Anything Goes by John Barrowman; Carole E. Barrowman
Authors: John Barrowman; Carole E. Barrowman
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didn’t seem to give a shit about me. I was one of approximately 25,000 students, and instead of asking me what I wanted to do with my talent, the music faculty insisted they knew what I should do with it – andwhat they wanted was to train me as a classical opera singer. Even then, Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers and Noël Coward were more appealing to me as performers, but I think they were too déclassé for U of I’s music department.
Speaking of Ms Rogers, another special moment on the highlight reel of my life, which is up there with meeting George Lucas at Cannes, was meeting Ginger at an American Cinema Awards dinner in 1996. Sadly, I never got the opportunity to dance with her, since she was in a wheelchair that night, but she and I spent a few minutes chatting and the glow of the moment stayed with me for days.
The American Cinema Awards were an annual event designed to celebrate the work of older Hollywood stars. In 1996, I was in LA working on a project for David Gest, who was also producing the awards show. He asked me if I’d escort actress Angie Dickinson to a pre-awards dinner. Of course I agreed. I was staying at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel and Angie picked me up in her Mercedes. I climbed into the car and because her skirt was split high on the side, I noticed her great legs immediately.
‘Wow!’ I gushed. ‘Your legs still look great. I remember when I was eight years old and watched you on Police Woman.‘
She stared at me for a moment and then she said, ‘Would you like to put your other foot in your mouth now or wait until later?’
I began to babble an apology, but she cut me off with a genuine smile and a flick of her wrist. We had a great time at dinner and the next day our ‘date’ was all over the tabloids, with headlines screaming that I was her ‘Boy Toy’ – which was just rubbish.
Notwithstanding my general disappointment with the University of Iowa, during my time there I did manage to get one musical gig. I performed with the Old Gold Singers, the university’s swing choir, which turned out to be the only memorable part of a mostly unmemorable semester.
But guess what? The ‘Dues and Don’t Syndrome’ struck again. I was the freshman, the newbie, and I was given the smaller singing parts in the choir. Merit be damned. It was all about seniority. I felt as if someone had hit rewind and I was back in high school. I really didn’t want to go through this again, but I craved the performance experience, and on the whole I enjoyed travelling with the group (though admittedly that could well have been because I had a crush on one of the other singers, Jim Brucher). I sucked up my pride and stuck it out. In the end, my merit kicked their seniority in the balls.
Many people believe that as individuals we’re the product of some preconceived plan, some grand design that God, whatever you may call Him or Her, has predetermined for us, but I’ve always believed that was rubbish. I am who I am firstly because of genetics, and, running a very close second, because of choices: ones my parents made, such as choosing to emigrate to America; ones their parents made, like my Papa Butler opting to ignore medical advice and instead warming my mum in the oven to keep her alive; and very conscious ones that I’ve made for myself.
I made the decision to get out of Iowa at the end of the term, but in a show of group loyalty, I agreed to go along with the university’s Old Gold Singers to Chicago, to audition to be a summer performer at Opryland, USA.
In the eighties, Opryland was a popular tourist attraction in Nashville, Tennessee, and the theme park was considered the ‘Home of American Music’. A company called Gaylord Entertainment – I kid you not – owned the park, and although it boasted a few roller coasters and other rides, it was best known for its fabulous musical shows. Sort of Broadway meets Blackpool, but bigger and with more twang.
The night before the
Speaking of Ms Rogers, another special moment on the highlight reel of my life, which is up there with meeting George Lucas at Cannes, was meeting Ginger at an American Cinema Awards dinner in 1996. Sadly, I never got the opportunity to dance with her, since she was in a wheelchair that night, but she and I spent a few minutes chatting and the glow of the moment stayed with me for days.
The American Cinema Awards were an annual event designed to celebrate the work of older Hollywood stars. In 1996, I was in LA working on a project for David Gest, who was also producing the awards show. He asked me if I’d escort actress Angie Dickinson to a pre-awards dinner. Of course I agreed. I was staying at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel and Angie picked me up in her Mercedes. I climbed into the car and because her skirt was split high on the side, I noticed her great legs immediately.
‘Wow!’ I gushed. ‘Your legs still look great. I remember when I was eight years old and watched you on Police Woman.‘
She stared at me for a moment and then she said, ‘Would you like to put your other foot in your mouth now or wait until later?’
I began to babble an apology, but she cut me off with a genuine smile and a flick of her wrist. We had a great time at dinner and the next day our ‘date’ was all over the tabloids, with headlines screaming that I was her ‘Boy Toy’ – which was just rubbish.
Notwithstanding my general disappointment with the University of Iowa, during my time there I did manage to get one musical gig. I performed with the Old Gold Singers, the university’s swing choir, which turned out to be the only memorable part of a mostly unmemorable semester.
But guess what? The ‘Dues and Don’t Syndrome’ struck again. I was the freshman, the newbie, and I was given the smaller singing parts in the choir. Merit be damned. It was all about seniority. I felt as if someone had hit rewind and I was back in high school. I really didn’t want to go through this again, but I craved the performance experience, and on the whole I enjoyed travelling with the group (though admittedly that could well have been because I had a crush on one of the other singers, Jim Brucher). I sucked up my pride and stuck it out. In the end, my merit kicked their seniority in the balls.
Many people believe that as individuals we’re the product of some preconceived plan, some grand design that God, whatever you may call Him or Her, has predetermined for us, but I’ve always believed that was rubbish. I am who I am firstly because of genetics, and, running a very close second, because of choices: ones my parents made, such as choosing to emigrate to America; ones their parents made, like my Papa Butler opting to ignore medical advice and instead warming my mum in the oven to keep her alive; and very conscious ones that I’ve made for myself.
I made the decision to get out of Iowa at the end of the term, but in a show of group loyalty, I agreed to go along with the university’s Old Gold Singers to Chicago, to audition to be a summer performer at Opryland, USA.
In the eighties, Opryland was a popular tourist attraction in Nashville, Tennessee, and the theme park was considered the ‘Home of American Music’. A company called Gaylord Entertainment – I kid you not – owned the park, and although it boasted a few roller coasters and other rides, it was best known for its fabulous musical shows. Sort of Broadway meets Blackpool, but bigger and with more twang.
The night before the
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