TIME MARCHES ON

Pops, the Director, walks slowly, sternly down the line. He moves Jennie’s hand a little further down Beth’s shoulder, chucks Lola under her throat, lifts his own head and tells her, ‘Up! Up!’ and smiles. ‘Nice. Nice. Excellent! Ready?’ We stay silent but he knows we are ready. Pop gives the nod and hurries from the stage. Trumpets blare. Drums roll. ‘Curtain up!’

Stone-faced our line-up of 30 dancers is set to be blinded by the foot lights. The theater is dark and empty. This time has to be perfect. Rehearsals are over. Tomorrow is Show-time. We are the Rockin’ Road Rockettes and we are good!

Baltimore’s beautiful old theater, The Hippodrome, has been closed for years. It used to be the hub of downtown. It has decayed to almost rubble. And then it happened. Interest in revival of the area brought investors with guts and millions of dollars, to research old photos, locate people who still can describe the most intricate of patterns, arrangements, fabrics, colors. Every seat was going to be identically placed as 50 years ago. The high domed ceiling with its spectacular crystal chandelier had to be copied, crystal by crystal, an unimaginable job. The city waited impatiently for the grand opening during Christmas season. All seats were sold months before. The glory, the adoration of old times, started with a pre-opening gala in the lobby. The walls were covered with old photos, yellow with age. Hollywood times were back.

Sheila, Rosa and Charlotte are extra excited about the formal show opening. They are Baltimoreans. Their grandparents and parents rarely missed a new stage show and movie for twenty-five cents. Movie stars came, big bands, comedians, magicians filled the bills and some will be here tonight.

We open the show as toy soldiers. Our cheeks are painted with round, red circles. Black tall hats with chin straps keep our identical long blond wigs straight. Two shiny rows of brass buttons are on our tight jackets. Wide black patent leather belts, white cotton gloves and we look gorgeous and ready,.

Before the curtain opens, we are tapping. The audience is quiet. ‘Open you beautiful red curtain,’ I say much too softly to be heard. The audience rises as one and claps with great enthusiasm. They already love us and we haven’t even started. No slumping, eyes riveted, every click is in unison. The curtain closes. When the applause dies down a movie screen rises from the floor. Scratchy, yellowed movies of Eddie Cantor, Jack Benny, Edgar Bergen, Burns and Allen move slowly across the screen. People point, laugh, clap. Acrobats, magicians, Old Blue Eyes when Frankie was only 17 bring yells.

The screen descends to sleep until tomorrow nite. The Rockettes are ready to rock again. Our costumes are scanty, revealing, but no one faints. Whistles come from the balcony. Vegas Show girls, flaunting lots of feathers, boas, minute rhinestone bras excite the old geezers. The senior women are still, tied up with jealousy. We tap our way to form stars, triple turns. Near the end we divide and out comes Mickey Mouse, 8 feet tall, Mortimer Snerd, chewing on straw. Comically they try to keep up with us We don’t acknowledge their presence and exit, leaving them bewildered at center stage.

Applause shakes the crystal chandelier. From the wings I see frightened eyes looking up. For only a moment, fear rises. Tons and tons of red and green small squares of confetti fill the air, cover hair, the seats, floors. The restored building (and our show) brought back memories to at least a thousand people and made new ones for their grandchildren.

The Morning Sunpaper’s headline reads ‘ THE HIPP IS HIP AGAIN!