Hearing Liberace’s opening act rehearse was unforgettable

Editor's note: the following Vintage Vegas column originally ran Aug. 6, 2008.

In 1963, the Riviera was the hot spot of the Strip, and I was lucky enough to be a Dick Humphries Dancer in the showroom. Shecky Greene played in the lounge to standing-room-only audiences, and top stars played the showroom, such as George Burns, Louis Armstrong, Harry Belafonte, Rowan & Martin, and my favorite, Liberace, because he mixed classic music I loved with pop that everybody liked.

I had worked with Liberace before, at the Moulin Rouge in Hollywood and on the television series "Club Oasis," so when the entertainment director mentioned that Liberace was coming in next, we dancers were happy. His show was always easy and fun to do. He had his own special finale, so we didn't have to hang around and work the end of the show as we often did for other stars. Actually, I loved to work with great stars such as Burns, and unlike others, didn't mind waiting.

Also, I knew my mother would be so happy to be able to say "my daughter is working with Liberace in Las Vegas!" back home in Austin, Texas. My mother was in love with Liberace, as were all Midwestern mothers.

Liberace was the first TV performer to figure out that instead of ignoring the camera as all performers were directed then, that if the performer looked directly into the lens of the camera, the performer appeared to be looking into the eyes of the home viewer! And the viewer loved that.

I know of women who put on lipstick before they sat down to watch Liberace. And he was the highest-paid entertainer in Las Vegas at the time -- a major, major star. It's always a thrill to work with huge success, because it's so rare in show business.

When the newspapers all printed that Liberace was to get $50,000 a week at the Riviera, it was national news. According to the brilliant Joyce Moore, one of the curators at special collections in the library at UNLV, that news also set off a huge brouhaha among other hotel owners who were all said to be "the boys."

Evidently, there had previously been an informal agreement among the hotel owners that star entertainers were to be paid no more than $15,000 per week. Breaking that agreement set off a violent argument that almost became public warfare among the other owners. Really bad feelings ensued.

Dress rehearsal, always an especially exciting day, was particularly anticipated with Liberace. We'd been rehearsing for a week, 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., with a rehearsal piano, while also doing two shows a night with the current star, as was our standard schedule. We always looked forward to hearing the music played by the full orchestra. We were all standing around the Riv showroom (no sitting in costume!) when Lee arrived with his entourage of dressers, managers, assistants and gofers. Liberace's friends had started calling him "Lee," I think at his request. Certainly, "Walter" or "Walt" didn't seem exactly appropriate. So, Lee gave us that great grin as his helpers disappeared backstage and came right over to say hello to the gypsies, vaguely recognizing some of us he'd worked with before.

He said, "Girls, you're not going to believe my new opening act. Wait till you hear her. She's not much to look at, and she wears funny clothes but what a voice. And she's only 19!"

By that time, the great Jack Cathcart Orchestra was tuning up in the pit. Incidentally, Cathcart was Judy Garland's brother-in-law. His orchestra employed our city's finest 22 musicians, including the legendary Ronnie Simone, pianist extraordinaire, and the six violins Liberace always insisted upon.

As they were tuning up in the pit, Milt, our gruff stage manager, was checking lights on stage. We heard a lone drum roll, a single spotlight tested the center curtain in "one," Milt's voice said, "Ladies and gentlemen, presenting Barbra Streisand!" And a tall, slight figure dressed in a chic, long gray jersey gown with a sharp New York haircut walked on from the wings. You can imagine what it was like hearing that incredible voice for the first time. Most people remember the first time they heard that voice, just like they remember hearing that John F. Kennedy had been shot, also that year.

We were stunned. She sang "Happy Days Are Here Again" in that dramatic, plaintive arrangement, and we looked at each other in amazement. We knew talent and star presence when we saw it, and here it was, a new one, right in our own Riviera showroom.

It was a very good year indeed, except, of course, for the JFK tragedy. And even that pulled our nation together in grief as nothing else had in that Vietnam era.

I had a very interesting conversation with Marty, Barbra's manager, when I asked him how he had gotten her started. He said that when he wanted a certain person, agent or producer or whatever, to hear her sing somewhere, he simply sent a limousine.

He said that anybody will go anywhere if you send a limo. Even after they have said no, if you call and say the limo is waiting for you, they will get in and go. They wouldn't respond to her photo, or to his eloquent description of her talents, but the limo worked. Another sad comment on the workings of the male mind. Once they saw and heard her, she was booked.

I ran into Ronnie Simone awhile ago, and as we reminisced, he recalled that the next week after that opening, he was called in to work as Barbra's rehearsal pianist for her to learn the songs for her next engagement, a Broadway show. Must have been "I Can Get It for You Wholesale." He said she was very nice.

Another favorite, because of my interest in Vaudeville, was George Burns. At his dress rehearsal, Mr. Burns said, "Girls, I have dinner every night between shows in the Hickory Room. So, if your date ever doesn't show up, or you don't have anything you'd rather do, or you just want to, please join me, either for dinner or for dessert or coffee or whatever you want. Just walk on in and come over to my table anytime. Really."

So one night, I actually did. Mr. Burns saw me immediately and waved me over, standing up and holding my chair, introducing me to his dinner companions, I've forgotten who, and making me feel welcome and comfortable. He told marvelous stories about Gracie, life on the road, the history of show business, etc. I was enthralled.

Fifteen years later, I did two movies with him, small roles, but with billing -- "Going In Style" and "Oh God, You Devil." He didn't seem to remember me on the set, not that he should. He was one of the true greats of our business, and I'm thrilled to have been able to visit with him. He was doing "Rap" back in Vaudeville, as were others, but it was called "Patter." There's really not much new in show business.

Betty Bunch is a former dancer. Today, she works with the national Elderhostel Association. Contact her at bettybunch100@gmail.com.