What A Sad Day For The Theater, And For Me, Personally!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                            And to think this happens, barely a month after my father's passing, which has some bearing on the story I am about to tell.

                             Because of my father's death, I have been hesitant about seeing the forthcoming revival of "Carousel."  Not because it lacks quality, but because, I know myself well--there are individual moments, even phrases and melodies, throughout this show, where I know I will lose it, and weep copiously.  And that is on a good day. It can only be worse, in the face of my father's passing.

                               Still, I do want to see it.  I mean, there is that score, and the fabulous Jessie Mueller, whom I had seen do Carrie a few years back at the NY Philharmonic, is now doing Julie Jordan!  Oh, my God!  She is following in the career steps of Barbara Cook, who did the same thing.

                               I went to Broadway World, looking for articles, and especially, maybe, a video, which I hoped would entice me into summoning up the courage to see "Carousel."

                               But I saw something else that floored me.

                               On the morning of March 17, Sammy Williams, one of the Big Six in the Original Cast of "A Chorus Line," passed away, at the age of 69.  He is the fifth member of that cast to pass on--all of them men--and the first of the famous Big Six.

                                 What worries me is no cause of death was given, and that always saddens me.  If the reason is familial privacy, I can respect that, but  when this is done, my mind goes to some of the darkest places, which I hope was not the case with Sammy.

                                   My father and I are connected by this show.  We saw the Original Cast at a Saturday matinee, on October 25, 1975, a date I treasure forever.  I was enraptured by the whole show, but Sammy's Paul monologue was not only brilliantly written, and performed, but telling.  I had a secret of my own, at the time, and, during the monologue, I kept looking over at my father to see if he had any idea. I don't think he did.

                                     Earlier that week, at college (I was 20, then) I had had my very first sexual experience. Of course, it was gay, darlings.  What else would you expect?????????????

                                     "A Chorus Line" has seeped into my bloodstream.  I have seen close to 40 performances of it, and will be seeing another a week from Wednesday, which I regard as a tribute to my father, and now Sammy.

                                        I can do some of the steps.  But not that opening "step-kick-switch" thing.

                                        But I am sad about Sammy's passing.  First, because it was too soon. Second, because he was one of the best male dancers in the cast, and a hell of an actor.  I am sad, again, the cause of death was not given.

                                          Mostly, I am sad it has been given very little coverage.  Not in The New York Times, not anywhere but lower end and social media.

                                            If you visit the lobby of the Shubert Theatre, currently housing Bernadette Peters and Company, in "Hello, Dolly!," turn around and looked behind you.  There is a gold embossed plaque honoring "A Chorus Line's" original Broadway run at the Shubert, with the line assembled.  And Sammy is there, near the end, on the right, before Priscilla Lopez.

                                              Go and visit this plaque this week, and think about Sammy's historic contribution.

                                                And to those who make the decision, I think Broadway's  lights should be dimmed, in honor of Sammy.

                                                 He was an actor, a TONY winner (for Paul) and helped make "A Chorus Line" the iconic theater work it is.

                                                  That's enough for many lifetimes.

                                                    Rest In Peace, Sammy.   I will always remember you, for your performance in the show, and every November 13, your birthday, when Musical Theater Week rolls around.

                                                     Like all of us, he "did what he had to do."