CHA CHA CHA ZIEGFELD GOIL! ~ By Absolutely*Kate

CHA CHA CHA 

ZIEGFELD GOIL! 

~ By Absolutely*Kate   (backstage)

Feather boas and creamy poils, the fluff that dreams are made of, fancified life for us lucky Ziegfeld Goils. Well, there were swishy silks and satins too, but that all depended on what number was called up for you. I loved it when they called up my number! Backstage, Hank would holler with a fast rap-a-tat-tat on our dressing room door. Geeeez Louise, my dressing room was more like an open dame zone of star power -- makeup tables, elegant costume racks and divine bravada were all set up to outshine the other gals, but . . . I was there! I was a Ziegfeld Goil! Holy Hannah, how Mama was proud of that. She told her friends, she told our neighbors, she told the butcher, the baker and if we didn't have flicker-free electricity, I betcha she woulda yelped it at the candlestick maker too! 

It's been a year now of bein' one of these Follies' dollies. Golly! Me! Mabel Jean Krenicki! Can you imagine that? I'm livin' up my dream on stage all the show-stoppin' time now. I'm a tip-top tapper moved waaay up to the front line. Hoooo boy! And I kinda think my derriere twirl sashays as spiffy as the most senior of Ziegfeld Goils. Not that it gets me that much attention from Mr Z. Gosh he's every place and in everybody's bizness. I told him once, "Gosh Mr Z, you put the Z in bizzy," and he gets this real low booming chuckle and says back, "That's show bizzy to you Missy!" Imagine that -- me and Mr Z shootin' the breeze . . . even if it was momentary-like, and he gave me a stern look til I spit out my Juicy Fruit in my hand.  I just liked it. Me, Mabel Jean Krenicki, a Ziegfeld Goil!

Guess the gleam  never wears off the  glam once your pluck gets  starstruck. Shimmer glimmer and strut your stuff! Posture, placement and smile wattage to the back row, always, always play broad to the back row, Mr Z yelps! Keep style and grace all over the place. Ooze charm like there's no tomorrow to splash it out to. Bring it on! I eat show biz up instead of breakfast. Matter o'fact, I barely catch twenty winks back home at night after a late show before I'm barreling uptown for rehearsals with my new pals, the other hot hoofers. Uh, what just might have a little more than somethin' to do with puttin' extra hustle to my bustle could be the new choreographer Mr Z brung in from the Windy City. Wowzers! He's kinda cute. Hot cha cha cha stuff, and I ain't warblin' 'bout his dance moves, if ya know what I mean.


His name's Jerome. Isn't that romantic all by itself? Jerrrome. And jeepers, creepers, he's sweet on the peepers. Mmmmm, spins me dizzy sometimes. Not just whisperin' his name or a kinda feeling I get bubblin' up about him -- you should see how he configures us all on the staircase sequence moving fast, faster, catch the diamonds, twirl, spin in the lights super fast. I gotta pay attention there. A gal's gotta be careful with the perchof her gams there. You should see the spikes on my heels! 

The spike in my heart patters fast too. Faster than a speeding train of thought, came chance and circumstance to arrive at my station of romance. Well, that's what I was thinking. A certain Jerome glance, a touch at the small of my back -- Oooooooh, I'm standing pretty, right in the middle of layer upon layer of satin style and grace in ecru lace while falling fast. Then came the cha cha cha.


Jerome explained patiently that this dance had never ever been done on stage in the United States before. He knew of it from studying one summer in a faraway island called Cuba where his dark dashing eyes got even dreamier just talking about it while we all stood around on the show-battered wood. He convinced Mr Ziegfeld he could build a whole ensemble routine around it, right in the middle of the show where pace and a new kind of passion was the best place to go. Mr Z was all about letting in new kinds of pace and passion. How'd ya think a boy named Florenz got so far in the high faluting bigtime bright city shows he staged? Ya take chances! He did. Should I? That's when it happened -- to teach this dance, Jerome pulled me right outta the center cluster crowd I was dishin' with to show the other girls how -- all I can say is -- WOW!

He takes a checked step forward with his left foot, retains some of  his gorgeous weight -- did I mention Jerome's gorgeous? - on his right foot. The beat of the music is rhythm gone sensual with energy, energy urging movement on. It gets tricky as the knee of the right leg must stay straight and close to the back of the knee of the left leg, while just straightening out. But Jerome makes tricky look snazzy, and that's what he wanted and encouraged on from me. To show the other girls, or so I thought.

Three steps make up the basic cha cha cha. There's that first fast step to the side with the left foot. Then both feet get practically under your hips when the right foot closes in. Finally, in a flash, the last step of the left foot moves to the left. I was left panting at Jerome's pace, gazing often into Jerome's face. I saw there determination, raw open joy and something akin to the way presents are ripped opened on Christmas morning. Was I beginning to love Jerome or the way Jerome loved whatever Jerome was doing? How do you separate all those feelings while syncopating a new Latin beat and keeping straight all the moving of your feet?

When we switched to right-left-right, he smiled all those white beamy teeth and stage-whispered, "Brava muchacha - you can cha cha!" Heavens to Murgatroyd, we were stage left when that happened. My confidence level and my beaming stare went sky high into space and warmly, back close, at his gorgeous laughing face. I mentioned he was gorgeous, right?All this beaming and left-right-lefting and yet I was left aware of Miriam nudging Gertie, pointing something out to Doris over Ruby's glistening shoulders. Something at the door. Someone at the door.

"CHA CHA BOOM!"

   

Photo is star-tribute to stage/screen and

supremely talented hoofer/choreographer

Sylvia Lewis. Here she knocks the peepers

wide open in the front row with Dante DiPaolo. 

 Read more on 

Hollywood's hottest below 

"And now, now that our able Mabel has showed you how easy, one-two-three, it is to learn the steps of cha cha cha," Jerome intoned, "may I present a new star to shine among you? One I hope I have not made too jealous - for beginning with this sequence, my muy bonita wife Carmen will play lead." 

~   ~

            Dear Diary,
  

These are some of the ups and downs and upside downs in every one-two-three step of being a poifect Ziegfeld Goil. I'm not too keen on Carmen and I don't give Jerome much more than the time of day except at rehearsals any more, but I love, love, love the stage, and the lights and the music and the grand, grand nights we make magic come true. Mr Z tells us all, that's the very best we can do.

I'll write again when I have something more substantial to share. Did I tell you about Ruby's brother Eddie and the malt shop? He doesn't need exotic music and fancy schmancy steps to dance his attention my way. Besides, I don't think this cha cha thing is gonna catch on in Palooka-ville for another twenty, say twenty-five years. It just takes too much outta ya. Tricky ain't always snazzy.

Yours Very Truly,

Mabel Jean Krenicki ~ Ziegfeld Goil!

PS ~ Momma's still proud. I never mentioned Jerome to her. 
I don't tell Momma everything, ya know?

© 2011 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

for Miss Mabel Jean Krenicki

another Debut . . .  AT THE BIJOU

Mabel Jean was right! 

 The Cha Cha Cha did not actually

stir sexy sensations in the States til the 1950's.

Hollywood's hottest hoofer ~ Sylvia Lewis, 

featured as Nita Munay in the notorious 'lost film'

Cha Cha Boom, (find it!), knew much more

than how to go Right-Left-Right. Born when 
the Ziegfeld Follies were passing away, 
Sylvia started vibrant in Vaudeville and just
kept dancing! 
Sylvia's sensations dance splendid visions @SylviaLewis.net. This author salutes the most lovely Ms Lewis and the dedicated webmaster, T.W. James. Quick! Click! Check starpower!

Mabel Jean will get there, don'tcha think?

                                         ~ I'm Absolutely*Kate 

                                    and I believe in believers

Thanks again Folks,

for sinkin' into our plush red velvet seats

AT THE            BIJOU

"Where Writers' Raves are Readers' Faves"

Hold on to your hats and feather boas!

There's more showbiz

 on Mabel Jean and the Ziegfeld Goils

right here in your glossy program:

"I WANTA BE A ZIEGFELD GIRL"

"36-26-38" ~ A PRETTY ZIEGFELD GIRL
 IS A MELODY 

"ZIG ZAG ZIEGFELD"

* ZIG ZAG ZIEGFELD * ~ By Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33 ... #FlashFiction

SO HOW DOES A ZIEGFELD GOIL GROW?  ~ photo ala picassoswoman

* ZIG ZAG ZIEGFELD *

~ By Absolutely*Kate

Dear Diary,

It's Me again. Well, who else would it be, hunh? I'm so excited. I got the part! I know it already by heart! Well yeah, sure, it's a bit of a bit part -- but hey Toots, hey Bub -- everyone's got to get their start somewhere, right? It just figures, it does.

So anyway, I'm in Act 2, in the third row of the chorus line when Claudine belts out "You Made Me Love You". Right at the part of "I didn't wanna do it, I didn't wanna do it" we all shimmy to the right and kinda half-turn to the left, pause our cleavages and then swoop down low. Oh! I have the most beeeyoootiful bend-down-over dress. I won't let Momma see it, but Sugar Mae did and she just up and "Ooooohed" like the band was beating it up for Georgie Cohan crooning to Theda Bara so I know it's a hot number.

Guess what?

Silly Diary, you can't guess, so I'll tell you --

I've got sequins! Honest, I do!

Me. Imagine. A ZIEGFELD GOIL! -- with sequins.

Life is looking up.

I gotta run now as there's Rehearsal tonight!!! But next time we're together I want to whisper you a little something sly about Billy Bradford. My my!

DEAR DIARY, SAID GOIL ~ Pic ala DigitalParadox

Yours Mighty Truly,

Mabel Jean Krenicki

(Yeah, I'm still looking
 for that stage name)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Mabel! Hurry! Where WERE you? C'mon, you're late, you're late. He's been lookin' for you!"

Breathless, hauling a worn but serviceable satchel with every imaginable edge of tinted lace trailing out, Mabel flustered her rush of explanation,  "The bus on Toity Toid went kaplooey. I had to get off while the ol' tin can on wheels was rattling and smokin' and hotfoot it seven blocks here. I ran the last three and tore my stocking. When I make it to the front row in the chorus line, you t'ink a goil like me can grab a cab? Oh, who? Who's been looking for me?" Pausing, lowering her raw but singsongy voice to a right reverent pitch, "You mean -- Mr Ziegfeld?"

"Yeah sure dollface. In your Franny Brice Billie Burke dreamland. No. Ned. Step to it kid, he's got another lightbulb sparking over his noggin."

"Another one! Oh Johnny, I just bet it's a doozy then. That handsome feller's no stuffed shirt, nope siree. So which way's our Wayburn?", asked Mabel, surreptitiously nudging her worn brown scuffed size 7 against stylish Lorna's  butterscotch and honey little Winship luggage case with the pop-out fitted tray shelf she envied, to make enough room for her plain old rehearsal bag. She sighed, light but heavy. Swiftly fishing around in 'old faithful' she knew just where to reach her tucked in extra pair of practical stockings, but thought not for the first time what it would feel like to be grand enough to tote around her own little butterscotchy case with a red quilted satin lining. 

"Mabel? Mabel Jean! You coming? Ned's lining up all the girls by height now. You're gonna miss where your new spot is. Shake a leg!"

Mabel muttered back as good naturedly as a young dame gobbling  butterflies can do, "Whattya think I'm shakin' Johnny boy? I'm gettin' me gams into hosiery that ain't got no holes no more. Now WHERE'S Ned Wayburn doin' his convoluting?"

Crusty Johnny Barkley with knowledgeable lines around his eyes smiled. Kinda smug but kinda soft, like the spot he had for these green Ziegfeld gals who came in for their big chance to dance and push and shove their way a little, step by feathered step to where front and center had a better stance into the footlights. Oh he'd seen it all. Some of these greens were actually emeralds in the rough. He looked out for those kind. He kinda hoped Mabel Jean would make it. Krenicki was a real good kid. She just didn't know how to believe in herself yet. "Just listen Mabel Jean, just listen. You'll find him. And don't change nothin'. He said to keep your street shoes on." For good measure to sharpen her up, he gruffed out one more yelp,"And for crying out loud, you'd better not be gumming up your chances spoiling his dances by dropping your Juicy Fruit on his stage again!"


He chuckled as he heard her spirit without stammer spit right back.


"Aw SmartStuff whatta you know Buster? It was the new Doublemint that that swell Mr Wrigley the marketing whiz mailed to every Joe and Molly he could find in the phone directory. So suck them apples Johnny!"

The sound was rat-a-tat-a-tat-jackhammery. Pounding. Louder still on old stage wood. Real loud. She could hear it over her hurried breathing's hustle and the low deep rumbly chortle, when she came around the backstage door, passing Johnny. He patted her rump for good luck, or something like that, but she ignored his antics. She was caught up in the fresh glory of this new sound. Brittle, then soft and a bunch of clickety-clumps. Then machine-gunny in its way. But it sure had a certain catchy rhythm going for it. It did. Mabel Jean could tell. She prided herself on her hoofer's ear.

And dance director Ned Wayburn prided himself on skill and precison, kick lines and patterns that spread into astounding geometrics. Spectacular spectacles. That's what Florenz Ziegfeld, "The Great Glorifyer" hired him for. And Pittsburgh's Edward Claudius Weyburn, who owed his stage-moniker notoriety to a program typo from Vaudeville days was preambling a powerful new precision all over the stage. A bevy of chorus girl beauts and some of the handiest carpenter crew working on the next performance's lavish set had stopped their flirting and jawing to just leave them open. Their jaws, and spaces on the stage now spreading in wide pockets for his fast pace. They moved away in hurried huddles when his frenzied moves headed their way. And they were lured right back, closer, closer. Packs of them. They'd never seen nothin' like this . . . even those that weren't green but jaded.
  
Joyfully he jumped high in the air and clicked his heels together, explaining each new step. "Click!"
  
Mable Jean snuck in quick at the edge of a cluster when she recognized new Ziegfeld acquaintances Dottie and Alice, Irene and Vera. 
   

"CLAP!," said Ned Wayburn, "just what you think." He balanced his foot on his heel, raising his toe in a twisting motion. "Tanglefoot." Then the toe of one foot struck the toe of his other foot. He repeated the same movement, but this time heel to heel. "Catch", Ned beamed.
   
He was in the midst of crossing one of his lithe dancer legs in front of another in a side traveling motion of movement when excited Mabel, without the juice of Juicyfruit to keep her gums in gear burst out gleefully, "ZIG ZAG!" Vera, Alice, Dottie and Irene slid gracefully backwards. They wished to be no part of Mabel making a scene.

Naturally Ned the pro kept his scene intact, smiled serene but snapped right back, "Actually it's a Cross Bar. But what would you call this Miss Wise Guy?" He made consecutive backward movements from one foot to the other, alternating back and forth, forth and back. He stared. Alice, Irene, Dottie and Vera scooted even further back into stagelight shadows. The fact that Mabel Jean Krenicki stood alone on center stage couldn't have been clearer.

"Do that again?"

Backwards went Ned, left foot, right foot, eyes pinning Mabel to her answer.
  

"ZIG ZAG!"
  

"Actually Miss Krenicki its proper term is Cincinnati", Ned said, and abruptly turned  and stepped away. Kneeling down to a shiny pile at the front of the stage, he selected a small shaped silver piece of metal. "And this -- "

Ned may have had the floor, but Mabel Jean Krenicki was on a roll. "It looks nothing like Cincinnati. I've been there to my Uncle Konrad's house. He's Momma's baby brother and has a real nifty place. What you did was like a Zig Zag I'm tellin' ya." In a huff she stared back at the back of the man who took musical comedy dance routines seriously. Sometimes there's no funny biz in show biz. She crossed her arms. Her right foot beat the steady stubborn staccato of her nerves.

Over and over her foot hit the stage. More dancers moved away. Joey Mackswill from the carpenter's crew let a slow grin come up from within and seemed to sense just what to do. Reaching into his tool belt for the light balpeen hammer, Joey's grin went into high cahoots. Matching Mabel Jean's cadence, he very lightly hit the stage floor with his shiny tool. Over and over . . . and over some more again.

Ned, hunched on his haunches, launched into an explanation of what  attaching the silver metal piece to a black and white shoe with a catchy ankle strap was going to do. A little perturbed at her observations being ignored, Mabel strutted her stuff right up to his back, and with a steady pat, pat, pat to his shoulder, tried determinedly to get his attention. Joey kept up the light pound, pound, pound sound because he did have a hammer.

"So what do you call all these dance moves all put together, hunh Mr Wayburn? What is this number? Will you sum it up?" She knew her voice had gone up an octave which wasn't very sing-songy at all, but feminine fascination to find out something new and fancy goes beyond normal playing it safe, staying in line. 

Pat, pat, pat went Mabel's fingers now, right near Ned's neck. Pat, pat, pat went Krenicki's impatient foot right to center stage's wood so Wayburn would . . . finally answer. 
  
He spun around. It was sudden. It was a swirl. He came right at the girl. It was a sudden spun swirl with a fierce determined look beating double time from deep lights rooted in his blue irises. 
  
Mabel realized Ned was not all that keen on her pesky pat, pat, pats. After all, this was the dance man who had personally trained the great Fred Astaire, Eddie Cantor and Al Jolson. But he smiled broad in a challenge not to be flim flammed as flimsy,  "Oh I don't know Miss Krenicki - let's just call it TAP!" 
 

He extended the black and whites with the catchy ankle strap and the small silver plates now attached at heel and toe. "And if the shoe fits, Miss Krenicki ~~ WEAR IT!"

Bang, Bang Mackswill's silver hammer

came down upon Ned's stage.

Mabel Jean Krenicki wrote in her diary

later that triumphant night ~

"I knew, come hell or high water,

this was not a time for having two left feet!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Yes, there's no biz like shoe biz

like no biz we know.

Join us in future epic*sodes

of Mabel Jean Krenicki, Ziegfeld Goil, still in search of a good stage name, discovering just what entertainment is sometimes all about.

(c) 2010 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

playing *AT THE BIJOU*

MORE ZIEGFELD?

MORE MABEL?

"I WANTA 

BE A ZIEGFELD GOIL

"36-26-38 ~ 

A PRETTY ZIEGFELD GIRL

 IS A MELODY"

Thank*You!

We hope you've enjoyed the show,

*AT THE BIJOU*!

"36-26-38" ~ A PRETTY ZIEGFELD GIRL IS A MELODY ~ By Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33

"36-26-38"

A Pretty Ziegfeld Girl IS A Melody

  

By ~ Absolutely*Kate  

Chorus girls, chorus girls, chorus girls. There were thousands, no ~ make that hundreds of thousands at all the auditions. Office floozies and drug store dames countering fame. The top types that came from the steno pool and those down on the farm fielding dreams. "Glorifying the American Girl" was the dream theme for his showmanship scheme. Florenz ~ "What kind of a mother names her son 'Flo'?", I remember hearing Fanny Brice's mother wisecrack to mine down at the 5 & Dime ... Florenz Ziegfeld saw them all, judged them all, delightedly, discernibly plucked out a precise 3,000 of us all for fame and feathers, for long creamy poils and for the way chiffon feels all a'swishhhhin' against your lotioned up nothing else. Yes Sir! We were those Broadway babies! We were the goils, the goils who wore poils, the fluff that dreams are made of. We were the Ziegfeld Girls, the fine feathered fillies of Florenz' Follies.

You were there, weren't you? The night little lanky Doris Eaton joined her sisters on the Ziegfeld Stage, lying like a brazen bandit about her not-shy 14 age. There's no end to what some goils will do to steal the spotlight. Ask Ginny, ask Sue. They unlucked out when Doris joined the chorus.

F. Scott was there washing it up with bathtub gin and Irving Berlin ~ remember him? It was always a packed crowd edging the edge of their seats when the Ziegfeld Follies centerstaged even the Jazz Age. Remember? Babe Ruth felt homered and Chaz Lindbergh's spirits flew high (even outside of St Louis, Louie). Woodrow in the front row ~ yeah, the Prez ~ he had a prize seat, and the band played on. Will Rogers met many men (and women) he really did like, W.C. poked fun and the laughter poured like prohibition 'tea' (hee hee). Fanny Brice always played nice and that Billie Burke was someone special alright, she was. She glimmered, she sparkled, she reminded you to believe in believers and no place like home. But that's another story to Glinda before Mr Z became the wizard of her "Ahhhhs". We'll follow the Follies down that yellow brick road when we come to it.  The glory of this story is about Doris, Doris Eaton, ya know. She's the last Ziegfeld Girl of how the show went on . . . from 1907 to 1931, when America was never the same again.
 
We did the Charleston and the Fox Trot and the Lindy too, but no one danced out of the chorus of course like Doris Eaton did. Mr Z never got into a rage about the stage age fib, so the way it turns out, Doris went from chewin' her Juicy Fruit one day to being the youngest Ziegfeld Girl to strut her stuff the next. Don't get me wrong though, she still stuck to her Juicy Fruit, some habits never let you down, by gum and by golly. Least not, not ever in the Ziegfeld Follies. This is show biz, ya know?
 

Oh it was *magic*! Oh it was glam and grace, luscious as lace all over the place. Divine ~ to dance and dine and rehearse and rehearse and rehearse and rehearse until we knew it cold, we gave it hot and we sang it sugar sweet and finessed the Follies fine. Those were the days. That was my time ~
 

Me? I'm Mabel Jean Krenicky, though as Mama predicted I would, I took a stage name as soon as I could. See? That's me up there from tryouts to bright lights. I'll tell you about those days another time too. This tale's about Doris, Doris Eaton who had 'em eatin' out of the fresh flair of her open palms and lingering fingertips. Man oh man, was she a charmer. Before Gene Kelly ever opened an umbrella, she was the one the lyricist fella first let sing "Singin' In The Rain". Did'ya know that? Not many do. But now I told you. So's ya know it's true. They had a fling of a thing too, but that's show biz. You know how that goes ~
 
Day in and nights out ~ Dancing with the sparks, waltzing in the wonder of our minds we all measured up mighty fine to the high falutin' caliber of facing the music together, and we measured up swell I tell'ya. We measured up 36-28-38 or fancy suit Mr Z booted our butts ~ well not really, but we had to stay in shape and style and never ever let loose any of our femine wile.
 
Auditions, angst ... costumes of vivid visions ... crowded giggling flaunting dressing rooms ... Stage Door Johnnies who only had eyes for us (sigh) ... splendiferous spectaculars ... pageantry without pomp but piled plenty with pizazz to please the paying Palookas. We balanced not enough hours in the day like we balanced our towering headresses ... always with class, always with distinction. Curtain calls and Opening Night reviews in the Times. Oh! Those were the times. Oh! We were the dames. We were open-eyed and kickin' high. Doris always was. Doris Eaton I mean.
 
She died Tuesday. Danced her way to 106 and never lied about that age. She was stage struck and a silent film star ~ I think she even played AT THE BIJOU. (How could it be otherwise? That's where all the best talent headlines.) Had herself a string of the first Artie Murray dance halls and kept folks hoofin' and struttin' their stuff knowin' their left from their right and not tanglin' their tangos. Hank Ford and the husband she hankered for were dancin' partners through her star spangled time. Why, her Mr Travis was so OK in Doris' book, or should I say dance card, that she Okie-Dokey'd that Okie at the altar, and thoroughbred that she was, raised horses and happy OOOOOklahoma endings with her man. Oh she loved him so, and living and learning too. A bunch of us got cards at Christmas, learned she went back to spiff up her schooling, studied up and got her high school diploma and then a college degree through courses here and there. Well imagine that. Doris made history to a certain degree and degreed in it too!

THE YOUNGEST ZIEGFELD GIRL.

THE  very  LAST ZIEGFELD GIRL.

THE YOUNGEST ZIEGFELD GIRL.

THE  very  LAST ZIEGFELD GIRL.

 
Dears, that's how I wrote it up in my diary tonight. Had me a little Italian hootch that I hitched to Salut her star too. How could it be otherwise? Old habits are soft comforts. Old habits slide down easy.
 
There are glissandos of melody bits and peaces slidin', ridin', glidin' crazy-easy through me right now ... from shows and tunes we knew and -- oh, Oh! I just adore a Gershwin tune, don't you? They were there too. George and Ira. Boy oh boy I liked those boys, but that's another story, another time. For now ~
 

"Come along and listen to the lullaby of Broadway ... when the Broadway Baby says 'goodnight'.  Gooood~night~Doris. You done us proud. Sleep tight Baby. Sleep tight ~ Let's call it a day. Hip Hurray and Bally hoo. LISTEN TO THE LULLABY OF  ~ OLD BROADWAY!"

 
I was 'membering about that time ~ 'Member what that critic had to say when we were Chicago's razzamatazz?  ~ “Mine eyes are yet dim with the luminous beauty of a girl named Doris.” 

 

Irony presses on, huh?

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

NEW YORK (Reuters) - New York's Broadway will dim its lights on Wednesday to mark the death of the last of the famed Ziegfeld showgirls, performers renowned for their lavish costumes and elaborate stage routines. Doris Eaton Travis died at age 106 on Tuesday . . .   just two weeks after she last appeared on stage in New York, according to a statement on the website of Broadway public relations firm Boneau/Bryan-Brown.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

It was in Wednesday's news. I saw it same time the light changed, when my friend Sugar Mae Shwend from the West Side propped the clipping up next to my cream swirled cup o'Joe at the Chock Full of Nuts where we still go -- the one at the corner of Joy and Jive. We go there to dish our dreams. What's that? We're still around? That's another story for another time. One with an elixir that defies time and sips pensive watching how the world spins 'round and 'round. Why, just the other day our pal Satchmo said to our selves,"It's a ~ wonderful world."
 

I tell ya ~ when you got moxie and you see stars and you believe in believers . . . well, you just know it IS. A wonderful world. And a pretty Ziegfeld Girl? Like Doris Eaton, like Billie Burke, like Fannie and me, Mabel Jean Krenicky . . . we're an everlovin' melody, in your mind, aren't we?

Hum us well, will ya?

God bless'ya Doris Eaton. 

God bless'ya Florenz Ziegfeld. 

Dance through the time heavens are made of. 

Open the curtain and bring down the house! 

CUE MUSIC.
Sense Melody.

"Heaven ~ They're in Heaven

And they seem to find
the Happiness they seek ~

When they're out together 

Dancing cheek to cheek"

(C) 2010 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate
 

 Fiction premiere AT THE BIJOU

though Tribute to Doris Eaton and Ziegfeld Girls everywhere

is melody of reality ~  timelessly genuine

"I WANTA BE A ZIEGFELD GIRL" ~ By Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33

"I Wanta Be A Ziegfeld Girl"

~ By Absolutely*Kate

I wanta be a Ziegfeld Girl. I wanta swallow up glitz and sip the edges of glamahh and do somethin' more with my life than slammin' down countless cups of joe with the  stenographers and shopgirls of diamond rings and new linoleum kitchen dreams in the All Night Chock Full of Nuts Diner at 44th and Divine. I wanta glide when the orchestra glissandos, and I wanta swissssh silks and satins in all the personal places a goil's perfumed skin should swish her silks and her satins. And I want poils, oh gosh I do -- long twirly stringy creamy-whites to linger in the fingertip caresses of the pink passion manicure I can get half-price any Tuesday at Sylvia's Ladies Emporium. I wanta really reel'out snappy one-liners like I do with my bro, but ones that get big bounding belly-laughs center-stagin' Florenz's opening-night Follies show, and oh yeah, I wanta fan some of dose fancy feathers in all the right configgerations during my lavish cakewalk production numbers. Right now though, there's a hole in my reverie  ~  Ma's yellin' again --  "Mabel Jean Krenicky, it's YOUR turn to do the dishes!"

I think I'll need a stage-name too.

  

" Dear Diary:                                                                      

    To be continued, after I dream a little more . . . "

                              ~ Miss Mabel Jean K.

(C) 2010 ~ Author Absolutely*Kate

Absolutely*Kate believes in believers and sure wishes Miss Mabel Jean K. will dream again, into reoccurring characterizations and of course lavish dance numbers, (fancy feathers inclusive). From captaining creation and wordsmithery collaboration aboard HARBINGER*33, as well as being our guiding light AT THE BIJOU, luck be this lady who strives for class and distinction in authors and artists she comes across on any good sashay along any good street, stretta or gin joint in WebTown. Kate wisecracks with Bogie, knows the RatPack (intimately), and can belt out a tune with both Satchmo and Ms Billie when their presence transcends a room. 

Ignoring massive popcorn crunch under well'turned teal heels, Kate is absolutely proud of striding alongside all the amazing Authors staging their worthy writes up AT THE BIJOU Big*Screen, come our popular Double*Feature Tuesdays & Thursdays. She lives to promote to packed houses, with what she designed and wrote, taking themes, schemes, even dreams the higher. 

Our version of "KT Barnum", behind the spiffy kleig lights, asked us to "THANK*YOU HEARTY" once again ~ for over 500 readers at each of our recent performance shows. (Yippee that!) As more agents, editors, PR-honchos and publishers slip into our plush reader rows, Absolutely*Kate vows to take worthy reputations closer to where they're destined, deservingly, to go.

We kinda think she's cool too ~ 

You oughta get a gander how she renovated our staff lounge!

~ The loyal staff of renown . . . AT THE BIJOU