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nights later his golden moment arrived. The producer phoned up from the lobby that he had an idea about the second act, and could they have a talk? "Certainly," said the playwright. "Come right up." But when the producer got upstairs the playwright met him out in the hall. "We'll have to talk here," he said. You're not paying for my rooms."

ON "STRIKE UP THE BAND"

If I had to name what I consider the best song in any show of mine, it would be George Gershwin's magnificent march at the end of the first act of Strike Up The Band – that was the name of the song, too. I have always regretted that I failed to provide a better book on that occasion – a composer of musical comedy is so horribly dependent on the quality of the book.

Incidentally, I did have a moment of pleasure out of the failure of that show. Edgar Selwyn, who produced it, was wisely unwilling to hazard too much of his own money, and persuaded a rich Kentuckian (I think his name was Levy) to help back the show. This turned out to be nothing less than genius on Mr. Selwyn's part, because in a single tryout week in Philadelphia Strike Up The Band hung up a record which, to the best of my knowledge, never has been equalled to this day. It lost $22,000. In one week, I mean.

I am not sure just how much Mr. Levy dropped in all, but it was considerable. At all events, it was some four or five years after the debacle that I encountered him again. He came up to me in the lobby of a theatre, full of pleasure at seeing me. "Well!" he cried. "Here you are!" And with that he ushered forth his wife. "My dear, here is the man that you have been wanting to meet all these years. George Gershwin!"

Then before I could even give him an argument, he plunged on. "Tell me," he said – "tell me one thing. With all the magnificent music that you have written, all the money that your shows have made, why is it that I had toinvest in the only one that was a failure? Why wasn't Strike Up The Band a big success?"

I have always flattered myself that I made the only possible answer. I said, "Kaufman gave me a lousy book."

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ON TRYOUT TOWNS

Boston and Philadelphia are fine, but too comfortable and pleasant. Somehow that's not show business. I am a veteran of too many of these pre-New York trips, and I am used to New Haven and Wilmington, where the suffering is keener. In those towns things loom up in their proper proportions, and the matter of fixing the second act curtain takes second place to whether you can get room service after eleven o'clock at night. (The answer is simple: you can't.)

New Haven is a charming town, as I understand it, but so far as I'm concerned after you've seen the Yale campus you're through for the week. Once, back when Marc Connelly had a weekly dramatic class at Yale, Max Gordon and I showed up at the college and spent a pleasant hour telling the boys and girls all about show business. Since we had a juicy flop in town at the moment, I can't imagine why the class paid any attention to us. Maybe they didn't and are happy and successful today.

It was Joe Fields who, standing one day in the lobby of New Haven's leading hostelry, looked about him with a baleful eye and observed: "You know, they opened this hotel in New Haven twenty years ago, and never did bring it in."

My own fondest memory of that hotel has to do with my attempt to go out the front door one day. That was all I wanted to do – go out the front door. But I didn't quite make it. As it happened, it was a Friday afternoon, and the Wisconsin football team was due in town to play Yale the following day. Just as I was going through the door, or trying to, the team arrived – forty-seven bruisers averaging six-foot-six and each weighing about 296 pounds. Since they beat Yale 26 to 0 the next day you can imagine what they did to me. It was not quite an equal contest. The more I plunged the line, or whatever it's called, the farther back I was pushed. They finally scored a touchdown with me somewhere out in the garbage patch, behind the kitchen.

As for Wilmington, I can't explain it, but somehow you always have a bad last act in that town. I know it's not the fault of the authors, so it must be Wilmington.

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NEW
[[image - photograph of record titled 'Evita']]
PREMIERE AMERICAN RECORDING
2-RECORD SET INCLUDES LIBRETTO WITH SCENES OF ORIGINAL BROADWAY CAST.

Lyrics by TIM RICE
Music by ANDREW LLOYD WEBBER
Directed by HAROLD PRINCE
Produced by ROBERT STIGWOOD in association with DAVID LAND
Executive Producers R. TYLER GATCHELL, JR., PETER NEUFELT
Music Produced by ANDREW LLOYD WEBBER and TIM PRICE