| Ladies and gents,
Yesterday marked the 87th birthday of one of the last true high-stepping titans of the American musical theatre: the inimitable Tommy Tune. Eighty-seven! Which, in Tommy years, is approximately 42 — provided the lighting is flattering and the tap shoes are polished.
I first met Tommy when I was a wide-eyed ink-stained wretch at the Herald Examiner, long before either of us had accumulated quite so many opening-night corsages. He swept into the newsroom like a gust of Texas wind — all limbs, charm, and that slow, mischievous grin that makes you feel you’re about to witness something marvelous. Even seated, he appeared to be standing. I have never known a man to possess so much vertical ambition.
Of course, history will record his Tony Awards, his visionary direction and choreography, his indelible stamp on Broadway spectacle — from Nine to Grand Hotel to The Will Rogers Follies. But I prefer to measure a life in bon mots.
Take the afternoon he breezed into the hallowed halls of DKC/O&M and stopped dead in his tracks in the reception area, having spotted one of his iconic giraffe illustrations hanging on the wall. Tommy froze, tilted that elegant head, and in a voice that carried from reception clear through the bullpen declared, “I’m hung!”
Junior publicists dropped their call sheets. A summer intern phoned home to Michigan. Tommy, meanwhile, beamed like a schoolboy who’d just discovered his name in lights for the first time.
But my favorite Tommyism came during one of those infamous, uncredited rescue missions — when a certain very expensive musical (which shall remain nameless to protect both the guilty and the no longer solvent) was rumored to be a disaster out of town. The whispers that Tommy had been brought on to save the sinking ship reached me first, naturally.
So, I rang him.
“I hear the show’s DOA,” I said. “How the hell do you plan on fixing that turd?”
There was a pause. Then he laughed. Not defensively. Not bitterly. Just amused.
“Oh, Scoop,” he said, “when you’re my height, you can see right over the trouble.”
And that was that.
He went in quietly. Tweaked here. Trimmed there. Rebalanced the visual storytelling. Tightened the choreography so it snapped instead of sagged. Never once demanded credit. Never once sought applause for the triage. When the show opened in New York, the corpse had been reanimated.
Not every production that calls upon Dr. Tommy needs his magic touch. When nerves were high during the pre-Broadway run of the Twyla Tharp/Billy Joel masterpiece, Movin’ Out, Tommy was summoned to Detroit. After seeing the show, Tommy had only four words for the team: “Don’t change a thing.” Rave reviews, 10 Tony nominations, and a three-year run on Broadway proved Tommy’s assessment right.
Now, I should clarify one thing for the record. Tommy always had a soft spot for the late Liz Smith — fellow Texan, fellow connoisseur of theatrical mischief, and my great rival. But Tommy never allowed his Lone Star allegiance to tip the scales between us. If I skewered a production she’d blessed, he’d take my call just the same. With Tommy, rapport is sacred. Affection is personal. Professional courtesy is ironclad.
At 87, he is still the best-dressed skyscraper in show business.
So here’s to Tommy — proof that elegance never goes out of style, that showmanship is an art form, and that if you’re tall enough, you can always see over the trouble.
Tidbits from around town…
Overheard Anderson Cooper in animated conversation at Michael’s, not 72 hours after announcing his “60 Minutes” departure.
Caught hedge-fund heavyweight Ken Griffin slipping discreetly into The Grill with two impeccably suited companions and a magnum of something so precious that required its own security detail.
Watched former Apple CEO John Sculley pose for photos with this “Big Wave Award” at the 2026 Future Waves Gala in Palm Beach.
Spotted Zendaya exiting The Mark in oversized sunglasses and sensible flats.
A toast of something sparkling to you and yours!
Kisses, |
