In an astonishing turn of events that has left the city’s theater community reeling, the Benedum Center’s resident ghostly dancer-burglar was finally caught red-handed – or should we say, tapping toes?
For weeks, a mysterious felon with an uncanny resemblance to beloved Pittsburgh native and Hollywood legend Gene Kelly had been eluding capture as he swiped valuable props and costumes from the Benedum Center’s backstage storage areas. Stagehands and performers alike swore they caught glimpses of a dashing figure in a fedora, tap-dancing through the darkened hallways with all the grace and charm of Kelly himself.
“It was positively surreal,” recalled longtime Benedum stagehand Lenny Deluca. “One minute I’d be counting the wigs in the wig room, and the next? Half the toupees were gone, and I’d hear this faint tapping sound fading into the distance.”
Whispers of a “dancing phantom” began to circulate among the Benedum’s tight-lipped theatrical family. Some even claimed that on moonlit nights, they could see a silhouette waltzing across the empty stage, leaving a trail of glittering footprints in its wake.
But the jig was finally up for our capering crooner when he got a little too fancy with his footwork. Late one evening, Benedum Center security guard Earl “Buster” Keaton was making his rounds when he spotted an all-too-familiar set of taps doing the Charleston down the main corridor.
“I couldn’t believe my eyes!” Buster exclaimed, still sounding mildly starstruck. “There he was, just a-singing and a-dancing like it was the most natural thing in the world. I thought for sure I must be seeing things.”
Buster gave chase, but the nimble-footed felon seemed to defy the laws of physics (and maybe a few laws of man), bounding over obstacles and even doing an impromptu soft-shoe number to keep his pursuer at bay.
“I’m telling you, folks,” Buster said with a shake of his head. “That bird could dance circles around Fred Astaire.”
The wild pursuit came to an abrupt end when the burglar’s fancy footwork sent him tumbling head over heels into a pile of abandoned feather boas and vintage microphones. By the time he dusted himself off and looked up, Buster had him cornered.
“Well, well, well,” Buster chuckled, snapping on his flashlight. “If it isn’t Pittsburgh’s most graceful crook. I should’ve known a classy joint like this would attract a high-class hijacker.”
To everyone’s surprise, the burglar flashed Buster a charming smile and tipped his fedora in a gesture of defeat.
“Looks like you caught me with my pants down… literally,” he quipped with a rueful grin, gesturing to the ripped seat of his tap pants peeking out from under a tattered tutu. “I guess that’s what I get for trying to pull off an exit number.”
Buster couldn’t help but chuckle at the scoundrel’s bravado. “You’re one funny cat, ain’tcha? Let’s see some ID and maybe we can cut you a deal – a night in the clink beats doing the hoocha-choa in a cold cell.”
As the burglar (whose real name turned out to be Buddy Doyle) was led away by a still-giggling Buster, he called over his shoulder to the gathered crowd of stunned stagehands and performers.
“You know what? I’m glad you caught me. It’s about time someone put an end to my… grand jeté-ing around.” He winked slyly before adding, “Tell ’em Big Buddy sent ya – that’s B-I-G, not B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L.”
And so, the Benedum Center Burglar’s reign of tap-dancing terror came to an end as abruptly as it began. But even in cuffs, Buddy couldn’t resist a parting quip.
“You know,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, “I guess you could say I just wanted to… steal the show.”