performers like himself in search of a lead on a new job, or word of a travelingcompany that was passing through and needed a pickup performer. Most often all he found was a soft chair and a courtesy cup of tea.
Archie auditioned for several Broadway shows, but the advantages of his handsome face and tall, athletic body were offset by the still noticeable traces of his working-class British accent, which made casting directors reluctant to hire him. He became increasingly intimidated by the act of auditioning—a fear (he later recalled) that manifested itself in the form of a recurring dream. Standing in the center of a lighted stage, Archie is surrounded by a large cast of actors and unable to remember his lines. The result is always the same: public humiliation for not being able to perform and deliver. The dream, with all its socio-sexual implications, appears by all accounts (including Grant's) to have begun approximately the same time period Archie moved in with Orry-Kelly.
Also around this time, Archie managed to earn some money by serving as a male escort to several of the most socially acceptable women in the city. He fell into this type of work after he befriended a fellow he would later identify only as “Marks,” an easy-time hustler of the type that operated on the fringes of the New York theater community. One night Marks set him up to accom- pany Lucrezia Bori, the world-famous Metropolitan Opera lyric soprano, to a swank Park Avenue affair.
The idea of “acting” the role of a black-tie escort appealed to Archie, and Marks easily convinced him that his good looks made him well equipped to play the part. The evening with Bori proved to be the successful debut of a character who would one day be recognizable to all the world—a handsome, charming rake, dressed in the finest tux, with an appealing manner, cleft chin, and devastating smile.
That night, mingling with the upscale crowd, Archie met a fellow by the name of George Tilyou Jr. Over cognac and small talk, a relaxed Archie revealed his “secret” to Tilyou, that he was, in fact, less than he appeared to be. Beneath all his gloss, tails, and sheen, he told his new friend, he was just one more out-of-work actor picking up a few dollars playing Bori's “date.” Tilyou got a great kick out of it, and when Archie told him his best talent was walking on stilts rather than carrying on airs, Tilyou burst out laughing and told him he might be able to help him out with a real job. His late father, hesaid, had created—and his family still owned and operated—Coney Island's famous Steeplechase Park amusement attraction.
They exchanged phone numbers, and when Archie called the next day, Tilyou proved as good as his word. He had managed to secure a park job for Archie as, of all things, a stilt-walker. A few hours later Archie found himself dressed in a bright green coat, jockey's cap, and long black pants. Tilyou directed him to walk around the boardwalk on stilts, wearing a wooden sand- wich board advertising that the steeplechase was open. It was undeniably a step down, and Archie knew it, but escort work was far from steady, and he desperately needed the money to extend his stay in America. The forty dol- lars a week he received from Tilyou, in a job that earned him the nickname “Rubber Legs,” was almost enough to make ends meet.
To get the rest, besides occasional escorting gigs, he sold hand-painted ties that Orry-Kelly made in their Greenwich Village apartment, which had lately become a bit more cramped when Orry-Kelly took in another roommate, an Australian fellow by the name of Charlie Phelps, whose financial contribution was badly needed. How and when Phelps first appeared in Orry-Kelly's life remains unknown, although it may actually have been Archie who met him first, aboard the
Olympic
on his voyage across the Atlantic, for which Phelps, a bit of a vagabond, had hired on as a steward in order to gain his pas- sage to America.
Archie
Archie auditioned for several Broadway shows, but the advantages of his handsome face and tall, athletic body were offset by the still noticeable traces of his working-class British accent, which made casting directors reluctant to hire him. He became increasingly intimidated by the act of auditioning—a fear (he later recalled) that manifested itself in the form of a recurring dream. Standing in the center of a lighted stage, Archie is surrounded by a large cast of actors and unable to remember his lines. The result is always the same: public humiliation for not being able to perform and deliver. The dream, with all its socio-sexual implications, appears by all accounts (including Grant's) to have begun approximately the same time period Archie moved in with Orry-Kelly.
Also around this time, Archie managed to earn some money by serving as a male escort to several of the most socially acceptable women in the city. He fell into this type of work after he befriended a fellow he would later identify only as “Marks,” an easy-time hustler of the type that operated on the fringes of the New York theater community. One night Marks set him up to accom- pany Lucrezia Bori, the world-famous Metropolitan Opera lyric soprano, to a swank Park Avenue affair.
The idea of “acting” the role of a black-tie escort appealed to Archie, and Marks easily convinced him that his good looks made him well equipped to play the part. The evening with Bori proved to be the successful debut of a character who would one day be recognizable to all the world—a handsome, charming rake, dressed in the finest tux, with an appealing manner, cleft chin, and devastating smile.
That night, mingling with the upscale crowd, Archie met a fellow by the name of George Tilyou Jr. Over cognac and small talk, a relaxed Archie revealed his “secret” to Tilyou, that he was, in fact, less than he appeared to be. Beneath all his gloss, tails, and sheen, he told his new friend, he was just one more out-of-work actor picking up a few dollars playing Bori's “date.” Tilyou got a great kick out of it, and when Archie told him his best talent was walking on stilts rather than carrying on airs, Tilyou burst out laughing and told him he might be able to help him out with a real job. His late father, hesaid, had created—and his family still owned and operated—Coney Island's famous Steeplechase Park amusement attraction.
They exchanged phone numbers, and when Archie called the next day, Tilyou proved as good as his word. He had managed to secure a park job for Archie as, of all things, a stilt-walker. A few hours later Archie found himself dressed in a bright green coat, jockey's cap, and long black pants. Tilyou directed him to walk around the boardwalk on stilts, wearing a wooden sand- wich board advertising that the steeplechase was open. It was undeniably a step down, and Archie knew it, but escort work was far from steady, and he desperately needed the money to extend his stay in America. The forty dol- lars a week he received from Tilyou, in a job that earned him the nickname “Rubber Legs,” was almost enough to make ends meet.
To get the rest, besides occasional escorting gigs, he sold hand-painted ties that Orry-Kelly made in their Greenwich Village apartment, which had lately become a bit more cramped when Orry-Kelly took in another roommate, an Australian fellow by the name of Charlie Phelps, whose financial contribution was badly needed. How and when Phelps first appeared in Orry-Kelly's life remains unknown, although it may actually have been Archie who met him first, aboard the
Olympic
on his voyage across the Atlantic, for which Phelps, a bit of a vagabond, had hired on as a steward in order to gain his pas- sage to America.
Archie
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