(pictured at right: Schoenfeld and another actress friend of his)
We met after a first rehearsal when I was doing a backers audition for “Awake & Sing” in 2003. He had generously championed a reading by my company from Los Angeles, offering the Shubert conference room as rehearsal space. He had such a presence - a very serious, intimidating gaze. Ed Asner was playing “Jacob” and was rushing off to lambaste Bush on Fox News and the two of them got into how messed up the world was since the 2000 election and how it can never happen again. That's when he found out I was a Lefty.
He invited me and two others downstairs to meet Bernadette Peters, who was starring in “Gypsy.” He brought us into her dressing room before curtain and pointing to me he said, “And this is Lisa Barnes. (pause) Why did you change your name? Are you ashamed of your people?” I said, “No, my name IS Lisa Barnes.” “No it’s not, it’s Greenberger. You’re Jewish.” I politely replied, “Um-mm, no? I’m Irish. Check out the punim. I look like a leprechaun.” The intimidating face melted into a playful smile.
The day after our performance I sent him and his incredible staff some chocolates in gratitude. From Lisa Greenberger. I saw him the following month at Robin Wagner’s 70th birthday party. We danced the polka to Abba’s live serenade, during which he noted, “Oh I see…you like to lead, huh?”
He would take me to the Broadway theatres, showing off the latest innovations; the new twelve foot pit to accommodate “Billy Elliot” at the Imperial; the final number in “A Chorus Line” at the Schoenfeld; tech for “Shrek” at the Broadway;the too many lighting instruments for “Farnsworth Invention” at the Music Box.
I got to join him at the theatre on occasion and he’d keep kicking my foot like a five year old if he didn’t like the acting or writing. He would talk with everyone around Times Square, waiters, tourists, cab drivers… he excitedly insisted one of the mounted police in Times Square - while pointing to the “Equus” marquee - come see his next show. (Because it was about horses? Maybe not?)
Walking into the Little Shubert to see “…a play that will suit you! ‘My Mother’s Italian, My Father’s Jewish, and I’m in Therapy.’” He had his driver take us from 44thSt. for a two block spin. As we walked in, the staff fell all over themselves… “How you doin’, Mr. Schoenfeld?” “Good to see ya, Mr. Schoenfeld!” “Take your coat, Mr. Schoenfeld?” An American In Paris theme music swelling in my head. All the while he greeted everyone by name and introduced me to anyone who would listen. And they all did. He was very proud of the ladies’ room. One stall for practically every row of seats in the theatre.
He talked with a melodious 1930’s syntax. His vocabulary was astounding. “Miss Barnes, I am no mendicant!” (He referred to me as “Miss Barnes” and I, in turn, called him “Mr. Schoenfeld,” unless he pissed me off.) But the reason why I miss him most, was our shared issues with depression and anxiety. He was always astounded that people treated him with such intense reverence and I would remind him, “Do you know who you are!?” And in kind, when I was floundering with career, God, men, the existential abyss, etc…he’d repeat those supportive, sobering words to me.
Shalom, Mr. Schoenfeld, shalom.
