than they ever did executing ballet steps. In a succession of variety shows, they tap danced and acted out minor, non-speaking roles in dramas and comedies while travelling from one end of England to the other. For one particular run the girls even left Britain and appeared for a couple of months in Paris with the Folies Bergère. Imagine those statuesque beauties sharing the stage with a gaggle of tap dancing English schoolgirls whose average height was 5’3”! It must have been quite a sight. This Parisian run was definitely a high point for the little troupe and contributed to some very swelled heads.
The school kept all the proceeds from the theatre bookings. The girls received their lessons, room and board, and a very tiny allowance. A lot of petty nastiness took place among the dancers. My mother learned to rely solely on herself.
It was at this time that she developed a love of books, especially science fiction adventures. Ryder Haggard and Edward Rice Burroughs were favourite authors. Perhaps this is when she developed another of her lifelong traits. She was a very private person, and fiercely proud. She would have swallowed a poison pill before letting anyone see any trace of weakness or vulnerability, any reason for pity.
Life on the road consisted of tight friendships or acrimonious vendettas among troupe members, a stream of faceless boarding homes, furtive puffs on sneaked cigarettes, and, under the watchful eye of their ever-vigilant chaperone, cuddles and kisses from a series of star-struck beaus, soon to be abandoned as the girls criss-crossed the country plying their trade.
As soon as Mom was old enough to leave the troupe, she had publicity photos taken and struck out on her own.
When Henrietta remarried, she and her new husband, fellow actor William Newley, toured together, while my mother did her best to be employed, self-sufficient, and elsewhere. She would audition for jobs and enjoy several months of work until the tour ended, and then she’d inquire around, audition somewhere else, and repeat the whole process.
It was at one of these junctures that her life and my dad’s intersected. He and his brother Goldy had enjoyed success as motorcycle performers in England. Now Dad wanted to use their drome act as a vehicle to see the world. Goldy, however, was ready for home. They agreed to part company. While Dad stayed on in Britain, Goldy undertook a short solo stint in Germany and Hungary and then returned to the U. S. for good. In 1932, he became Motorcycle Speed Racing Champion of the Eastern United States, dividing his time between motorcycle racing and motor drome work.
Dad continued with his plans for a tour of Germany. Thinking a woman at the Front of the drome would help bring in customers, he put the word out that he wanted to hire an attractive woman, preferably someone already in show business. Mom’s tour was coming to an end and she was about to be jobless, so along with other troupe members, she trudged down to the fairgrounds to audition, and the job was hers.
Perhaps the term “the Front” needs an explanation. Whether they play parks, fairs, or carnivals, each show has a raised stage in front of it where performers with props, in this case motorcycles, give spectators a taste of what is inside the show. Huge canvases painted with show highlights back the stage. One or two tall ticket booths with ticket sellers at the ready flank the stage, and an announcer with microphone in hand paces back and forth, entertaining the audience with elaborate descriptions of what they can expect to see once they pay their admission. He ends his spiel by urging on the crowd: “Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, and buy your tickets now.”
On the drome Front, performers didn’t just stand around like statues. In centre stage, one motorcycle was on rollers; Dad or one of the crew members started it up and did tricks such as hands in the air or standing on the seat while the Harley drove surely and steadily to nowhere. (Harley Davidsons and Nortons were used on the Front, smaller motorcycles inside the drome, and French motorcycles inside the globe because they were even smaller in scale, and the globe’s interior was less than sixteen feet in diameter.)
When Mom was hired, the plan was that she would lend a female presence to the drome Front, but it was no time before she learned to ride a motorcycle, first on country roads and then inside the drome. Soon she was a full partner in the show, riding every bit as well as Dad did, taking turns on the microphone to encourage people to come in and see the show and talking knowledgeably with fans about laps, centrifugal force, and rpm’s. She was billed as Mildred Lee, sister of Bob Lee. (These were the days when even movie stars did not admit they were married, for fear of killing the glamour they enjoyed as performers.)
As soon as Mom was competent on the motorbike, she and Dad took their act to Germany. Cupid’s arrow must have found its mark swiftly, for just weeks after their arrival in Hamburg they were married. Throughout the next few years my parents travelled back and forth between Britain and Germany many times.
Among motorcycle enthusiasts in Germany, Bob and Mildred Lee were celebrities. Germans love high-performance machines, and they admire skill. Their appreciation of my parents bordered on adulation. And Mom found she had a knack for language; it was no time before she was using German phrases to chat with her new motorcycle fans.
In their early trips to Germany my parents performed in a drome. Later, they purchased the globe. The globe was a ball, nearly sixteen feet in diameter, held about five feet off the ground by steel poles. The ball was made of steel strips criss-crossed to give it strength and to provide a full view of what was going on inside. There were plenty of globes in Europe at the time; motorcyclists rode solo inside the ball, horizontally or vertically. My parents called their globe the Globe of Death, as did other globe owners. But it was their performance that was unique. The highlight of the show was their double act. Here is a description: Dressed in their high-necked shirts, jodhpurs, and sleek riding boots, Bob and Mildred Lee step inside the Globe of Death, where two motorcycles stand waiting. Mildred climbs on her bike and starts it up; Bob puts his hand at the back of her seat and assists her to push off, then lets go as her machine starts to drive in circles near the bottom of the globe. Bob watches as Mildred’s circles grow larger and larger until she is riding exactly horizontally at the mid-point of the globe. Bob climbs on his motorcycle, starts it up, and traces Mildred’s path until he is riding right behind her. Now both of them are making horizontal laps. Then slowly Bob changes the angle of his laps until he is riding absolutely vertically in the globe, crossing Mildred’s horizontal path. They ride like this at right angles to each other for several minutes. Standing on the ground inside the tent that encloses the globe, the audience stares, transfixed, as the riders and their motorcycles zoom by, defying gravity. First one motorcycle, horizontally, then the other, vertically, speed past, driving round and round in the steel cage. The globe shudders with the sheer force of the machines hurling themselves against its sides. All the while the mind-numbing rhythmic roar of engines created by those alternating laps engulfs the audience. It is mesmerizing. Then slowly Bob changes his path angle and gradually returns to Mildred’s horizontal track; Mildred makes smaller and slower laps until she is down at the bottom of the globe, where she stops, still seated on her motorbike, watching as Bob begins his descent. His last laps become smaller as he slowly and tightly circles Mildred and brings his machine to a stop right beside hers. Then, switching off their motorcycles, in unison they step off, smile, and wave to the crowd.
The act was breathtaking. It never failed to thrill the audience. Often people paid to watch again and again.
Another unique feature of their act was the automobile, a tiny car that Dad designed and constructed to drive in the globe. With Dad as the driver and Mom as his passenger, they sped around in the globe horizontally and then vertically, looping the loop in their automobile, as the announcer on the Front had promised. Men in the audience were especially fascinated by the little car and often excitedly waited after the show to examine it more closely and to ask questions about its construction. In Germany, Mom and Dad had an accident in that car. A fine dust had coated the globe and the little car skidded and crashed. Mom sustained a deep cut under her chin that, fortunately, left only a tiny scar; Dad received a broken arm. They considered themselves very lucky.
