Ruth Page No. 09 [March 20, 1985]

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This is tape number nine, it's 20 March, 85, it will be called 03 -9.

This is Ruth Page, our carpool tape for a direct theater film.

This is a TNT production.

Every time you buy it, you should give one away or throw it away or sell it.

And then you wouldn't be all cluttered up.

But the clothes don't ever go out of style.

They buy really interesting things.

I don't think they ever go out of style.

So my closets are awfully full.

Did you do much shopping? On your trips, you never, there's never any mention of shopping.

I don't want to shop.

No, I never shop.

Well in Hong Kong, at that time when I was there, you were supposed to be...

When you were out on tour in the United States, you used to send your laundry home to Indianapolis.

How weird, I don't remember that.

You used to, before you were married of course, you used to send it home.

Well I certainly wonder why.

Apparently it was difficult to get it done on the road.

And you would send it home.

And they would send it back to you.

Well that's an interesting item, certainly very interesting.

The reason it made me think of it is that there was a note that you enclosed to your mother about having bought something.

And you said, this will be a good thing for my trousseau.

And it's just easier to buy these things when you run into them than to go shopping all the time.

Yes, I think that's true.

I never go shopping.

If I see something, I get it.

If I think I'm going to use it or see a dress I like, I get it.

I don't ever go shopping in that sense.

I hate to shop.

But you've picked up interesting things in your travels.

I mean this house is full of them.

Did you always do that, even, you know, buy interesting things? The dolls, the dolls bands? Yeah, in that library, those are real Balinese dolls I bought there.

That's a puppet.

One of them is a puppet.

Yeah, I bought things like that when I saw them.

I could carry them home.

I was reading today, somebody gave me one of those Siamese headdresses.

They're tall, you know, and they're perfectly beautiful.

Somebody gave me one in Rangoon and I carried it all around the world with me.

Because I liked it so much, I brought it home.

It's around here someplace, I don't know where.

Probably over at the school, all my costumes now are over there.

I don't have any costumes here.

Were you consciously, as you were traveling, before you had begun to really do choreography, were you doing research on costumes and that kind of thing, making notes, or were you just soaking it all in? I didn't make any notes, I don't think.

I just was interested in them.

I was interested in the way different countries danced.

Each country has their own way of dancing, you know, each.

And that's awfully interesting how different they are.

It's rather fascinating.

The Japanese are so different from the Balinese, and the Balinese, with Java's right next door to it, they dance entirely a different way.

Siam, they dance differently.

I don't know much about the dances of India.

I never studied dancing in India.

Why not? Hmm? Why not? I don't know, I have no idea.

I don't know.

Just didn't.

Just didn't? Just didn't.

What about Spanish dancing? Oh, I love that.

Yes, I studied that very seriously.

Because Baum sent me, Adam Baum sent me to a Spanish teacher in New York named Aurora Ariaza.

And I'm so grateful that he did send me to her because I like Spanish dancing.

I used it a lot in the operas.

You know, when I was at the operas, I've been in opera companies all my life.

You need all those different kinds of dances that would fit into the operas.

What is there about Spanish dancing that is so demanding and so different, so especially demanding? Is it the castanets or is it...? Well, I never learned to play the castanets.

Well, it's the way they stamp on the positions of their bodies.

And it has a character.

All the national dances have character.

They're all in the mazurkas, very different from Apollonés.

And all the dances are different.

But I just happen to like the Spanish ones the best.

And all over Spain, they're different from each province.

It has a different kind of a dance.

I remember the Spanish gypsies when I...

Where was it? I think it was in Ronder, someplace where they lived in caves at that time.

And there wasn't even any floor.

They just danced in the dirt in their bare feet, you know.

I found that awfully interesting.

Now I understand the caves are all got floors in them and they wear heels.

And it's more...

call me a faux.

So as you were traveling, you were never consciously doing dance research.

You were just looking at things that interested you.

Dance was the most interesting thing.

Well, yes, when I was traveling.

Mostly it was dancing myself.

I didn't have too much time.

But whenever I could, I tried to see the local dances and tried to learn them.

Yeah, and then there was that wonderful eight -month trip.

Back from Japan, where you really got to see so much.

You danced when you went to Buenos Aires to dance in Cokdor.

You also danced for the Prince of Wales.

What do you remember about that incident? Well, it was an opera called Lorelei, I think.

And I didn't dance it towards the very end.

And I don't think the Prince of Wales was very interested in opera.

And so he came late purposely and they didn't start the opera until he came.

So that poor man, I danced about five o 'clock in the morning, I think it was.

And the poor Prince of Wales had to...

well, he had to be polite, you know.

So I do remember that.

Yeah.

And then you came back to Chicago, where the Chicago Allied Arts was really getting itself going, getting it started.

However, and you were by this time married to Tom, just newly married.

However, that wasn't much of a season that Chicago Allied Arts was doing, was it? I mean, it was just...

No, I don't think so.

It was rather, oh, there were a few performances here and there all around.

That must have made it very difficult for you to live, because there really wasn't very much to do, very much income being generated by your dancing.

Well, it was enough.

I didn't need much money.

And Tom was still at that point working for his father's block.

I guess so, yes.

And you were living, as a matter of fact, with Tom's father.

Yes, we were.

A remarkable man.

I learned a lot from him.

What did you learn from him? Well, I learned he could sit in a room and have millions of people all around him talking and carrying on and drinking, and he could completely concentrate on what he was doing.

He never knew...

I thought that was very...

Oh, there's my telephone.

Somebody want to answer? There's one, it's right out in the hall.

She'll get it.

It's right there.

She, Carmen, can't ever answer the phone.

That's a good thing we're here.

She can't understand anything.

Now, in February of 1926, you first performed Peter Pan and the Butterfly at the Goodman Theatre in Chicago.

Oh, that's...

A role made for you, I should think.

Yes.

Who was it, Carmen? Sometimes it says the name of Mr.

Peterson, please.

Mr.

who? Peterson.

Oh, maybe they're asking for Loretta.

Did you leave this number? No, she asked for Mrs.

Payson.

Peterson.

Would you like Loretta to take a message? Yeah.

Let him leave his telephone.

Ask him what he wants.

Yeah, find out what he wants, Loretta.

I don't know anybody named Peterson, I don't think.

Tell him I'm busy.

It's for her.

Oh, it's for her.

No, thank you, darling.

Do you like coffee or anything? This is fine, Carmen.

Would anybody else like coffee? Tea.

You want coffee? I'm going to have some tea, I think.

Tea.

She makes wonderful tea.

Don't take the cookies away, Carmen.

They'll all get eaten ultimately, I promise you.

Should I keep rolling? Yes, absolutely.

Peter Pan.

We were talking about Peter Pan and the Butterfly.

There's some wonderful pictures of you as Peter Pan.

Yeah, I was Peter Pan.

I was a very Peter Pan -ish character, I think.

It was a cute little dance, very cute, and it always got en cord.

What kind of a dance was it? I mean, what can you remember about it? Well, I came in with little pipes.

It was a simple little dance, but cute.

Then I found this dead butterfly, and I was trying to make it fly.

I don't remember what happened to the poor butterfly.

I think he did fly away, finally.

But it was a cute little dance.

It was very charming, very youthful.

Very Ruth Page.

Yes.

You danced it a lot? Yes, all the time, every place.

And the costume was very...

Yes, you've seen the pictures in the costumes.

Very sort of jaunty.

Remesov designed the costumes.

It was a charming costume.

And Remesov was later to work with you a great deal.

Yes, I worked with Remesov a lot.

He came over here...

Do you remember a thing called Balieff Chauphsouris? Well, it was a very, very successful sort of a show.

And Balieff was a real character.

I don't know how to describe him.

I can sort of vaguely remember it.

And Remesov came over.

He was the artist for the company.

That's where I first knew him.

And he was a great friend of Adolf Böhm's, too.

I met him through Adolf Böhm.

Then, unfortunately, Remesov got a job, or fortunately for him, in Hollywood doing films.

So every time I wanted costumes, I'd go out to Hollywood and get them.

He lived in Palm Springs, I remember.

I enjoyed going out there.

He was a very interesting man.

A very great artist, I think.

You've been fortunate to work with a number of very great artists in the course of your career.

Noguchi and...

Clavet.

Noguchi? Yes, I worked a lot with him.

Yes, Noguchi.

Is that one of Noguchi? Yes.

Do you know him? Yes.

I love it.

He's really got involved.

Yes, indeed, he designed a number of things for Ruth Walton.

Including, I wanted to ask you, I cannot find any pictures of the famous sacks and sticks costumes.

Where are they? I mean, the wonderful Noguchi sack that he designed.

Well, they're right in the living room there.

Well, I know the drawings, but I mean...

Oh, pictures? Photographs.

Oh, I'll give you some.

I guess I'm in the other room.

They were wonderful costumes, they must have been.

Yes, they were.

Jersey sacks, you got inside of them, you could do anything you wanted to.

I have a lot of pictures of them, if you want to see them.

Well, yes, we will, and when we get to it.

Yes, thank you.

He's an enormously talented man.

Okay, that's it.

You guys are...

This is an interesting thing.

I mean, cameraman, he never does that.

That's how involved he's gotten in listening to you.

He never speaks up.

Okay, well, now, 1926.

There you were in Chicago.

It was summer.

And the Ravine opera came to you, I think, at Adolf Böhm's suggestion, and asked you to become their ballet director and premier danseuse, right? I don't know whether it was Adolf Böhm's idea or whose it was, but they offered me the job.

Well, how do you remember it, Ruth? Maybe it's wrong in these books.

Well, Mr.

Eckstein, Louis Eckstein, was running it, and he was looking for somebody to do the ballets there.

I don't know how he found me.

I have no idea.

But I was always glad to have that job because that's where I learned all about opera.

I was there until he died, and they had marvelous opera there, you know? Lucretia Bori and Martinelli and Johnson, Edward Johnson, and all the greatest singers.

They'd come out here and spend the summer, take houses and spend the summer.

And they did all the classic operas, and they did also sort of knowledges.

They did Rondinet and Marouf and Amor Brouhoud.

And I think it was extraordinary company.

The more I think of it, the more extraordinary I think it was.

And then when he died, everything changed there.

It was a charming little theater that now it's an awful looking thing, but it was a charming small theater.

And we all loved performing there, loved spending the summer at Revinia.

Everybody, all of us used to take houses out there and lived there all the time and worked very hard.

This was, I believe it was six, six years actually, six seasons that you were the ballet director at the Revinia.

I thought it was seven years, but maybe, I don't know, it doesn't matter.

Six or seven, it doesn't matter.

Until he died.

Until he died.

Now at the time at which they came to you in 1926, I mean it's hardly necessary to point this out, you were 26 years old and you had never really choreographed anything other than dances for yourself, which you'd been doing since you were born practically, in your life.

Yeah, that's true.

They took a big chance on me.

They really did take a chance.

But it came out, it was fun.

You weren't frightened? No.

I knew I could do it.

It's a special thing.

Opera is a very special thing.

I've always liked opera and I like to choreograph for operas.

No choreographers don't.

I know, I know.

And it is indeed one of your strengths, one of your great strengths.

The first season, this was your first opportunity to really use other people's bodies as well as your own to choreograph for other dancers, I'm saying it clumsily.

Was that difficult for you to make a change to doing that? No, it seemed perfectly natural.

Were you worrying about scenery and costumes? Well, I think they rented all the scenery from the Metropolitan of New York, if I'm not mistaken.

I don't really know, I don't pay too much attention to the scenery, frankly.

The costumes, I gather, were none too special and you wrote your mother and you said to her, Mother, will you help me and will you make some costumes for me? Because you were, of course, the lead dancer.

Yes, I never liked the costumes that the opera gave you.

Of course, you should have to wear the ones that they give you, it should fit into the opera, but I didn't.

I think you should have to, I was.

Of course.

Yes, of course, right.

That very first season, you did a great many operas.

The first one that is listed here is Carmen.

You did Carmen, Aida, Faust, Samson and Delilah, Traviata.

Really? Yes.

You see what an interesting repertoire they had.

Don't you think that's rather extraordinary? Nobody does that now.

Lyric does six operas a year, I believe.

Six or seven.

How much rehearsal time, I mean, how did you approach it, Ruth? How much rehearsal time did you get with the dancers? What was it like? I got up all the time I wanted.

They were paid by the week, so I could rehearse whenever I wanted to.

And the directors with whom you worked who were directing the operas? They were very cooperative.

I forget who they were.

De Freire, I think, was one of them.

And isn't that funny? I can't remember who the directors were, but they were all very cooperative.

You discussed it with whoever was directing it, and then you did what he wanted.

He didn't like it, he'd tell you, and if I didn't like it, I'd tell him.

And we got together all right on it.

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