Right on cue

How old were you?
I must have been 23 or 24. It’s funny because the teachers would treat the dancers like little kids. They were 15 or 16. I started with Eugene Loring in L.A. There were other good teachers there; it was an amazing school. A lot of the movie stars used to take class there. Cyd Charisse used to take private class with this old teacher with a cane who had been a lover of Massine’s. That’s what everyone whispered about. Jane Fonda would take class. I remember one time when we were taking a jazz class. She was behind me and following and I screwed up and she screwed up too. [Laughs in delight]

What was the school called?
American School of Dance. It was on Hollywood Boulevard. They tore it down. But I used to also study with Tania Riabouchinska and David Lichine. Tania was a really good teacher.

How did it happen that you switched to Broadway?
I went on an audition for Applause with a friend of mine, and I got the job. It was at the Palace Theater. I didn’t even have a song, so they asked me to sing “Happy Birthday.” I got the job and my Equity card. I worked for Ron Field twice, for Fosse twice, and for Peter Gennaro and Gower Champion. Gower was great. You know what’s so great about doing a show from the beginning, like Irene, is that there’s so much in you. You do something in rehearsal, and they say, “Do it like him.” I also did King of Hearts for Ron Field, and there was a point when I had to do a cross on a bicycle; a basket would fall out with the costumes and all the crazy people would put the costumes on. So in one rehearsal—the show took place in France —the basket fell and I said, “Merde!” and then at the next rehearsal, Ron Field said, “What happened to ‘Merde!’?” So they put it in the script. Bob Fosse was great to work with. You could tell that he loved dancing and respected dancers. At the auditions, he always apologized whenever he cut anybody. He would say, “I’m known to have cut the best dancers sometimes. Thank you very much.” And do you know who put me in to Dancin’? Gwen Verdon.

What do you mean?
She taught me the show. I was an alternate, so I went in for everybody. A lot of times, during breaks, we’d sit on the floor and she’d be smoking and telling me stories. Here I was sitting on the floor talking to her! Or going to the diner on the corner. Also, when I saw the movie Pajama Game in Cuba, that’s when I wanted to dance. And all of a sudden, there I was: working with Bob Fosse. It’s amazing how life changes for you. I mean, when I was 15, my life completely changed, and then when I started dancing, my life completely changed again. It’s weird. I did Pippin also. It’s funny because things always fall in my lap. I have no ambition and no goals. Never have. And I know if I just go with the flow something will fall in my lap. Before I danced, I used to do cue cards in Los Angeles for Andy Williams and Dean Martin.

I know. And Fred Astaire, too, right?
Yes, on The Hollywood Palace. He was so amazing. One day he called me Tony and I thought, Oh my God, Fred Astaire said my name! He was older then. He did one number with Barrie Chase, who was his last partner. They had to stop in the middle so that he could catch his breath, so when they were doing it with the audience the director would say, “Oh, Mr. Astaire, I’m sorry, we had a problem here—we’re going to have to stop for a minute.” So he would catch his breath and nobody would know that was the reason we were stopping. In those days, it was mostly variety shows. Especially Dean Martin and The Hollywood Palace. Everybody went through there: Ethel Merman and Judy Garland. Even Cyd Charisse. And that’s when I decided, “Maybe I could take classes.” I would see the same dancers all the time; they would go from show to show. I was singing in a folk group with three girls. We were called the LATINFOLK, and then when I got to the hippies and stuff we changed it to the Guacamole Popsicles. [Laughs] We would sing at these coffeehouses in Spanish; I would play the guitar, and we would make money. I thought, Maybe I could sing and dance for a show or something.

Do you still see Alonso?
I do because my nephew is one of the principal dancers for the Cuban Ballet. He’s doing character parts now; he’s starting to slow down. So whenever they were in Madrid or Cancun, I would go and see them. Alicia was always so nice to me. When the company performed in Canada—and those three dancers defected—my sister was gone already. I sat with Alonso in rehearsal, and I said, “You must miss my sister so much,” and she said, “So much that I don’t even want to talk to you about her.” She never went to visit her when she was in the hospital, and a lot of people said, “We know her and she’s never going to go because she’s so afraid of hospitals.” For a while I was angry; then I realized that my sister knew that she was not going to visit and that she was probably all right with that, so I calmed down. She’s completely blind. She would feel my face, but then when she gave the notes to the dancers, I was so amazed. Of course, her husband sits next to her and tells her a lot of stuff. He was a critic, so he knows a lot about ballet, but also she hears the music and the notes she gave were so inspiring and correct. I never saw her in rehearsal like that because when I was a little kid in Cuba, I thought she was the ugliest woman in the world. If I saw her coming, I would go and hide and she would say, “Tony, is that you?,” and make me come out.

Did you meet the dancers [Taras Domitro, Hayna Gutierrez and Miguel Angel Blanco] who ended up defecting?
It was so weird because I was with those kids the night before they did it. I had breakfast with them. As a matter of fact, I had finished reading Julie Kavanagh’s Nureyev book and one of the dancers, Taras, when he stood onstage would pucker his face a little like Nureyev. We were having breakfast and I had brought the book for my niece- in-law. And I took the book over and I said, “You know, I think you look like him,” and he said, “Ah.” And afterwards, I thought, he must have been thinking, Yeah, and like him I’m gonna to run away! [Laughs]

That’s amazing.
It was so weird. It was really strange. I was watching them rehearse Nutcracker, and the three of them were so good. I thought, It’s such a shame that they don’t get to do Balanchine and Twyla Tharp. You know? They dance the same stuff all the time and then Alonso’s choreography, which isn’t that good. One time I asked my sister, “How was the tour?” And she said, “Oh, we looked really good, it was successful, nobody defected.” That was her barometer. She and I never talked about politics; I just knew she was there and that she was a big figure. I figure she must have had to join the Communist party whether she liked it or not. I talked about Bush all the time to her. She would get a little nervous sometimes. [Giggles] Sometimes she would watch Letterman, and they make so many jokes about the politicians and she would say, “How can you talk about the President that way?” And I’d say, “United States—that’s freedom of speech.”

We still kind of have it.
[Sadly] Don’t get me started on politics. This is the worst. And for me it’s so weird because we came here thinking this was the cradle of democracy and it’s like, Wow. Where do you go from here? I wouldn’t live in any other place, but it’s going to take so many years to repair the damage. That’s why, when I go to the ballet, for two and a half hours, I don’t think about anything. It’s total immersion into this beauty and music and the artistry of people who work so hard to perform for you. One time I waited for Nina Ananiashvili at the stage door and I said, “Nina, you were so beautiful,” and she said, “I try.” [Laughs happily] I went to the Kirov every night when they were here. I loved seeing Scheherazade. I saw eight Dying Swans with two of the best ballerinas in the world alternating [Uliana Lopatkina and Diana Vishneva] and they were so different. I think I liked Vishneva the best.

Who are your favorite dancers?
You know, I think that Vishneva is probably the most interesting of them all. She’s got everything. But after her—you’ll be surprised: Veronika Part.

Really? You don’t get more beautiful than that. Even though she can’t whip off the pirouettes like Gillian Murphy or Michele Wiles, her grand jetés are amazing. I try not to watch too much with the binoculars, because you’re supposed to see the whole picture, but I’m on the binoculars with her the whole time. She’s so underused. I think it’s terrible that they haven’t promoted her to principal.

Did you see her Sleeping Beauty?
No, but I heard it was pretty bad! I hear she gets really nervous.

I don’t know—maybe. But she’s very inconsistent.
I agree. But Gelsey Kirkland was inconsistent, even before the drugs, and she used to be my favorite. When I told that to my sister, she got so angry: “I should be your favorite ballerina!” Inconsistency kind of gives a dancer an edge. When I go and see Gillian and Paloma, I know they’re going to be perfect especially Gillian Murphy—she’s going to whip off those turns, so secure, everything is controlled. So it’s pleasure. Gillian and Paloma bring me pleasure, absolutely. You know, when Gillian danced Don Q, she would do the fouettés with the fan? With triple pirouettes? And she wasn’t just holding this fan—she was fanning herself! Sylvie Guillem was another one that would make me giggle. The ease. So when I see Veronika Part, there’s a little more of a human thing about her—you don’t know how well she’s going to do, and when she does really well, it’s exciting. And her beauty onstage—she reminds me of Ava Gardner. She’s beautiful to look at. There are a couple of ballerinas that I don’t like to look at through the binoculars because I don’t think they’re that pretty, but I’m not going to tell you who they are. I don’t think that Veronika Part looks like a ballerina. She looks like a beautiful woman who dances.