Here's to Life. Here's to Love.

In my twenties, I found myself standing on the stage with Barbara Cook. I was a student in one of her famous master classes, this one in St. Louis. Believe me, the story of how I even came to be there that day is pretty good in itself, but it isn't relevant to this part of the story. The main thing that helps establish my state of mind is that, in October 1999, I'd been separated from my husband for about 2 weeks. (We would divorce early the next year.)

I'll save the story of what happened in the master class for another post (or not -- I'll probably tell you over coffee if you ask.) That day, though, she encouraged me and said she thought cabaret was "my field". After the class, I told her she couldn't possibly know how much her words had meant. Cheesy, I know, but...fragile state of mind! She took my email address with promises to email me later that night. She did not, and I wasn't surprised. She did email me the next day and it was the beginning of a friendship of sorts.

Up until now, this isn't something I'd considered sharing publicly. It always felt somewhat exploitative to me. But when I got the news of Barbara's passing the other day, I went from zero to sobbing all over my desk in about 2 seconds. I was flooded with memories all day. Mostly, though, I'm sharing it now because I love telling people that Barbara Cook is everything you hope she was and more. Note -- there are more stories, but I wrote what came to me in this first draft. I may do more posts. Later. Here you go!

I was visiting NYC the next year (2000) and asked if she had any shows coming up. She didn't, but instead she invited me to the recording studio where they were laying down tracks for the studio album of Lucky in the Rain. She came to meet me at the door of the studio, took me by the hand and led me (still by the hand!) on a tour. Before heading back to her mic, she introduced me to everyone and asked them to treat me well. I sat on a sofa in the booth while she recorded "On the Sunny Side of the Street". At some point, Malcolm Gets came in to record as well. She introduced him to me saying, "Do you know him from Caroline and the City"? I said to him, "I do, but I first knew you from the Merrily recording" which made him laugh. The rest of the details (including what Malcolm Gets recorded) are fuzzy, but it was a fun day!

The next year (2001 for those who are keeping track...and still reading), I moved to NYC. Quite honestly I flailed along for a while - having trouble finding a job. Back in those days I didn't have a cell phone and I had to go to an internet cafe to check email. Imagine my surprise when one day, Barbara emailed to ask for my number and later left me a voicemail on my answering service. (Millennials, you'll have NO idea what that means, I'm sure.) She was offering me a job. I called her back and made arrangements to meet her at her apartment. HER APARTMENT.

Ever the Southern woman, Barbara greeted me warmly and made her apologies for not being quite ready for me before scurrying back to her bedroom. I wandered into the dining room and was immediately drawn to her bookcase. What does Barbara Cook read? Everything, it turns out. I made my way down to the end when I suddenly found myself face-to-face with a Tony Award. Her Tony Award for The Music Man. I seriously almost burst out into tears right there. It was completely surreal to be new to the city, just beginning my career and to see evidence of the spectacular career she had right in front of me. As if on cue, Barbara entered the room and noticed I was choked up. Haha!

Barbara: Are you alright?

Me: That's....a...Tony Award.

Barbara: Well, that was a long time ago, Darlin'...

I worked for her that summer, mostly adding up receipts for taxes and making occasional trips to the grocery store. She was leaving for London in July to do a run of Mostly Sondheim and, because she was crazy generous, she thought of a way to keep me busy and employed while she was gone. I retyped all of her lyric sheets into a file. So many lyric sheets.

She invited me to come with her to rehearse in Wally Harper's apartment, which was a dream come true in itself. They even asked me to sing, which I did. I was WAY TOO intimidated to do one of the Sondheim things, so I chose "Some Enchanted Evening". I know they said nice things to me, but I don't remember the exact response -- just that Wally was the most wickedly talented person. They left for London the next week and eventually were due to return in September. I'll skip here, because it was at this point that life changed for everyone. 9/11 - it delayed her trip back and we didn't work together too much after that.

In November 2001, I moved back to St. Louis, but Barbara and I stayed in touch. She came back to St. Louis in 2004. I saw her concert and went backstage to talk with her afterwards. Barbara and Wally were so sweet to me and my mom, but I remember so strongly that I thought Wally looked awful, though he was just as friendly as before. Years later I found out it was his last performance and was only a few weeks before he died.

I returned to NYC in 2007. Each time I would email Barbara about a performance I was doing (either cabaret or theatre), she would respond and tell me how sorry she was that she couldn't be there. Usually, she even gave me specific reasons like performance dates. Haha. I didn't expect her to come. Ever. But every time she couldn't make it, she'd tell me to keep her in the loop on what came next, so I did.

In 2008 I was a contestant in the first Metrostar competition at the Metropolitan Room. I was chugging along, making the cut, so I'd email her with updates. One day, to my utter shock, she emailed me to say she would DEFINITELY BE THERE TOMORROW. What??? I frantically called Lennie Watts, the host, because I knew it was sold out. He assured me if Barbara Cook wanted to come, they would get her in -- along with her two friends. I couldn't believe she was there. After the show, she introduced me to her friends - one of whom was Pamela Myers. Now, to most people that's cool, but my first professional theatre gig was playing Marta in Company -- which Pamela Myers originated, so I was over the moon. They were all gracious and weren't able to stay long to chat, but Barbara emailed me an encouraging message the next day.

Early the next year, I decided to attend her CD signing and discussion at Barnes and Noble. She spent part of the time talking about her struggles with weight and self-confidence, among other things. The place was mobbed, so I didn't stick around to talk to her, but emailed her that night. I asked if she'd consider officially becoming a mentor. I passionately told her how much it meant to me to hear her talk about her weight struggles, since I had the same struggles. She responded and asked me to come over to her apartment to chat.

This was probably one of the most invaluable days of my life, not that I want to be dramatic about it. She had kind words about my performing, and told me didn't think that was the problem. She was concerned about how I was presenting myself - my hair, my makeup, my performance clothing. She gave me very practical advice for how to dress myself for the stage and then asked me to follow her into the bedroom. Barbara Freaking Cook then had me try on some of her clothes - the flowing pieces you see her in on stage. Of course, we both knew they weren't the right choice for me, but it was helpful to see myself from a new perspective -- wearing silhouettes I hadn't considered. She then sat me down and sprayed my hair out of my face and started putting makeup on me. Ha!! By the time I left I was bronzed and contoured and way inappropriate for the daylight hour, but then she'd also given me some makeup brushes and something much more valuable -- her time and attention. She even followed up with me to ask if I was playing around with changing my makeup -- and of course I did!

The last story I'll tell for now, because wow this is way longer than I'd thought I was capable of writing, is also from 2009. She wrote me to out of the blue with an idea. She was doing a residency at Feinstein's at the Regency and needed someone to sell CDs before and after the show, and she wanted to know if I was interested. In return, I could see the show as many times as I liked. The first night the club manager didn't let me in because that was the policy. After the show Barbara asked me how I enjoyed the show, and I had to tell her I hadn't gotten to see it. I don't know what she did, but they let me in for all the other performances I worked. I think I ended up seeing it 8 times!

Before the show I'd go up to her hotel room at The Regency and pick up the box of CDs. It was my favorite time, because she'd ask me to hang out while she did her hair and makeup. Then I'd go downstairs and sell some CDs and try to keep my calm as famous people walked in for the show. Then after the show I'd sell more CDs before returning upstairs to her hotel room with the box. I treasured that time hanging out with her a little, but I remember mostly nothing specifically. And of course as a baby cabaret artist, it was an unforgettable experience to see the master artist do the same show multiple times. I marveled at the nuances she found each night -- how she'd dig a little deeper into certain lyrics. I'd obsess over a small change she made in the program order. I wondered how her patter could feel so fresh but always lead straight to the point. I learned an incredible amount about the type of cabaret singer I wanted to be. I'm an avid note-taker, but I couldn't dare look away long enough to jot down a thought. It was like I was seeing a new show every single time.

People talk about the power she had to make you feel like you're the only one in the room. I've seen Barbara perform with the NY Philharmonic and I've seen her perform with just piano. There will never be another storyteller like her. Her wit, warmth and exquisite voice are unmatched. As a singer, Barbara could indeed reach each person as if they were the only person in the room. This isn't surprising to me, because that's how she was in her personal life too. I'm certain that there are many other singers who had strong connections to her like I did -- who received this kind of encouragement, and that makes what she shared even more remarkable. Of course I'd love to believe that she took the time she did with me because she saw talent. Maybe she did. But, I also think when she looked at me she saw someone who had trouble feeling as if she is "enough". Barbara very often shared those vulnerable feelings of self-doubt in interviews and master classes.

The title of this post comes from a song Barbara included in her show at Feinstein's - Here's to Life. I can still hear the way she'd emphasize,"I had my share, I drank my fill/And even though I'm satisfied, I'm hungry still."

The song opens with these lines:

No complaints and no regrets I still believe in chasing dreams and placing bets And I have learned that all you give is all you get So give it all you've got

I will, Barbara. I will. Thank you for inviting me to be a small part of your universe. There will never be another artist like you.

Barbara Cook

Ocotber 25, 1927 - August 8, 2017