welcoming and told me that the Wiesslers weren’t home at the moment, but would be by later. He suggested we do a couple of run-throughs while we waited. John told me they wanted us to work on two songs—thankfully, the same two I had already picked out. I handed John my sheet music. He commented on how beautiful it was. All I could think was, Thank you, Marvin! I told John that Marvin Hamlisch had suggested I get it printed. I wasn’t name-dropping. I really wanted to give Marvin the credit.
John played through the songs as I sang along. When we finished, he told me he thought I did very well and then excused himself for a minute. I watched John walk down the hallway toward a back bedroom. When he returned, Fran Weissler was with him. She had been in the bedroom listening the whole time. She and John made a deal that if they didn’t think I could do the part, he wasn’t going to embarrass me or bother Fran. But if he thought I was capable of playing Annie Oakley, he would excuse himself, get Fran, and have me sing again for her. I have to say, Fran’s presence really broke the ice. I actually thought it was a good thing she heard me singing from the back of her apartment first. But then, she and her husband, Barry, who had also joined us, sat on the sofa in front of me just like Marvin and Terre had, and asked me to sing for them once more. I really belted out those songs. I have no idea how many times their neighbors have had to endure these in-home auditions in the past. I certainly hoped they all liked what they heard that night because it was truly this actress’s dream. And you can rest assured that this, too, was one of those “pinch me” moments in my life that I will never forget.
Fran and Barry told me on the spot that I got the part. We spent the next several hours talking about all of the possibilities. We mapped out several different scenarios that began when Bernadette was scheduled to leave the following April. By the end of the night, I was completely exhausted. However, when Helmut and I left their apartment, we wanted to have a moment to take in and celebrate what was happening. We stopped into a nearby restaurant to drink a glass of champagne, have dinner, and breathe!
“This is like a scene from a movie for me,” I said to Helmut. “I just want to jump up on the table and scream, ‘Drinks for everyone!’” That is really how I felt.
“You’ll be very sorry in the morning if you do that. You should probably stay in your seat,” Helmut said, ever the voice of reason.
I started working on learning the music right away. I went straight to Joan Lader and got started. I wanted to give myself plenty of time to be ready for my debut right before the millennium, in December 1999. Much to my surprise, shortly after I signed on, the producers came to me to say that Bernadette Peters was taking a month off in December for the holidays, so they wanted me to start earlier than expected. Even though it meant I would only have three weeks to prepare, I jumped at the opportunity. My Broadway debut was now slated for December 23, 1999. A date that was important for two reasons—first, it would mark my official Broadway debut, and second, it was my birthday.
My schedule was very full, as I spent every day getting ready while also continuing All My Children. I really wanted to do this right, so I learned the part fast—really fast. Helmut and I went to see the show five times to get a feel for whether or not I could do it and to see what it was like to sit in that audience. The Annie Oakley character is in virtually every scene, and I loved it. The first time I saw Annie come flying across the stage on a trapeze, I thought, Okay, I can do that! It’s funny, because when I was a little girl, the only thing I ever wanted to be other than an actress was a trapeze artist. I would have liked to do the stunts in the show, but only if I had the proper time to train. I had heard there were trapeze classes at Chelsea Piers on the west side of Manhattan. I thought, I have to do this! Every time we saw the show, so many thoughts raced through my mind. I didn’t have to take the trapeze lessons, but I certainly would have and think I might have really enjoyed them, too.
During the week of Thanksgiving, shortly before I was set to open in Annie Get Your Gun, I was asked to ride the lead float in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. There was a steady, freezing cold rain on that particular Thanksgiving morning. However, being on the lead float that day was a momentous experience for me, so rain or shine, I was going for that ride. There was nothing obstructing my view as we were the very first float in the entire parade. I could see people looking out of their windows from way up high in their apartment buildings or standing on their terraces as we headed down Central Park West toward Broadway. When we made that final turn onto Broadway, my breath was literally taken away knowing that I would soon be making my Broadway theater debut. There were tens of thousands of people cheering for me as the float continued toward its final destination in front of Macy’s in Herald Square. All I could think of was, “How lucky am I to soon have my Broadway dream come true!”
I knew there was going to be great pressure to get ready. Talk about baptism by fire! My days were long and my nights even longer. I worked at All My Children, did rehearsals, and whenever I had to, went to a fitting with the wonderful iconic costume designer William Ivey Long, who was so charming. One day, William Ivey noticed that I was losing quite a bit of weight. At first, I thought I was battling the flu or had caught a really bad cold. I was feeling run-down, but I chalked it up to burning the candle at both ends. When I went to see my doctor, he prescribed an antibiotic, but it didn’t seem to be working. If I had an early call at the studio, I would have some fits of coughing, but that only happened early in the morning. I thought that maybe I had some type of bronchitis. I didn’t know what was wrong, and frankly, I didn’t have the time to be sick.
Four days before opening night, I went for my final costume fitting. At one point during that fitting, I looked in the mirror and thought, Wow. I have lost more weight than I thought I had. Now, I am a woman who has never thought her hips were too small—ever. When William Ivey came back into the room, he had hip pads with him so he could better fit my costume, which was falling off of me. I didn’t realize it, but I had lost eight pounds. I know that doesn’t sound like a lot of weight, but on me, it was a lot. I had dropped to eighty-four pounds, a very unhealthy weight for me. I left the fitting that day very concerned.
I went from the fitting back to All My Children and then to a voice lesson with Joan Lader. She is an incredible teacher. She hears everything and lets you get away with nothing. If you’re not perfect, she tells you so you can work to get better. At the same time Joan remains your greatest and warmest supporter. When I began to sing, I got no further than a few bars before she stopped me cold.
“I can’t let you sing,” she said. “You have to go to see a doctor.”
“Joan. I am supposed to open in four days. I can’t be sick!”
She insisted I go to see Dr. Gwen Korovin, who treats all of the Broadway singers. It was early evening, but Joan was able to get me an appointment. Although I didn’t always have a car and driver, I happened to have one this particular night. My driver was a woman named Barbara who was always very kind and considerate. She offered to take me right to the doctor’s office. By the time I got there, I couldn’t even sit up long enough to fill out the new-patient forms. I was slumped over the chair trying my best to write. The nurses had to assist me as I made my way to an exam roo
m. When Dr. Korovin came into the room, I thought she was lovely, beautiful and as smart as could be. I explained that I was set to open in Annie Get Your Gun in four days. Nothing was going to stop me. I told Dr. Korovin, “I know you don’t know me, but I usually have a lot of energy. This is not me. I can’t sit up. And I know you’re going to look at me and say you think I’m too thin, but I eat like a truck driver. I do. I really do.” I was pleading with her not to give me orders that I couldn’t sing or go onstage.
“Susan, I want you to go right to Lenox Hill Hospital. They will be able to run tests on you that I cannot do here. I will call and get the results right away and will let you know. Come back here right after your tests.” The doctor was insistent.
My driver Barbara helped get me back into the car and drove me to Lenox Hill. She wouldn’t let me go in by myself. She was being very protective. The truth is, I really wasn’t well. She came in and sat with me while I waited to be examined. When we finished, Barbara drove me back to Dr. Korovin’s to await the results.
“Susan, you have pneumonia,” Dr. Korovin said. Luckily we caught it at the very beginning stages, but she was very clear that I had to go home and stay in bed for the next four or five days. If I didn’t go home and beat this thing, I would likely end up going into the hospital and wouldn’t be able to go onstage at all. I was crushed by this news. I had worked so hard to prepare for opening night and now it appeared I’d be lying in bed while an understudy went on instead of me. The doctor said she would call Fran and Barry to explain the situation. I was sure they were going to fire me.
Barbara put me in the backseat of the sedan, where I proceeded to lie down and cry all the way home. I was so sick that I threw up in the car. I was terribly embarrassed. Barbara didn’t miss a beat. She told me not to worry about the car. I spent the entire ride back to Garden City trying to figure out how I could possibly do the show.