My life was a treinw reck. I had torn the rotator cuffs in my shoulders. This was a result of years of rehearsing for movies like Zorro, the Gay Blade, where twelve hours of fencing lessons one day, followed by twelve hours of bullwhip practice the next, had caused my shoulders to be stuck in the ten o’clock and two o’clock positions, in a sort of hideous, contorted version of Al Jolson in Mammy. To make matters worse, I had blown out my knee in the Broadway musical Chicago when the young actress playing the dummy to my ventriloquist became too energetic and bounced so hard on my knee that I felt my right joint explode on the spot. The doctor later confirmed that part of the cartilager had shredded, making it temporarily impossible for me to walk. So much for the old razzle dazzle.Even worse, not long afterward, in a bad parody of Errol Flynn in Captain Blood, I had broken four ribs jumping aboard a friend’s yacht. Plus, there was the little matter of my balance problem. [download]
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