How I Got to Be Whoever It Is I Am by Charles Grodin Read Free Book Online Page B

the exercises
     in a book. I even once spoke at her school and again questioned those exercises, but I don’t think Uta heard about it.
    It did seem her feelings toward me were somewhat mixed, because she also said that every time her acting studio asked me for
     a donation, I sent one. I particularly wanted to do that, because she had charged only three dollars a class.
    As I’ve said, because of all my experience in being kicked out of things, Uta threatening to kick me out of class for asking
     those questions didn’t affect me that much. After three years she did say about me, “He questions everything, which is the
     way it should be.”
    I saw Uta one more time at a party about a year before she passed away. She was sitting on a sofa next to a man we both knew,
     and as I came over to her, she said to the man, “He came into my acting class and acted as though he knew everything.” I said,
     “That certainly wasn’t what I was feeling, and I’m really sorry that I offended you.” She took my hand and kissed it.
    That observation about me acting as though I knew everything came several decades after Uta acknowledged I was right to question
     whatever I felt was worth questioning. I believe Uta had it right that time. It’s the same as in journalism: because we question
     things doesn’t mean we have the answers. America’s recent history tells us once again that the problem isn’t too many questions
     but too few.
    I have a fantasy that one day I’ll be taking a class with Uta in heaven. Once again I’ll question something, and once again
     she’ll threaten to throw me out, but it would still be great to see her. If she asked, I’d even carry an imaginary suitcase
     for her. I can’t imagine a need to open an imaginary window, because my fantasy of heaven is that we’re outside.

Don’t You Dare Show Up!
    R ecently, I was offered a considerable amount of money just to show up and mingle at a party in Philadelphia. Not to speak.
     Just to mingle. I couldn’t do it. I imagined myself mingling, and I’m sure more than one person there would have asked what
     brought me there. “Are you a friend of the host?” “No, I’ve never met him. I’m here because they paid me to come and mingle.”
     I stayed home.
    It all brought to mind another time when I was not only
not
paid to show up but told if I
did
show up, I’d be thrown out of the building. When I first came to New York in the fifties, I was able to get a meeting with
     a major casting director. The woman seemed very pleased to meet me and said I seemed like just the kind of young person she
     liked to reach out to, a serious, dedicated fellow. I assured her I was, and she said she’d be in touch in a few weeks and
     would be able to place me in a very small guest role on a popular weekly drama.
    I walked out of her office at least one inch off the ground. This was in a period when no one had any interest in placing
     me in anything, other than on a line to see if there was a cab available for me to drive, which is what I was doing at the
     time.
    On the way to the elevator, I ran into a young woman I knew from Uta’s class. She turned out to be working as the casting
     director’s assistant. She seemed surprised to see me, and when I told her of the meeting, she said, “I remember you as someone
     who took a lot of long pauses when you did scenes in class.” She didn’t mean it as a compliment. I instantly became uneasy
     and assured her that I could go as fast as anyone wanted me to, and all those long pauses would certainly present no… She
     didn’t seem to be listening, and as she walked away I swallowed hard and said it was really nice to see her.
    After about a month of not hearing from the casting director, I called my former classmate and asked if I could take her to
     lunch. She said she didn’t
eat
lunch in such a way that I chose not to ask about dinner.
    I let another few weeks of silence from the casting director go by