A Laguna Beach Dancer: The Story of Kitty Simmons

If you were around Laguna Beach in the '60s, as I was, you may have noticed her walking around town. She was a tiny woman well into her 80s by then, but her step was quick and her posture perfect.

I later found out why. She’d been a ballet dancer and teacher, and even had her own school of dance in Laguna Beach, sometime in the 1940s, I believe.

“How did you happen to choose dancing as a career, Kitty?” I asked her, and then she proceeded to tell me the story of her life.

“My sister and I were orphaned when she was 16 and I was 14. We lived in New York, and the state sold our house to pay off our father’s debts. There was nothing left for us. We had no relatives, and it looked like the state was going to put us into foster homes. We put up such a fuss at that idea that someone said if we could support ourselves, we’d be left alone. So we got busy and looked for a job.

“One day we saw a sign next to a theater stage door saying AUDITIONS TODAY, DANCERS NEEDED. We’d had dancing lessons since we were very young, so I said to my sister, 'We can dance!' We climbed up the steps to the door, but the man there took one look at us and wouldn’t let us in. ‘You’re too young!’ he said.

Well, we weren’t about to give up so easily, so we snuck in a side door and went straight to the stage. The casting director sat at a table below the stage, took one look and said, ‘Where in the heck did you two come from?‘ I told him, ‘We want a job.‘ We heard the guy next to him say, ‘Tell them to get lost!’ But the director looked at us with a smile and said to him, ‘Aw, let’s just see what they can do.’

“We knew a little routine, so we asked the musicians if they could play it for us. The next thing I knew, the director was smiling broadly, and by golly we got hired! He asked us to sit over to one side and wait. After a few more auditions, he came over to talk to us. When he found out our situation, he said, ‘Come with me.’ He led us to a room back stage and said, ‘How would you like to live here?’ It was small, but just right for us, and we jumped at the offer. Well, we lived there for several years, and he was good to us, like a father. We did well on stage too, made friends, and even got a few raves in the newspaper reviews. One of them read, ‘Who is that little one up front that kicks so high? She’s a show-stopper!’ Kitty looked at me then and grinned. 'That was me!'

A man in the audience also noticed Kitty. He was a prosperous banker from Chicago, and one night after the performance, he came backstage to meet her. It was love at first sight. Manny Simmons married her, catered to her every wish, and before long she had her own school of dance, a Pierce Arrow car, and had become a popular hostess in their elegant home.

When the Great Depression came and wiped out all but a fraction of Manny’s fortune, the two of them moved to Laguna Beach, bought a cottage on the ocean front along Coast Highway about a half-mile south of Thalia Street, and started a small business selling cookies. They called it The Kooky Krock. The week before opening day, they placed posters all over town, and they were up all night baking the night before. By the time they opened, a string of cars carrying people on the way to the Del Mar races stopped. “They’d smelled our cookies and cleaned us out! We had to get busy and bake more to supply the townsfolk, who cleaned us out again.”

Their Kooky Krock was a great success, and in time expanded by selling lunches too. But then tragedy struck. Kitty’s beloved husband Manny got sick and died. She grieved as she carried on alone with the help of a few employees, but World War II came along and the rationing of sugar and butter made it impossible to keep up. So Kitty pulled out her other talent and the KOOKY KROCK turned into KITTY SIMMONS’ SCHOOL OF DANCE. Kitty, who had never had children of her own, was soon blessed with a large family of dance pupils who loved her as she did them. She was in her element.

The school prospered for a few years, but the work load and responsibilities got to be too much for Kitty, and she became ill, sold the property, and took a small apartment living on the proceeds for a while. Medical bills eventually left her destitute. She took a job as a cleaning woman for a suite of offices. She could do that at night and rest during the day. No one would have to know. Finally, welfare checks became the only option. She hated that.

We became special friends when a longtime friend of hers who was moving up north asked us if we'd take Kitty under our wing. My husband Wally and I always had her over for holiday gatherings and other occasions. What she loved most though were her one-on-one visits with me on Tuesday mornings when we’d take a picnic breakfast to , sit on a bench, and watch the waves roll in.

One day we took Kitty to Disneyland. It was her first visit. One look at Main Street, a ride in the horse-drawn street car, and she was a little girl again! She clung to our arms that whole day and practically danced her way between us through the park. Finally at sundown, we stopped at a little tea room to enjoy a cup of tea and watch the flag ceremony. As we started to leave, who should come along but Mickey Mouse himself!

Mickey shook hands with her and bowed as if she were royalty. When he left, she turned to me in delight. “Mickey and I are the same height!” Some months later, other friends offered to take her to the Magic Kingdom again. She turned them down. I wondered why, but she explained, “Any other time would surely be an anti-climax!”

Eventually Kitty’s step slowed down until it was apparent she was not long for this world. During her last days, I stayed with her in her own little apartment. One sunny afternoon while I sat by her bedside, she looked up at me and said softly, “I’ve had a good life. It’s had its ups and downs. Someone said once that I’m a has-been." Then she got a mischevious grin on her face and added, “I told them I’d rather be a ‘has-been’ than a never-was!"

She smiled at me, and at her own witicism. Then she turned over on her side, and fell asleep for the last time.

***

P.S.—If there’s anyone reading this who knew Kitty, I’d love to meet you. We’d have lots of stories about her to share, I’m sure ...