This story is about a college boy's first visit to Manhattan. It includes explicit homosexual acts with a schoolmate, so be warned.
If you are going to read further, do be aware that these stories come to you without charge because of the contributions to nifty.org by other readers. Won't you become a contributor too?
Please also let me know your reaction to the story. Write me at macoutmann@yahoo.com. It means a lot to hear from you.
Copyright 2015 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
by Macout Mann
III
Sunday morning, I received a call from the girl I had invited to the Theatre Guild program. She said that she had an audition and really had to cancel our date. I told her I understood, and then invited Mikey to join me for the broadcast.
Mikey was finally going to get to the Metropolitan Museum. I was going to start my day at St. Thomas' Church on Fifth Avenue to hear its famous choir of men and boys. Then I planned to take in the New York Philharmonic concert at Carnegie Hall. And finally there was "The Theatre Guild on the Air." Another full day.
We had breakfast in the George Washington's dining room and then split up. St. Thomas' has the only choir school in the United States, and the choristers were marvelous; although I hear that the angelic choirboys, like their British counterparts, are supposedly holy terrors.
I walked from the church to the Carnegie Deli, where I gorged myself on hot pastrami, before heading back to Carnegie Hall.
CBS broadcast the Sunday afternoon concerts of the Philharmonic, but the concerts were part of the orchestra's regular subscription season, so the activity around the hall was normal. I was able to buy a ticket and was seated on the fifth row of the orchestra on the aisle. I surmised that some season ticket holder had surrendered his ticket or I had been lucky enough to buy a "house seat," a seat that theatres always hold in reserve in case an important person like the president decides to attend. I noticed that the placement of microphones was radically different from their arrangement for the NBC Orchestra's concert. Many more, scattered from the front of the stage halfway back through the hall. I decided that I would try to go backstage after the concert and see if I could visit with James Fassett, the Philharmonic's commentator for CBS, who I later learned was also head of the CBS Music Division. I was interested in pursuing the difference in miking arrangements between the two broadcasts.
I also noticed a small stand in front of the podium. I was to discover that this was the device by which the concert was integrated with the CBS broadcast. An identical stand was backstage. On it a small light glowed red. As Fassett read his commentary, he would press a button which turned the backstage light green and lit a red light on the on stage stand. This was the signal for the conductor to come onto the stage. Then when Fassett finished his text, he punched the button again, turning the onstage light green. Then the music could begin. The device was so unobtrusive that most everyone in the hall didn't realize it was there.
When I arrived, I knew that the conductor was to be the orchestra's music director, Bruno Walter. When I opened my program, I discovered that I was to witness another historic event. Kirsten Flagstad was to sing the Immolation Scene from Wagner's "Gotterdammerung" in her "farewell concert." Another standing ovation, which lasted fifteen minutes, long after the broadcast had ended.
I had no trouble getting backstage. James Fassett and his engineer were still in the booth, and I introduced myself, explaining that I was a Radio-TV student and was interested in how the orchestra was miked. Fassett was very welcoming, but referred me to the engineer, who explained that a host of microphones were set up before the orchestra's Thursday evening concert. During that concert he experimented to see what combination provided the best sound for what was being played. That was the mix that he used for the broadcast.
"Sometimes changes still have to be made," he said. "If a horn player swallows a bit of beef the wrong way, it can change his performance a lot."
"The Theatre Guild on the Air," budgeted at up to $15,000 an episode, was the most expensive drama anthology on radio. It was personally supervised by Lawrence Langner and Theresa Helburn, founders of the Theatre Guild and producers of Broadway's most successful hits, such as "Oklahoma" and "Carousel." Homer Fickett was director of the program. He had previously produced and directed DuPont Cavalcade of America. A formidable character, he looked very much like actor Sidney Greenstreet. Composer of the incidental music and conductor of the orchestra was Harold Levy.
And the show featured what one commentator had called "a symphony of voices." The show announcer was Norman Brokenshire, an early pioneer in radio. His deep voice sounded like he had a handful of gravel in his throat. It was so distinctive that after he became spokesman for Chesterfield Cigarettes in the late 20s and early 30s, no one else would hire him. Whenever he spoke people thought of Chesterfields. He became an alcoholic and could find work only at a small 250 watt station around Washington, D.C. He ultimately joined A.A., and employment for the Theatre Guild program marked his return to network radio. The most remembered spokesman for the Theatre Guild was Roger Pryor, an actor whose intimate voice gave the impression that he was peeping around a post to tell us what was going on. And doing the commercials was George Hicks. He had been a war correspondent and was famous for his coverage of the D Day landings. His voice was that of an anchorman, and the institutional commercials favored by U.S. Steel, the program's sponsor, sounded like newscasts.
I had met most of these people in Chicago, and was anxious to see them in their native habitat, New York's Belasco Theatre. The play was "Second Threshold" by Philip Barry and starred Frederic March and Florence Eldridge.
Norman Brokenshire did the warmup. He introduced the staff and then the cast, ending by saying, "Mr. Fickett has indicated that we have only a minute to air. Please do us a favor and clear your throats for us."
There was a cacophony of throat clearing as the orchestra sounded the opening fanfare and Brokenshire announced, "U.S.S., United States Steel, the industrial family that serves the nation, presents `The Theatre Guild on the Air.'"
As the orchestra played the theme, he continued, "Every day, everywhere, you are served by products of steel...," and when the theme ended, he said, "And now, from Broadway, from the stage of the Belasco Theatre in New York, "The Theatre Guild on the Air" production of 'Second Threshold' by Philip Barry. And here speaking for the Theatre Guild is Roger Pryor."
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen..."
The hour sped by. The Belasco, like most theatres in New York, has a wrought iron gate on the side with a narrow alleyway leading to the stage door. On the sidewalk was a cluster of fans hoping for autographs from the stars. "I need to speak with Homer Fickett," I told Mikey, and led him down to the stage door. "I am Gerald Cunningham," I told the stage doorman. "I need to see Mr. Fickett."
"Wait here," he commanded, and turned to enter the theatre.
As he did, some of the crowd at the gate began to move down the alley. "No!" the doorman yelled. "Stay back!"
Mikey was so impressed that we got to wait at the stage door steps, while everyone else was relegated to the sidewalk.
Before the doorman returned, Norman Brokenshire came out, and I greeted him. "Mr. Brokenshire, good to see you again. I'm Gerald Cunningham."
Surprisingly he remembered me. "Oh yes, you interviewed us Chicago. And you want to see Homer, I'll bet."
"Yes, the stage doorman has gone to tell him we're here."
"Well, come on in. No telling when he'll be back."
I introduced Mikey and Brokenshire led us both backstage and put me in touch with Homer Fickett. I told him that I would be in town another day and wondered if I could attend his first rehearsal for next week's show. He agreed and gave me a studio number at the RCA Building. As we were talking, I noticed that Norman Brokenshire and Mikey were chatting with March and Eldridge. I swear Mikey was floating at least a half-foot off the floor.
We returned to the hotel. Our last night in New York. Mikey was leaving for the campus in the morning. I still had the rehearsal and the meeting with Rex and his Voice of America friends before my flight to Washington. Mikey was still euphoric. We went to the bar for a final libation. Mikey couldn't get over how nice the people at the theatre had been to him.
"You know, Mikey, people at the very top of their profession have nothing to lose. They are usually very nice always," I said.
Back in the room I was ready to hit the sack. Mikey wasn't.
"Gerald," he said, "I let you fuck me. Can I fuck you?"
I had to tell him that I didn't let guys into my ass, period. "You've been an o.k. guy, though. I'll give you head, if you want."
"Oh, that would be so nice."
So I sucked him off, and then he decided he wanted more of my dick. I didn't deny him. I wasn't as sleepy as I had thought. I fucked him twice.