Celebrities: Tales of Times Square

Richard Burton had replaced Anthony Hopkins in “Equus” on Broadway. On February 20, 1976, they met at the theater.

People waited in the soft glow outside the Plymouth Theater on West 45th Street. About twenty after six, Tony Hopkins, his wife Jenny and a friend of theirs came down the sidewalk in the murky darkness from Eighth Avenue. He went into the theater, virtually unnoticed. He looked at me, but made no sign of recognition. He looked serious and I thought later, I did not see him smile all evening. More like he was making a long trek after the war in a Tolstoy novel. I was happy for him that he was going to meet Burton and could imagine he would be wondering how it would go with the old lion of the theater, and at the same time, Tony had an aggressive reaching-out quality and could assert his own personality and identity.

Barricades lined a path to the stage door. Richard Burton came out and the TV news people turned on their lights, sudden brilliance in the winter darkness along the street. The small crowd surged toward him. The TV people stayed and so did the police, so the crowd did, too. I decided to get out of the way and stood behind the crowd against the theater wall. Burton signed autographs and went back inside.

Almost an hour later, Elizabeth Taylor’s limousine drove up. The chauffeur jumped out and announced to the police that he was “bringing her in in a minute.” He opened the back door and four or five policemen gathered around her and swept her toward the stage door. The barricades were pushed aside by their rush and the crowd fell back, pressing me and several others against the wall. We were off our feet for a few seconds. People yelled, “Help,” and “Back up” and me, “Hey, watch it.”

Once she was inside, the crowd broke up quickly. Tony came out the stage door. He walked past me without a word. I walked away, tired of celebrities. Next thing he was standing beside a limousine. He reached toward me, taking my hand, with a look as if he were holding onto a lifeline.

He said he would be at the theater again tomorrow at 5:30.

I nodded and stepped back, wondering if he was going to get into that limousine. He’d said that was the life he didn’t want.

I couldn’t look. I was thinking, please don’t get into that limousine. I wanted to say to him, run free. Run as fast as you can.

And I did not look. I walked through Times Square mixing with the late-night weirdos and freaks and savored my freedom. Did he envy me that? At the same time, he was making use of his freedom, good use, more productive than I was I had to admit, to invent his own destiny.

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