MY TURN column
The Courier-Post
July 16, 2009
by DOUG OTTO
When sultry summer temperatures cause a haze to hang heavy in the night air, I am reminded of the best summer job I ever had. During my high school years of 1965 and 1966, I worked under the big red and white circus tent staked to the ground at the corner of Brace and Bortons Mill Roads in Cherry Hill. Better known as the Camden County Music Fair, this huge canvas edifice became my seasonal land of enchantment.
It was electrified with bright lights, circled me with live orchestra music and brought me face-to-face with nationally recognized talent previously visible only in movies, on television or on the covers of celebrity magazines. I was paid a paltry $1.50 a night, while learning that much of life is a costumed and made-up illusion. But I loved every minute of my theatrical, applause-filled experience.
The main stage was a theater-in-the-round, seating 2,000 patrons in a stadium-style bowl. There was no air conditioning, but with the tent flaps pinned back, an occasional evening breeze was captured, bringing with it the sounds of crickets, and allowing allowing actors' voices to escape into the surrounding countryside. This summer stock emporium was built in 1957 by Music Fair Enterprises Inc., which operated similar outdoor theaters in five other locations: Atlantic City; Valley Forge, Pa.; Westbury, NY.; Storrowton, MA.; and Shady Grove near Baltimore, MD.
Each theater featured established Broadway hits with veteran, and often legendary star performers. Liza Minelli got her start on the circuit, while her mother, Judy Garland, sang before the Camden County footlights.
My employment began each spring when the call came to help raise the towering five-story pavilion. There were myriad ropes, pulleys and guy wires, as well as the muscular, black-shirted crew who grunted their way through the two-day process of covering seats, runways and the stage with more canvas than a thousand Renoirs.
During performances, workers became jacks-of-all-trades. We parked cars, ushered patrons to seats, handed out Playbills, and even hawked merchandise during intermissions. My most memorable experiences were interactions with the stars. Some were planned, and others nearly caused me to be fired.
I met Lee Remick backstage, as she prepared to play the title role in "Annie Get Your Gun." I directed members of The Dave Clark Five as they parked their tour bus prior to a "British Invasion" rock concert. And, I tried unsuccessfully to introduce myself to every female member of the King Family Singers, those clean-cut, all-American entertainers from Utah, contemporaries of the famous Osmonds.
My most embarrassing on-the-job moment occurred when I became an unwitting participant in Jack Benny's act. The comedian had begun his performance, when a co-worker and I spied two empty seats, three rows from the stage. Sensing that the ticket-holders were "no-shows," we sneaked down the aisle and slipped into the vacant spots.
We were laughing hysterically at the stand-up routine when the couple, who had paid for the seats, arrived late and stood stoically at the end of our row. Sheepishly, we relinquished our purloined places, and proceeded up the long ramped aisle, to the back of the theater. Mr. Benny made light of the situation, calling after us good-naturedly. The audience roared as he yelled, "And don't come back until you can pay for your seats!"
When we reached the top of the theater ramp, we were greeted by the theater manager, with crossed arms and cross words for our actions. How could he demote us? We only made a $1.50 a night.
Our uniforms were khaki pants and button-down shirts with bold red and white vertical stripes. They matched the color and design of the Music Fair tent. One evening, during the weeklong engagement of The Kingston Trio, it dawned on my two buddies and me, that our uniforms resembled the look of the popular folk singers. We decided to seek attention from passing motorists on Brace Road by positioning ourselves beneath a large lettered marquee announcing the headlining group.
We posed and mugged, like three musical mannequins, and were rewarded for our efforts each time a driver passed with a perplexed facial look. This time the theater manager didn't see our weak attempt to enter show business, and our summer jobs were not jeopardized.
The Camden County Music Fair closed in 1969. Standing in its place is Cherry Hill's Challenge Grove Park. Today, throughout South Jersey, there are more technically sophisicated entertainment venues, such as the performing arts centers in Washington Township, Voorhees, and Marlton. But these modern palaces do not capture the uniqueness and charm of a live, outdoor performance on a circular stage under balmy summer skies.
Each time I drive past the former site of Cherry Hill's once-famous musical circus tent, I can't help but remember the luminaries I saw performing there, and wonder whether that's an old show tune I hear still reverberating through the treetops.
