The Greaser and the King

By Matt Landers

Word was out that Richard Burton was coming to see our show, Grease at the Royale Theater. It could be true. He was rehearsing next door at the Plymouth to replace Antony Hopkins in Equus. But why would the great British actor turned film star come to see - of all shows in town - Grease? This was Burton of the longest-running Hamlet in Broadway history. He had made his mark on Broadway in The Lady’s not for Burning, Legend for Lovers and Time Remembered in the fifties and won two Tonys in the sixties. All this before he rocketed to international superstardom in Cleopatra with Liz Taylor.

Someone said it was because our show was his personal assistant’s favorite. It is true Grease, at the time, was the longest running show on Broadway, having recently passed Fiddler on the Roof for that honor. We were, indeed a commercial monster, a big, fat moneymaker but also, to put it in the kindest terms possible, a universally undisputed artistic lightweight.

I had made my Broadway debut as an actor in the 50’s musical the year before as the first replacement in the role of Sonny LaTierie, the foul-mouthed Italian ne’er-do-well, third in command of the Burger Palace Boys. Happily ensconced in the long-running Broadway hit, I was a smug and cocky 24 year-old New York working actor. Still I was astonished the living legend, Richard Burton, would consent to see our show. At the time, I was ignorant of most of his previous Broadway credits. I assumed he had done a great deal of stage work. One only had to hear his voice to know that. It was his film work I knew. He was Edwin Booth, Becket, Henry VIII, Reverend Shannon, Dr. Faustus, Marc Antony, The Spy who came in from the Cold.

It was the summer of 1976 and Burton’s star was decidedly on the descent, his greatest roles behind him, his personal demons legendary. To me he was the embodiment of class and, with maybe the exception of Olivier, the greatest living actor. I respected him for being willing to be a replacement in Equus. Many a star at that time, would never replace. I, of course, had no idea he was doing the role on stage as part of his preparation for the coming film version.

I invented for myself a kinship between us. Hey, we were both actors who have appeared on Broadway. He was to be a replacement - I was a replacement. I was a kid consumed and convinced that I, too, was destined for a great career in the theater world. I wanted what he had. What actor didn’t? It is an absolute necessity for a young actor to cling to the dream of achieving the pinnacle of theatrical success at all costs. Burton’s presence at our show was the embodiment of that success. I wanted him to recognize that potential in me. I needed his approval, his acknowledgement that I, too, would one day “make it.”

A problem presented itself. How could he possibly see my greatness in Grease? I wasn’t even the lead! I didn’t even have a song! I knew I was holding my own in the show. I was appropriately vulgar, I got laughs in all the right places. That wasn’t enough. I had to find a way. I was determined that when he saw the show he would take notice of my performance. How? Just then, a sneaky, conniving, quiet voice from deep within my soul, spoke to me. An insidious little idea formed in my one-track, wanton, grasping, actor brain. It was sure-fire, a slam-dunk.

I knew from having skimmed his biography that he was a working-class boyo from Wales. Surely he could relate to the street-kid character I was portraying. I also remembered that Burton was not his real name. It was Jenkins. Richard Jenkins. I decided to embellish my role with three additional words. Words, words, words that I was sure would not escape the great one’s notice.

In the auditorium dance scene in our show, my character identifies a rival gang member’s girlfriend at our dance by saying “She goes steady with the leader of the Flaming Dukes.” I had always wondered who that gang-banger might be? The leader of the Flaming Dukes? Why, none other than Dick Jenkins!! Of course. The evening Burton is in the house, what the hell, I’ll alter the line to “She goes steady with the leader of the Flaming Dukes - dirty Dick Jenkins!” Was I mad? I could be fired. It is a serious infraction of Union rules to change the lines. But three little words. We had been running so long, things now were kind of lax. I could slip them in so fast. Would the stage manager even notice? I didn’t care. I was resolved. The plays the thing wherein I’ll catch the notice of the King! Or something like that.

The fateful night arrives. Our spies (the understudies) reconnoiter and confirm Burton is indeed, in the house. We even know the seat number. To do it or not to do it – that is the question. Will I chicken out? The dance scene is at the end of the first act. That’s good if he hates it, maybe he’ll wait till intermission to walk out. I can barely contain my excitement. I notice that the show is good tonight - everyone is picking up their cures and really overacting. We are finally in the dance scene. I don’t dare look out at the seventh row, isle seat. My cue approaches. My pulse is doing it’s own rama lama lama. Cue! I start the line, my voice a disembodied rumbling with in my frame. Could I do it? Conscience does make cowards of us all – but not me!! Yes I said them. “…Dirty Dick Jenkins.” Sure, I got some weird looks from the other guys in the scene. But no one stumbled. We kept going. I snuk a peek off-right at the stage manager. She was blissfully calling the next cue, not frowning at me like I was in big trouble. I was in the clear. The deed had been done.

After the show, none of us changed out of wardrobe. We raced to the back stage area. There he was. Himself. Shorter than I imagined him, but, still, larger than life. He was cool. Tan, trim. Rugged, craggy features. Bright, darting eyes. He wore an all black Nero suit, the kind the Beatles made famous.

I approached as he was turning his back to me to greet some of the cast. As un-cool as he was cool and in the spirit of our show I shouted “Hey!” He jumped around, I grabbed his hand, someone snapped a picture. I asked “Did you hear me say your name?” With an abjectly disapproving, withering look he mumbled, “Yeah.” Not much of a reward for all my aspirations. I realized too late that of course he was a purest with the highest respect for stagecraft and etiquette. I may have achieved the opposite of my desire for him to respect me.

He graciously invited us to lunch with him the following day at Sardi’s. Some one asked if he liked the show. He said yes he did indeed. So much so that he was going to be sure to have Elizabeth attend the matinee tomorrow and join us for lunch. Elizabeth. One word. He didn’t need to say the rest of her name. First the King and now the Queen! We all joshed and chatted for a while.

Then Richard Burton singled me out, and, no, he did not chide me with Hamlet’s advice to players “let those who play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them…it’s villainous and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool who does it.” Although, maybe he should have. No, thankfully in the presence of our stage manager, he told me to be sure to also put Elizabeth’s name in the show tomorrow! Maybe he wasn’t such a purest after all. What could I do? It was as if it were a royal command. And I had the perfect spot for it. The picnic scene!

It is a greaser picnic in the park and my character, Sonny, gets so excited while looking at a borrowed fan magazine, he is crumpling the pages. Frenchie says, “Quit wrinkling my magazine, Sonny.” And I say (with singular intensity) “I was just looking at Shelly Fabaret’s jugs!” I kid you not – that is the actual line. An easy substitution! “I was just looking at Elizabeth Taylor’s jugs!” Oh, she’s gonna love this.

So after the next performance Liz Taylor visits backstage. She looks great – mature and voluptuous. When we are introduced she grabs me and says, “Blue eyes!” Then with a pained _expression, “Why did you say that about me in the show?” I say “Oh, you caught that.” “Caught it, the whole audience caught it!” It did get a pretty big reaction. I replied with a helpless shrug “Richard made me say it.” She gave me a mock slap and said, “He would!” So, forget about it. Liz and Dick and me! We’re all goofing around together off stage and on - on Broadway! I’ve made it haven’t I?

The next day is lunch at Sardi’s. Richard is there with his new girlfriend, Susan. And you know who else shows up? Barry Bostwick, the original lead in our show. News travels fast and of course he wants to be there for lunch with the great one. Even though he has been out of the show for a couple of years.

In my own selfish way, I hustle a seat right next to Burton. He is the King of Cool once again. Dressed a little more mainstream today in a blue blazer and open shirt. His first comment is very revealing. He asks if any of us knew who was ahead in the New Hampshire Primary. Like we are all a bunch of airheads and don’t know what is happening in our own country, the seat and bastion of Democracy. He’s got me. I don’t even know that there is a primary going on or who the candidates even are. Why couldn’t he have asked what place the Yanks were in, or who won the fifth at Belmont? Show business is so much bluff. I look at Bostwick. I could tell he didn’t know either. So we were mute. Fortunately, one of the chicks from the show must have read the paper or listened to the news or something and piped in with Carter.

For small talk, I fall back on my familiarity with his biography, which I never really read but heard about from a guy who did. So, “Richard” I says, “Is it true that you once bet someone that you could drink a bottle of vodka during a performance of Camelot and that no one would notice?” Mr. Tact. Silence at the table. Burton who by now surely cannot believe there actually exists a creature such as yours truly, allows himself a little smile. He takes a moment and I think maybe I will be beheaded or belittled by one of the best. He says “Actually, the wager was with five guys, two hundred dollars a man that I could drink an entire fifth of vodka during the show and that Julie Andrews would never even notice.” Add to the silence the looks of astonishment and the dropped jaws of every one at the table. I said “Yeah? And…” He continued “I drank a fifth during the first act and another fifth during the second. Then, in order to win, I was required to go into Julie’s dressing room and ask her how she thought the performance went.” We all groaned, imagining the regal Burton in his Arthurian drag tottering into Guinevere’s digs, hammered. He said “How do you think the performance went this afternoon? Did you think I was a little slow on the up-take? She replied ‘No, actually I thought it quite better than usual.’” Wow, Richard Burton rocks. And here I thought I was being such bad actor by adding three little words and this guy did a show adding three liters of vodka. My feeling of kinship with him grew. We were both a couple of devil-may-care, rowdy guys who tried to insert a little life into our longrunitis. He in Camelot and me in Grease.

So we are all having a merry ‘ole time at our free lunch at Sardi’s with theater royalty, when his assistant comes over and whispers in his ear. Burton displays a mild look of concern, gives Susan a nod and says “Elizabeth is coming.” The assistant brings an additional chair and places it next to Barry Bostwick. Susan gives Richard a peck on the cheek, gets up and moves to the other side of the table to the seat next to Barry.

Presently the doors to Sardi’s swing open and two big guys in suits are escorting (carrying in) a gloriously smashed, Elizabeth Taylor. Burton stands as we all do, offers her his chair (the one next to mine!), he takes Susan’s former chair and we all sit. Can you believe this? Now Liz Taylor turns to me, caresses my cheek and gives it another playful little slap and says “Blue Eyes.” A waiter is there instantly with not one, but two Jack Daniels on the rocks for the lovely Elizabeth. I take a good, full look at her and it is true - her eyes are violet.

I start to feel a little woozy myself, what with all the excitement. In another minute I gonna start coming on to Liz Taylor. I excused myself from the table and went to the row of pay phones. I called my Mom and Dad and said “Guess where I am and who I am having lunch with?” I took a deep breath. “I‘m at Sardi’s having lunch with Liz and Dick – Jenkins.”