After listening to our favorite radio show, “Fibber McGee and Molly,” mom explained that she and Dad were taking me to see my first live stage show. It was 1945.
The show was at the Women’s Prison in Lebanon, Ohio.
At five years old, I didn’t know what to expect. Dad said, “The inmates are the performers.” It sounded scary, but exciting at the same time. I was so full of anticipation that it seemed like a long drive to the prison.
I vividly remember the star of the show singing the hit song of that time, “Pistol Packin’ Momma.” She strutted across the stage in her furry white chaps, twirling and shooting cap pistols.
At the end of her performance, we all rose to our feet, whistling and applauding with a standing ovation. I felt exhilarated yet speechless. I thought they must teach singing and dancing in prison.
After the show, we walked through the crowd to the car. I got in the back seat and curled up with my pink blanket and pillow. Mom turned and looked at me, asking, “Marlene, you are awfully quiet. What did you think of the show?”
I blurted out, “Is there something just a little bit bad that I can do, so I can go to prison and be in the show?”
Mom smiled and said, “If you are a really good girl, I will enroll you in dancing school.” I shouted, “I will be very good!”
I was so relieved that I didn’t have to go to prison to be able to dance in a show. Mom always knew the answer to solving a problem.
Soon after that, mom enrolled me in a dance school, learning tap, ballet, and acrobatics. I knew then that I wanted to be a dancer when I grew up.
My first recital was a proud moment and a dream come true. I was able to perform on stage, enjoy the applause, and did not even have to do something a little bit bad.
