Free Then and Now by Barbara Cook

untouched, Flahooley even took on Christmas! The song “Sing the Merry,” which wasn’t recorded, satirized the rampant commercialization of the holiday. Here’s the last line: “And for Christ’s sake may this nation soon give Christmas back to Christ.” That didn’t make it past Philadelphia.
    I was trying to learn my part, figure out the show, and overcome my overwhelming nerves; but at the same time that I was riddled with insecurity, I also possessed an unwavering core of self-confidence about how I wanted to sing a song. I feared I was going to be replaced at any moment, yet I still had total belief in my approach to a song. Now get this. The first time I listened to the orchestral accompaniment, I heard a recurring saxophone line that interfered with my phrasing. So I asked our conductor to change the sax line. He said, no, we couldn’t do that. So, I said, “Look—they hired me to do my thing, and I can’t do it with that sax interfering.” I fought for it, and whadda ya know? It was changed!
    One day I was once again standing in the wings, nervous as hell, and for some reason it occurred to me that what I had to do was search for the authentic essence of myself and communicate that—find what was intrinsically mine. There’s only one of me, so there could be no real competition with anyone else. If I sang from my authentic self, then I was only in competition with myself, and with the journey I had set for me and the song. Suddenly a great weight was lifted off my shoulders. That moment in the wings marked the beginning of Barbara Cook, the artist, or, more specifically, the artist I was hoping to become.
    Yip was our first director but he didn’t make it past the out-of-town tryouts. It must have been very difficult when Cheryl Crawford, the producer, said, “You’re not directing your showanymore,” but the truth is that I don’t remember much about being directed by Yip. I was in a complete nervous fog most of the time, an absolute nervous wreck over my acting. Cheryl, one of the very few female producers on Broadway at the time, could be a very tough businesswoman, but she was wonderful to me. She would come round and ask, “Are you okay? Have you had any lunch? Can I send out for you?” She was very attentive and sweet. We got along very well, and at one point she mentioned the possibility of my auditioning for Paint Your Wagon , the upcoming Lerner and Loewe show about the California gold rush. That audition never happened and ultimately, Olga San Juan was cast in the role of Jennifer. I think Cheryl just liked the way I sang.
    When it became clear out of town that Yip wasn’t up to directing the show, the producers brought in Daniel Mann. His first order of business became trying to teach me how to act. Jerry Courtland, my leading man, had some experience, but it was clear that we both needed some help. I remember Danny taking the two of us down to the theater basement while we were in Philadelphia and explaining that even though we weren’t the stars of the show per se, the whole musical did in fact hang on our storyline. It was important that we be up to the task, so he spent many long hours in that basement helping us with our scenes, and also teaching us some basic acting techniques. Not only were we learning to act, but we also had to learn to work the marionettes, and at one point I sang to a hand puppet!
    The funny thing was that even with my inexperience and insecurities, and despite the convoluted plot and political overtones, Flahooley received warm notices during our tryouts in New Haven and Philadelphia. The songs were delightful, audiences loved us,and we all thought we were coming into town with a hit on our hands. Well, we weren’t the first to be wrong on that account.
    My mother came up for the opening on May 14, 1951, and was thrilled that I had made it to Broadway. My father flew in later,