CLICK HERE FOR MICHAEL FEINGOLD'S IMAGINATIVE ESSAY
"January 6 was a chilly night, but as on every Twelfth Night, King Stanislavsky, King Ziegfeld, and King Comrade Brecht had braved the cold winds of midtown Manhattan to honor the infant theatrical year. They huddled in the dank motel garage on Eleventh Avenue where the unformed babe lay, contentedly sleeping, wrapped in swaddling clothes hastily assembled from old rehearsal skirts."