Before The Wiz opened on Broadway in January 1975 we put the show together on a three-city preview tour. The first stop was my home town, Baltimore. My mother and sisters cooked for us at our rowhouse. Hinton had been cast as a member of the chorus – one of the denizens of Emerald City. It was a warm September night and we all spilled out on to the street.
Hinton was the standout in the chorus because, at 15, he was so young but also because his body was like a rubber band. He had this daredevil approach to trying anything that George Faison, the choreographer, would ask. Hinton’s most powerful essence were his eyes. They were huge and sort of popped out of his head – not in a clownish way but a hypnotic way. He had the support of everyone in the company: “Go, kid, go!” That sort of thing.
The next stop on the tour was Detroit. Stu Gilliam was playing the Scarecrow at this point. On the first day, Stu, the costume designer Geoffrey Holder and I went out to a diner. There were three white policemen at the counter; we were in a booth. A guy comes in through the door, walks up to our booth and punches Stu in the mouth. The policemen causally look over and go back to their food. Stu goes to his car and comes back carrying nunchucks. Then the police get up and arrest him. We all go to the police station and finally convince them that Stu was trying to defend himself. No one’s arrested, everyone goes home. But next morning, the Detroit papers are full of it.
A day or two later we come into the theatre. Geoffrey was standing there holding two handfuls of sage. He wanted to exorcise the spirits and took us around every part of the theatre. We came back to the stage where it was explained to us by the general manager, Manny Azenberg, that Geoffrey is now the director of the show. Gilbert Moses, who had been the director, is gone. We’re gobsmacked, right? But Geoffrey had designed costumes with more colours than the rainbow – everything flowed with a life of its own. Now he would direct the show in the same manner.
The other missing person from the company that day was Stu. No explanation. There was an announcement that Hinton Battle was taking over the role of the Scarecrow. We all applauded. Not because Stu was gone but because it was obvious to all of us who the Scarecrow was – the guy with the big eyes, who could do a battement until his legs were at 10 minutes after six.
All he could do was blush at the news but Hinton immediately assumed the role and he had the time in Detroit, and then in Philadelphia, to grow into it. By the time we opened in New York it was as if he’d always been the Scarecrow. He was vivacious, athletic and wearing, I would say, three-inch eyelashes which made him even prettier.
Everyone became fixated on him. Not only because of his ability but also because of the character: floppy, with no physical substance. He’d move from a pile of straw to standing up and then falling again. Hinton was a natural comedian. Everyone saw the Scarecrow as something to cuddle. We wanted to take care of Hinton. His older sister, Lettie, was also in the show and made sure that he was on the right track.
And he grew. The show ran for four years. Hinton left and did Sophisticated Ladies – that was his first Tony award. Then The Tap Dance Kid – another Tony award. Then Miss Saigon – a third Tony award.
I think back to that dinner in Baltimore. My sister had the responsibility of doing the desserts. She said to me: how many sweet potato pies do you think I should cook? I said it doesn’t matter – as long as you make the pies as big as Hinton Battle’s eyes.
If I haven’t said in absolutely specific terms, let me say it: I loved him.
