ABSTRACT
Outside Germany, the spawning ground of the literary and political cabaret, there soon developed a whole flood of anti-fascist theaters, a type of show that was not known in America: satirical, highly intellectual and at the same time, entertaining. One of them, the Ping-Pong in Amsterdam, engaged me for several months, and after that Erika Mann invited me to join her “Peppermill” in Zürich. I was to arrive two days before the premiere of their new show, so that I could see their current program to get an idea of what the Peppermill was all about. I was to dance the three numbers I had done on the big stages in Berlin. I arrived at their location, called “Der Hirsch,” (The Stag) at noon, and I nearly collapsed when I saw the place. This was no theater and there was no stage! Instead there was a small room filled with tables and chairs for people to drink their beer and eat their bockwurst. At one end there was a tiny platform for a singer or two or for a comedian, provided that he or she didn’t move too much, but certainly not for a dancer intending to leap from one wing to the other. And nobody was there to greet me and to tell me that, of course, I would not be expected to dance on this postage stamp. So I sat down and waited. And waited. And waited.
