TV Radio Mirror (Jan - Jun 1957)

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Dance to My Dream Box 3925 Strathmoor {Continued from page 32) of handicaps defeated, heartbreak conquered, disaster valiantly defiled. At the beginning, there was a little girl in the kitchen of a cold-water flat in south Chicago. She stood, tense with anticipation, in her very best imitation of a ballet dancer waiting for her music cue. A wind-up Victrola made loud scratching noises, working toward the opening bar of music. The music began, and the little girl danced raptly. That was the time when it seemed that the Depression would drag on forever. Her father was a private chauffeur, and there were few jobs for such men then, fewer than in most lines of work — and, when June Taylor was ten, there were unemployed neople by the millions. She'd had no training in the dance, of course. Unemployed, her father couldn't dream of paying for such luxuries. But, on certain rare and special occasions, she had seen dancers in beautiful costumes, creating greater beauty in the dance itself. So she tried to repeat the dancing she'd seen. But the small, vigorous little dancer stopped while the music still went on. She clenched her hands in the despair only a very special little girl would feel. "I'm not doing it right!" she cried bitterly to the walls. "I don't know how to do it right!" Any other little girl would have given up. But Jvme Taylor, aged ten, went valiantly to a dancing-school headed by Merrial Abbott. It was one of the best dancing-schools in Chicago. And little June gravely proposed a bargain she had worked out. The bargain was an offer to help teach children even younger than she was, in exchange for dancing lessons for herself. It was necessary to be very convincing about her earnestness and her competence. But she was convincing. Merrial Abbott gave her the lessons she needed, and later on, for a time, was her manager and always her fast friend. Only three years later, the need for money at home was more serious than ever. So June, aged thirteen, considered as gravely as before. She borrowed grown-up clothes and high-heeled shoes. She bluffed splendidly about her age. But she did not need to bluff about her dancing. The dancing was the clincher, and she got the job she needed at the work she wanted. She became a member of the chorus lines at the Chicago Theater and the Chez Paree night club. A year later, when she was fourteen, she quit high school to dance with a group called the "Chez Paree Adorables." This was over the impassioned objections of her father. He'd been out of work for months and the family situation was very bad, but he feared for his daughter. Her mother, though, had a firm Irish faith in June, and spirit to match it. She prevailed and June carried on her career. June danced in night-club dance lines and in theaters. She danced with Ted Weems' band, and for Ben Bernie and Ted Lewis. She made friends who stayed her friends. Merrial Abbott, Ted Weems, Ted Lewis, and innumerable others. There have always been good friends — men and women both — in June Taylor's life. But, in 1936, she made a very special one. Sol Lerner was a law-school graduate who'd become the attorney for a talent agent. Coming to New York, June Taylor had been advised to look up this particular agent — who shall be nameless. The agent was tremendously impressed. He wanted to represent her. He wanted to do great things for her. He took her out, one evening, and it became very evident that he wanted to occupy her every moment from then on. It was becoming em P thev ran barrassing to June by the time tney ran into Sol Lerner. June greeted Lerner with a beaming smile and a whispered, "Don't leave me! Don't leave me alone with him!" And Sol Lerner blandly ignored the black looks of his agent client and stuck like glue until the evening was over. He earned June's undying gratitude and he was a good friend for nine yearsthen he made a permanent improvement in the situation. But there were some very good and some very bad times in those nine years between. In 1938, June was in London, dancing with the Ted Lewis band. She was doing very well. She was close to the top in her profession and she was earning money. But most of the money went home, where it was needed. She lived simply. Fine clothes and jewelry didn't mean much to her. A rehearsal costume meant more. She drove herself, not only to perfect her dancing, but to learn and improve in all the things one needed if one were going to be a dancer and even more. Besides dancing with the band, which was work enough, she was also studying drama and diction and singing and French. In between times, she was doing the choreography for Raymond Massey, then acting in "Idiot's Delight." Doing choreography, in June Taylor's book, is not only dreaming up a dance — it is making it come to life in shimmering perfection on the stage. That was work. Studying was work. Dancing as she did was work. It was, altogether, entirely too much. She didn't have time to sleep. She was getting places, to be sure. Alexander Korda, 5ie British film producer, signed her to a seven-year contract with escalator salary clauses that would go up to $2,500 a week. It was his intention to build her up into a movie star — and it wasn't a bad idea. June Taylor was working harder than a ballet class, studying harder than most college students — each activity a full-time occupation — and, in what she fancied was "spare time," working with Raymond Massey on "Idiot's Delight." True, she was using aspirin in place of the sleep she wasn't getting. But, when the Alexander Korda contract was offered and signed, it looked like the high spot of one career and the start of another, more brilliant one. She went back to America to visit her family for four weeks. She was radiant. But she couldn't be anywhere for four weeks and not be pressed to dance. She danced, in the Palace Theater in Chicago. And she collapsed on the stage. The diagnosis was advanced tuberculosis. She went to a hospital, and she stayed, flat on her back, for two years. That would be bad for anyone. It was worse than bad for a dancer. Perhaps it was worst of all for June Taylor, who had so much joy in movement — which was forbidden. . . and dancing — which was then unthinkable . . . and in splendid, zestful, ambitious planning for the future — which was no longer possible. Some people might have died of pure frustration. Maybe even June Taylor would have given up if she weren't the sort of person she is. That sort of person always has friends. There was one friend, Sol Lerner — who'd acted as chaperon when she was bothered by a wolfish agent. Sol Lerner wrote her at least twice a week during those two years. That helped. But it was June Taylor's own will to live that made her soberly concentrate on getting well. At the end of the two years, she decided it was time for her to go home. The doctors didn't agree with her. When she insisted, they told her flatly that, if she