Originally published in The Baum Bugle, vol. 63, no. 2 (Autumn 2019), pgs. 44–45
Citations
Chicago 17th ed.:
Crotzer, Sarah K. Review of Ray Bolger: More Than a Scarecrow, by Holly Van Leuven, Baum Bugle 63, no. 2 (2019): 44–45.
MLA 9th ed.:
Crotzer, Sarah K. Review of Ray Bolger: More Than a Scarecrow, by Holly Van Leuven, The Baum Bugle, vol. 63, no. 2, 2019, pp. 44–45.
(Note: typographical errors have been left in place to accurately reflect the printed version.)
RAY BOLGER: MORE THAN A SCARECROW by Holly Van Leuven. Oxford University Press, 2019. 256 pages. Hardcover, $29.95. ISBN: 9780190639044.
If you ask me my favorite part of MGM’s The Wizard of Oz, my answer will be the same now as it was when I was six years old: Ray Bolger’s Scarecrow. He is the perfect embodiment of L. Frank Baum’s storybook creation, shot through with the memory of Fred Stone: completely loose-limbed, a little bit naïve, and always game for the next challenge. I can’t be the only one who feels this way, because there always seems to be a lot of affection for Bolger in Oz fandom—albeit at a lower key than for a couple of his co-stars.
As with many of those co-stars, we fans tend to know very little about Bolger’s career. If we were kids in the second half of the 20th century, we probably saw him in Disney’s Mouseketeer musical Babes in Toyland (1961), cast against type and camping his way through the lamentable replacement for The Rainbow Road to Oz. We may have seen The Harvey Girls, where his “reunion” with Judy Garland was cut almost to the level of a cameo. Otherwise, we probably experienced Bolger the personality as opposed to Bolger the dancer: telling his anecdotes in interviews, clowning around with Donny and Marie, narrating Disney’s Scarecrow of Oz LP or the Caedmon abridgments of several Baum titles.
Holly Van Leuven’s Ray Bolger: More Than a Scarecrow attempts to redress that imbalance. Her biography centralizes Bolger the dancer. Aside from a few scattered mentions, The Wizard of Oz takes up most of one long chapter, including a couple of nice photographs I’d never seen before. To me, that’s fine. I own half a dozen other books that dissect Production #1060, and I bet you do, too.
In fact, I started reading with a different concern. Frankly, I wouldn’t blame anyone for hesitating over such a slim volume—the narrative takes up just over 200 pages—written by a very young author. I’ve read a couple of short, fan-written biographies that descend into blow-by-blow accounts of guest star roles on TV shows, not necessarily for lack of enthusiasm but because of limited access to sources, either written or living. They mean well, but they’ve left me skittish. Van Leuven never resorts to that kind of laundry-list writing: there is nothing, for instance, about any of Bolger’s game show appearances, and Babes in Toyland receives a single, curt paragraph. Instead, she adds good archival research to her few key sources: modern family members, surviving friends and stage co-stars, and most importantly, the letters of Bolger’s wife, Gwen.
Without those personal sources, the shakiest section of the book is the very first chapter, following Bolger’s boyhood in Boston. His mother dies young and his father moves from job to job; young Ray looks to comedy and the theatrical life as ways to belong. He develops a talent for dance, particularly the comedically affected eccentric dance. It’s all rather clipped and “reported,” especially as Van Leuven is forced to make some generic assumptions about what Bolger might have done, or what someone in his position would have done. The book tightens up quickly, however, as Ray starts to work his long, slow way up the vaudeville ladder. Throughout Bolger’s life, Broadway was in transition, and we watch him rise to meet opportunity.
Van Leuven’s narrative allows us to contextualize not only a man we never knew but also a culture few of us lived in. The days of World War II are fast slipping from public memory; there may already be readers who have never heard of a USO tour. Reaching further back, “vaudeville” is a word most dedicated fans pretend to understand, but I’m sure only a handful really know how vaudeville led to the more structured Broadway shows. Van Leuven’s book brings organization and a sense of progression to our hazy ideas of performance in the early 20th century.
What, then, of Ray Bolger himself? More Than a Scarecrow adeptly contextualizes his life and career, and having read it, I certainly feel as if I understand him better: what drove him, what he had to go through to achieve his accomplishments, even what probably fueled his politics, which take up some of the final pages of the book. Yet I don’t know him, which is what a truly great biography gives you. We only occasionally hear from Bolger himself. When he is quoted, it’s often dry, brief, or both—perhaps to evade the famously embellished Bolger anecdote. Whatever the reason, it lacks the emotional weight of a co-star’s astonishment or a wife’s anxious longing. I would, in fact, argue that as readers, we are more likely to align with Gwen Bolger: we simply hear from her more frequently, in a wider range of emotional tones.
As a result, Ray Bolger comes to life most vividly through everyone else’s eyes, and perhaps that’s appropriate. I think the biography will inspire young people who love MGM’s Wizard of Oz and see a future for themselves in either dance or theater; Van Leuven’s prose is very readable, and I would recommend any book that puts our Oz heroes in a broader context. It’s also a valuable learning tool for those, like me, who find themselves unexpectedly interested in the transition from the vaudeville stage to modern Broadway, the genesis of the USO, or the distinctions of eccentric dance.
If, however, you finish the book and still find yourself looking to know Ray Bolger, I think the book makes it obvious: his life was his work, and that’s where the magic lies. Sadly, relatively little of that magic was filmed or recorded. If you haven’t, though, take a tip from Van Leuven herself and pop open YouTube. Look up some clips of Stage Door Canteen or Where’s Charley? or even his appearance on What’s My Line?. You won’t get a complete picture, and you may not get much context—but you will get Ray Bolger the dancer, high-kicking his way through history.
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