I am currently enjoying season 2 of the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel…the one where they go to the Catskills.
Now, I could go on about the amazing production values of this enchanting series, but I would only be repeating what several professional television critics have already stated.
No, I want to talk about the fictional Steiner Resort in episode 4 (don’t worry, no spoilers…except that they go to a Catskill resort…sorry); during the early years of my singing career, I would be asked to do opera gala concerts at Catskills resorts during the summer: not terribly prestigious, and not terribly well paid, but still an opportunity to get out of the city and make music with friends in the mountains. For those of us who hadn’t booked a Young Artist Programme that particular summer in the Rockies, Alps or Aldeburgh, it was a welcome relief from our temp jobs.
Granted, this was in the 1990’s and long past the 1950’s-1960’s heyday of the Catskill Mountains’ resorts (as depicted in Mrs. Maisel and films such as Dirty Dancing.) By the time my colleagues and I were invited to perform in these upstate New York summer camps, they were getting a bit down-at-heel and no longer booking top comedians and jazz bands, but they were still a chance to get some fresh air and a walk in the woods. And, on one particular occasion, to add to my family.
On one of the hottest August days on record, a couple of carloads of us ‘starving artist’ opera singers headed up state. Even in the somewhat cooler countryside, it was ridiculously hot. We wore sundresses rather than evening gowns, the men couldn’t even contemplate DJ’s or tuxes, and with sweat rolling down our faces, Diva-esque amounts of makeup or hairspray were out of the question. The audience was lucky we could still sing, and not just faint and fall into the orchestra pit, so what we looked like became a secondary consideration.
Like the Steiner Resort in TMMM, our stage was in a barn-like structure and our dressing/green room was simply a side room near the main auditorium. In this room, we opened all the doors and windows to keep as cool as possible. And that was how Lester got in.
Lester was a small grey tabby kitten who was delighted to find us all waiting patiently for our turn to go sing…and eager to follow us onto the stage as we passed in and out of the door to the auditorium. So, to avoid being completely upstaged by an adorable little kitten (remember it was very hot and we all wanted this to be over with as soon as humanly possible) we took it in turns to hold him while the others were on stage. Several of our crew were cat owners and lovers already, so this wasn’t too taxing, and little Lester was spoiled for attention.
At the end of the concert, we made discreet inquiries about who his owners might be, to return him to the correct cabin. We were informed that he was a stray, probably part of a litter from a nearby farm, and fed by various resort goers who would soon be returning to New York City and abandoning him to the woods…
Well, what would you do?
I have kept cats for many years, before and after this one, and I have never had a cat so trusting and willing to be taking into a car without a carrier or crate of any description. I was prepared to spend the whole journey keeping him under control and calming him so as not to disturb the driver. As soon as the car moved off, he curled up in my lap and went to sleep. I managed to get him past my existing cat without a fuss when I got home, and introduced him gradually, as all the cat books say to do. They became fast friends.
So, I will always remember the (appropriately named) Catskills fondly, as the place where I sang a gig and got paid with a kitten. Thank you, Mrs. Maisel, for the lovely reminder.