Tuesday, August 11- Sally #2

Anyone who was ever in a camp play, or Ritual, or anything that required a real costume, would have to meet the camp costumier/seamstress, Sally. (Creighton?) The costume shop, which also served as Sally's living quarters, was located behind the Senior Social Hall, in a very wooded area, And, it was accessed (even in 1959,) by a rickety wooden bridge. The effect was sort of fairy-tale-like, and one couldn't help but think that at any moment, a troll might appear. And it did...in a slightly altered state. Once you opened the door to the costume shop, you belonged to Sally. The first thing that hit you upon entering was the smell of 40 years worth of musty fabric, mixed with rancid make-up, and what I now believe was probably Bourbon. And then, from behind a fabric curtain, a tiny, old woman appeared, who resembled a walking cewpie doll. The effect was quite startling: bright orange hair, rheumy blue eyes, white pancake make-up, and red-rouged cheeks. "Hello darlin', she'd drawl at you." Come on over and let Sally get some measurements..." Depending on what role you were playing, Sally would pull out specific old burlap or canvas togas from her storage area and throw them over you with great flourish. Then, she'd pull out pins from a pin cushion she wore on her wrist, and start pinning away. Over the years, I'd have little conversations with her, while she pinned and pulled at me. Invariably, she'd send me on my way with a, "Now, you just let Sally take care of it..." Considering the age and fragility of what she was working with, the fact that Sally managed to have everything all ready when anyone needed to wear it was nothing short of amazing. She was quite the miracle worker. Or, fairy godmother.
I had heard from someone that Sally was a former chorus girl in vaudeville, which, judging from her make-up, made perfect sense. Moreover, at the end of any of our productions, when we acknowledged the people who helped in the production, our last call was always, "We want Sally! We want Sally!" At that point, Sally would emerge from the wings and do a little can-can or jig. It always brought down the house.