Life Is Not a Stage by Florence Henderson

me. When you come from a disadvantaged and deprived situation you have a tendency to either become hateful and mean or end up as a type of person who is more giving in nature—giving, in fact, in compensation for what you didn’t receive yourself. I chose the latter. I also made another conscious decision: to be in the company of achievers rather than losers. I was attracted to role models like my teachers and Ruth Helen, people whom I wanted to be like or whose achievement I felt could be within my grasp someday.

CHAPTER 4
Wide-Eyed and Confident
    T he burning question on the lips of all of my classmates the last year of high school was, “Where are you going to college?” The girls I knew best were mostly from affluent families, and having the financial wherewithal to go to college was a nonissue. The very fact that they asked me about my plans was proof that none of them knew of my impoverished reality. It also helped that we all wore uniforms. What little they did know was that I lived in another town on the other side of the river. I had never invited anyone to visit because I was ashamed of my house and my father’s condition. The only exceptions on both counts, of course, were Oscar and Ruth Helen. Ruth Helen came to my home on a few occasions to pick me up or drop me off. But even she respected my situation. She didn’t ask to come in but stayed in the car.
    There was more to it than just saving face when I told them with assurance, “I’m going to the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York City.” I had first learned about the school while leafing through the thick college guidebook in the school library. “Founded in 1884, it was the first conservatory for actors in the English-speaking world…its mission is to provide students with the tools needed to make acting their profession.” Immediately, I was certain that this was the place for me. But as good of an imagination as I had, I did not see any possible way of getting there. It was more in the category of a wild hope.
    Ruth Helen knew of my dream and decided to take initiative on her own. Her family was very wealthy, and she was extra sensitive to my circumstances because of her father’s alcoholism. She also loved music, and at her house I had heard a recording of opera for the first time, a performance by a Brazilian soprano named Bidú Sayão. Ruth Helen decided to talk to her family and explain how badly I wanted to go to New York. They knew me, but why would they want to help me? Ruth Helen and I had talked about it, and of course, I felt a little uncomfortable simply because I needed help. But I trusted her (and still do), and I was honored that she believed in me enough to take action.
    “She’s the lead in the school musical. Please come and hear her,” Ruth Helen told them. So her family agreed to come see me in Jerry of Jericho Road , a popular operetta in school performance repertory at the time.
    “She’s good,” they said after the performance, but they had another thought in mind. They knew Christine Johnson, a very successful singer who had recently moved back from New York to Owensboro to marry her childhood sweetheart. Christine had created the role of Aunt Nettie in the original Broadway production of Carousel and was the first to sing “You’ll Never Walk Alone” and “June Is Bustin’ Out All Over,” which became popular standards. She was also a distinguished operatic singer with the Met. So Ruth Helen’s parents took me to sing for her to find out what she thought.
    Christine was very tall with a powerful and imposing presence complemented by a very open face. She was also pregnant with her first child at the time. Christine took me through some vocal exercises, a type of training totally new to me that I really enjoyed. She also spent time talking to me and asking me questions. “What do you know about New York?” she inquired. I told her what little I had learned from going to the movies. She listened