In the late 1980s I was with Ethan Mordden and Rebecca Luker at an Equity Library Theatre production of Harold Rome's Wish You Were Here, about young ladies looking for husbands in a summer camp in the Catskills. I don't like the show much, and the big title song has nothing to do with the story. It was the hit song from the camp's revue the tear before; shall I sing it for you? I was trying to be funny but way too bitchy and kept making derogatory comments about how awful the show was.
At each Equity Library show, the casts took a moment to make a pitch for donations to the theatre. After the pitch, one of the cast said "And we're excited about tonight's performance because the composer Harold Rome is here! Stand up, Mr Rome." He was sitting directly behind my chair, and I was mortified. I spent the second act telling Rebecca how ashamed I was of my behavior. When the audience started to leave, I was too embarrassed to get out of my seat until Harold Rome had left. Mr and Mrs Rome were sitting with Dorothy Rodgers, widow of Richard Rodgers. As she passed me, she put her hand on my shoulder, leaned down, and said, "Don't worry. He's deaf as a post." I will always love Dorothy Rodgers.
