Thanks for that memory, Mme. Hermine. It reminds me of something I just read in Jacques d'Amboise's new memoir. (The occasion is Balanchine's funeral.)
Eddie Bigelow was at my shoulder. Stuffed into a tall, bony frame with a surly exterior was the heart of a caring, loving man. I reflected -- Eddie was there, in thrall to Balanchine and Lincoln, from the earliest days of Ballet Society in 1946. Eddie performed in anything and everything, and was a lifelong servant to dance and dancers. Eddie -- filling in for injured corps de ballet dancers; acting the character roles, the monster roles; holding a banner at the back of the stage in Firebird; fixing costumes; running errands; dyeing shoes; carrying injured dancers to the hospital -- Eddie could always be counted on. If you needed a moving man, Eddie carried your furniture up and down stairs. A chef? He would cook giant pots of spaghetti, supply the vodka, Chianti,k or scotch, and argue with you incoherently for hours, rambling off lots of words that sounded like they meant something, but we never could zero in on what his subject was. We loved to play cards together .... canasta, poker, bridge. God bless him. In service his whole life! Behind the scenes, Eddie and the self-effacing Betty Cage gave their love, labors, and most of their lives to the ballet company. They should have their Oscars, along with Balanchine and Lincoln.
-- d'Amboise, I Was a Dancer, pp. 353-4
Bigelow is a part of so many NYCB stories. It seems as though he is always remembered with real affection. Not a bad legacy.