Vera-Ellen could do it all — tap, pointe, jazz, acrobatics, adagio — and made it look effortless.
For a time, she was one of the most celebrated dancers in Hollywood, starring alongside Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire, Donald O’Connor, and Danny Kaye. But today, she’s largely forgotten.
In this episode of The Rest of the Story (Hey, Dancer! podcast), we trace her extraordinary rise — from a shy, bookish child in Ohio to a bona fide movie musical star. We dig into the training that shaped her, the roles that defined her, and the discipline that never wavered — even after the spotlight faded.
And yes — we’ll also address the rumors. The ones that have unfairly overshadowed her legacy.
This is the dance story Hollywood never quite knew how to tell. Until now.
Watch this episode on YouTube for full appreciation of Vera-Ellen's mad skills!
Check out my Return to Dance docuseries!
Support my Instagram — where I post daily dance inspo, insights and fun! @backtogreat
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:00):
She wasn't just one of the greatest all-around dancers of her generation.
(00:07):
Many dance historians believe she was the most versatile female dancer ever captured
on film.
We're talking tap, point, adagio, modern, partnering, jazz.
She did it all and made it look effortless.
Her obsessive perfectionism and crisp athletic technique left even the greats in awe.
(00:29):
But today, she's less remembered, partly because of how her story ended and partly because
Hollywood never quite knew what to do with the dancer of her caliber.
Welcome to my podcast, "Hey, Dancer" and my weekly series, The Rest of the Story, where
I do my best to go beyond the marquees, the headlines, the poster images to tell, the
(00:52):
dance stories behind the legends.
My name is Miller Daurey.
I'm a one-man team, can I be honest?
So when you engage, I'm talking liking and sharing and commenting, it really goes a long
way that support really does help.
And if you like hearing the real stories of these dance icons, do me a favor and hey,
(01:13):
do yourself a favor to take a second to follow or subscribe wherever you're watching or
listening so that you can be the first to know when a new episode drops.
And make sure you stick around for the outro of this episode because I'm also gonna touch
on why our subject left Hollywood and the rumor that refuses to die.
(01:34):
I don't normally get into any of that because this is a strictly related dance podcast,
but when you Google or YouTube this legend, almost always what comes up first is the scandal,
is the rumor.
And so I felt I should address it at the very end.
But as always, we are almost only focused on the dance.
(01:55):
Okay, let's begin.
She was born in Norwood, Ohio, a suburb of Cincinnati in 1921.
Her father, Martin, was a piano tuner.
Her mother, Alma, was a homemaker who believed her daughter was destined for something great.
She was a frail, quiet child, more likely to be found with her nose in a book than running
(02:16):
around outside.
Her parents worried about her health and posture, so at nine years old, they enrolled her in
ballet lessons at the Hessler studio in Mount Adams.
It was one of Cincinnati's most respected dance schools, offering rigorous training in both
tap and ballet.
Years later, she said, quote, "Mother sent me to a ballet teacher when I was nine years old.
(02:38):
I guess I was an awkward child and the family wanted me to be graceful.
Then I found out I liked to dance and people seemed to like to watch me.
I was determined to go places."
And from day one, she was relentless.
She'd stay after class to perfect steps until her feet bled.
The other students noticed her intensity.
(03:00):
One early classmate, Doris Kappeloff, who later became Doris Day.
Their mother's car pulled the girls to class, believe it or not, although the two weren't
especially close.
There was already a quiet sense of competition, as her talent became undeniable.
Her mother made a bold decision to move them both to New York.
(03:23):
The family didn't have much, but Alma believed her daughter had something extraordinary, and
she was willing to risk everything to give her the training and exposure she needed.
On January 21, 1937, at just 15, she performed a tap solo on the Major Bo's amateur hour.
A hit radio program known for launching careers.
(03:46):
She danced to "When You're Smiling."
One the contest and joined the All Girls Review, touring theaters across the country.
She was barely a teenager and already a working dancer.
Between tours, she kept training, now in New York City.
She took classes at the Sonia Sarovas School on 57th Street, located in Steinway Hall,
(04:09):
where her mother worked as a secretary to help cover the cost.
Later, she enrolled at the School of American Ballet.
At 16, she was still just 4'6", so to term into grow, she devised her own stretching regimen.
One, she'd hang from door frames by her fingertips.
Two, she'd kick high into the air.
(04:31):
Three, she'd hold deep floor stretches for minutes at a time.
Now whether it was the discipline, prayer, or simply a late growth spurt, she reached
five-foot-four-and-a-half by age 21, and she genuinely believed she had stretched her body
into it, willed it into being.
One day at the dance studio, while delivering a message to her tap teacher, she accidentally
(04:54):
walked into an audition.
Band leader Ted Lewis was casting for his next review.
He spotted her and said, "Hey, can you dance?"
She said, "Yes."
He said to put on some tap shoes, so she excused herself for a minute when to go grab them
and came back and booked the gig.
See Lewis was a big name in Vodville and jazz.
(05:17):
Turing with him gave her polish and presence.
She performed in Southgate, Kentucky, just across the river from her hometown, and got
her first taste of what it meant to carry a show.
She joined the rocket soon after, just 17 years old, one of their youngest dancers, but
within two weeks, she was fired.
(05:38):
Why?
Too much individuality.
She landed Broadway roles next, "Very Warm" from May, "By Jupiter with Ray Boulder," and
"A Connecticut Yankee."
In 1943, producer Samuel Goldwyn saw her on stage.
He then cast her in "Wonderman," opposite Danny K. And just like that, Hollywood had found
(05:58):
its new musical darling.
And by the way, her big tap number in "Wonderman," which includes tapping on point, astonishing.
For the next decade, she danced with and consistently matched the greatest screen dancers of all
time.
With Gene Kelly, she delivered a compelling performance in "Slaughter on 10th Avenue" from
(06:19):
"Words and Music" in 1948.
A ballet brimming with tension and sensuality.
To prepare, Kelly had her study with Marie Bryant to cultivate a sharper, more grounded
power.
As old remains, one of the era's most acclaimed dance duets, they reunited in "On the Town,"
a film ranked among the top 20 movie musicals of all time by the American Film Institute.
(06:45):
In it, her agility, versatility, and precision complemented Kelly's athletic choreography, adding
a buoyant energy to the film's dynamic numbers.
Partnering with Fred Astaire, she showcased her "Balletic Grace" in "Thinking of You"
from "Three Little Words" and dazzled in "The Bell of New York," where their performances
(07:06):
featured mid-air lifts and rapid spins executed with remarkable elegance.
Astaire once remarked about her, "She was a real accomplished dancer that girl, ballet,
tap dancing, anything you wanted her to do."
Around this time, 1950 or so, her name was as recognizable as "Bebrewth" or "Frank Sinatra."
(07:29):
She wasn't just a dancer in movies, she was a star.
In "Call Me Madam" 1953, she infused her duets with Donald O'Connor with "Vivacity
and Humor," and in "White Christmas" 1954, voted the third best holiday movie of all
time by AFI, her dance numbers, athletic, angular, jazzy, precise, strikingly ahead of their
(07:55):
time, showcasing a style that resonates with contemporary audiences even today.
Critics and peers alike marveled at her seamless transitions between diverse dance styles.
She excelled in, seemingly, everything, tap, ballet, acrobatics, comedic routines, dramatic
routines, partnering, sensual ballets, all while hitting every musical accent with uncanny
(08:19):
control.
Her performances were not just technically flawless, but also emotionally expressive, leaving
a lasting impact on the art of dance in cinema, and she never really stopped, even as musicals
faded, even as her star dimmed, even as arthritis set in.
Her niece, Iliana Rothschild, remembered her still-taking dance classes well into her
(08:43):
fifties, long after the spotlight faded.
Her discipline had nothing to do with fame.
It was who she was.
She once said, "Dancing is like breathing, missing a day of either is very bad."
Her name, Vera Ellen.
And now you know the rest of the story.
(09:05):
Alright, dance fan, before I get into a couple of other things I promised to touch on with
regard to Vera Ellen.
If you enjoyed this, if you learned something, if you were entertained, if you feel like,
"Oh my god, my friends, my fan, my dance peeps, they need to know about Vera Ellen, ya gotta
share it, so don't forget, hit that share, like, comment, follow, subscribe."
(09:27):
That support goes a very long way, so thank you, thank you.
Okay, now let's get to why Vera Ellen left Hollywood.
So now there were several overlapping reasons.
None of them quite as scandalous as the rumors might suggest.
The musical genre was fading by the late 1950s, fewer films featured large dance numbers
(09:51):
or required highly trained dancers.
The opportunities simply dried up.
Second, she was tight cast.
Studio saw her, unfortunately, as not a dramatic actress, although she was very good.
So as musicals waned, so did her career prospects.
When came personal tragedy?
(10:14):
Victoria Ellen died of sids at just three months old, and Vera Ellen withdrew from public
life soon after.
Now the biggest rumor of all, let's get to it, there were whispers of anorexia, but her
family and closest friends, those who knew her best, have consistently rejected those claims,
(10:35):
and it doesn't feel to me and all of my research that they rejected the claims just because
they wanted to preserve an image of her or something.
It feels very legit and sincere.
And honestly, her body type had been the same her whole life.
I mean, that says a lot right there.
In her ninth grade graduation photo, which if you're watching this on YouTube, responify
(10:59):
you will see, she literally stood a full head shorter than even the shortest
classmate.
That same petite frame followed her into adulthood, where her famously tiny waist reportedly
just 18 inches became part of her Hollywood mystique.
Now what people really did fixate on was her neck, oh my god, there's endless videos about
(11:22):
this.
So in white Christmas, she wore scarves or high-collared costumes in pretty much every
scene and off screen, she often sported chokers.
But to those who knew her, it wasn't a cover-up.
It was just a style choice, a signature, like I don't know, Charlie Chaplin's cane or
Hepburn's cropped bangs or Van Johnson's red socks.
(11:44):
Her longtime friend Bill Dennington called the rumor "hurtful nonsense," simply saying,
she just liked scarves.
Her neck was lovely.
And in fact, there are countless red carpet and press photos before and after white Christmas
were her neck is fully visible.
Why is nobody talking about that?
(12:04):
No signs of illness, just grace.
More importantly, to me at least, the physical demands of the choreography she performed, especially
in films like Words and Music, The One With Gene Kelly, where Sheta do, I mean, insane
athleticism in her dancing or just even her work in white Christmas.
(12:25):
None of that would have been possible, I don't think, to maintain the endurance.
With the kind of malnourishment that Anorexia entails, you know?
She wasn't just dancing.
I mean, come on, she was dancing like an elite athlete, which dancers are, but she was at
the very top of her game.
The most elite, daily, for decades.
(12:47):
So for me, the facts don't support the rumor.
Her dancing alone disproves it.
What she did have was arthritis, which made dancing quite painful, but it didn't stop
her, not for years.
As I mentioned in the main script, she continued to take class.
She continued to train.
She stayed fit, toned, and poised, even when nobody was watching.
(13:10):
She passed away in 1981, tragically, very sadly, from ovarian cancer, at just 60 years old.
But her dancing, it holds up.
Some choreography from the Golden Age of Musicals feels like a time capsule.
You know, it's charming.
It's amazing.
It's extraordinary, but it feels a little bit dated.
(13:31):
Vera Ellen's movement still looks fresh, clean, powerful ahead of its time.
She wasn't just a movie star.
She was a machine of movement, a technician with a heart, one of the finest dancers Hollywood
ever had, and maybe one of the most underappreciated.
Well, if this video, even in any way, somehow is able to do her legacy just at the time,
(13:57):
the tiniest, tiniest bit of justice.
Oh my gosh, I'd just be so honored.
If you enjoyed this story, hey, like I said, consider subscribing, leaving a review on Apple,
it really helps new listeners, new viewers find these stories, and it keeps the legacies
of these legends alive.
(14:18):
And boy, do they deserve to have their legacies kept alive?
All right, until next time.
[MUSIC]
[BLANK_AUDIO]
She wasn't just one of the greatest all-around dancers of her generation.
(00:07):
Many dance historians believe she was the most versatile female dancer ever captured
on film.
We're talking tap, point, adagio, modern, partnering, jazz.
She did it all and made it look effortless.
Her obsessive perfectionism and crisp athletic technique left even the greats in awe.
(00:29):
But today, she's less remembered, partly because of how her story ended and partly because
Hollywood never quite knew what to do with the dancer of her caliber.
Welcome to my podcast, "Hey, Dancer" and my weekly series, The Rest of the Story, where
I do my best to go beyond the marquees, the headlines, the poster images to tell, the
(00:52):
dance stories behind the legends.
My name is Miller Daurey.
I'm a one-man team, can I be honest?
So when you engage, I'm talking liking and sharing and commenting, it really goes a long
way that support really does help.
And if you like hearing the real stories of these dance icons, do me a favor and hey,
(01:13):
do yourself a favor to take a second to follow or subscribe wherever you're watching or
listening so that you can be the first to know when a new episode drops.
And make sure you stick around for the outro of this episode because I'm also gonna touch
on why our subject left Hollywood and the rumor that refuses to die.
(01:34):
I don't normally get into any of that because this is a strictly related dance podcast,
but when you Google or YouTube this legend, almost always what comes up first is the scandal,
is the rumor.
And so I felt I should address it at the very end.
But as always, we are almost only focused on the dance.
(01:55):
Okay, let's begin.
She was born in Norwood, Ohio, a suburb of Cincinnati in 1921.
Her father, Martin, was a piano tuner.
Her mother, Alma, was a homemaker who believed her daughter was destined for something great.
She was a frail, quiet child, more likely to be found with her nose in a book than running
(02:16):
around outside.
Her parents worried about her health and posture, so at nine years old, they enrolled her in
ballet lessons at the Hessler studio in Mount Adams.
It was one of Cincinnati's most respected dance schools, offering rigorous training in both
tap and ballet.
Years later, she said, quote, "Mother sent me to a ballet teacher when I was nine years old.
(02:38):
I guess I was an awkward child and the family wanted me to be graceful.
Then I found out I liked to dance and people seemed to like to watch me.
I was determined to go places."
And from day one, she was relentless.
She'd stay after class to perfect steps until her feet bled.
The other students noticed her intensity.
(03:00):
One early classmate, Doris Kappeloff, who later became Doris Day.
Their mother's car pulled the girls to class, believe it or not, although the two weren't
especially close.
There was already a quiet sense of competition, as her talent became undeniable.
Her mother made a bold decision to move them both to New York.
(03:23):
The family didn't have much, but Alma believed her daughter had something extraordinary, and
she was willing to risk everything to give her the training and exposure she needed.
On January 21, 1937, at just 15, she performed a tap solo on the Major Bo's amateur hour.
A hit radio program known for launching careers.
(03:46):
She danced to "When You're Smiling."
One the contest and joined the All Girls Review, touring theaters across the country.
She was barely a teenager and already a working dancer.
Between tours, she kept training, now in New York City.
She took classes at the Sonia Sarovas School on 57th Street, located in Steinway Hall,
(04:09):
where her mother worked as a secretary to help cover the cost.
Later, she enrolled at the School of American Ballet.
At 16, she was still just 4'6", so to term into grow, she devised her own stretching regimen.
One, she'd hang from door frames by her fingertips.
Two, she'd kick high into the air.
(04:31):
Three, she'd hold deep floor stretches for minutes at a time.
Now whether it was the discipline, prayer, or simply a late growth spurt, she reached
five-foot-four-and-a-half by age 21, and she genuinely believed she had stretched her body
into it, willed it into being.
One day at the dance studio, while delivering a message to her tap teacher, she accidentally
(04:54):
walked into an audition.
Band leader Ted Lewis was casting for his next review.
He spotted her and said, "Hey, can you dance?"
She said, "Yes."
He said to put on some tap shoes, so she excused herself for a minute when to go grab them
and came back and booked the gig.
See Lewis was a big name in Vodville and jazz.
(05:17):
Turing with him gave her polish and presence.
She performed in Southgate, Kentucky, just across the river from her hometown, and got
her first taste of what it meant to carry a show.
She joined the rocket soon after, just 17 years old, one of their youngest dancers, but
within two weeks, she was fired.
(05:38):
Why?
Too much individuality.
She landed Broadway roles next, "Very Warm" from May, "By Jupiter with Ray Boulder," and
"A Connecticut Yankee."
In 1943, producer Samuel Goldwyn saw her on stage.
He then cast her in "Wonderman," opposite Danny K. And just like that, Hollywood had found
(05:58):
its new musical darling.
And by the way, her big tap number in "Wonderman," which includes tapping on point, astonishing.
For the next decade, she danced with and consistently matched the greatest screen dancers of all
time.
With Gene Kelly, she delivered a compelling performance in "Slaughter on 10th Avenue" from
(06:19):
"Words and Music" in 1948.
A ballet brimming with tension and sensuality.
To prepare, Kelly had her study with Marie Bryant to cultivate a sharper, more grounded
power.
As old remains, one of the era's most acclaimed dance duets, they reunited in "On the Town,"
a film ranked among the top 20 movie musicals of all time by the American Film Institute.
(06:45):
In it, her agility, versatility, and precision complemented Kelly's athletic choreography, adding
a buoyant energy to the film's dynamic numbers.
Partnering with Fred Astaire, she showcased her "Balletic Grace" in "Thinking of You"
from "Three Little Words" and dazzled in "The Bell of New York," where their performances
(07:06):
featured mid-air lifts and rapid spins executed with remarkable elegance.
Astaire once remarked about her, "She was a real accomplished dancer that girl, ballet,
tap dancing, anything you wanted her to do."
Around this time, 1950 or so, her name was as recognizable as "Bebrewth" or "Frank Sinatra."
(07:29):
She wasn't just a dancer in movies, she was a star.
In "Call Me Madam" 1953, she infused her duets with Donald O'Connor with "Vivacity
and Humor," and in "White Christmas" 1954, voted the third best holiday movie of all
time by AFI, her dance numbers, athletic, angular, jazzy, precise, strikingly ahead of their
(07:55):
time, showcasing a style that resonates with contemporary audiences even today.
Critics and peers alike marveled at her seamless transitions between diverse dance styles.
She excelled in, seemingly, everything, tap, ballet, acrobatics, comedic routines, dramatic
routines, partnering, sensual ballets, all while hitting every musical accent with uncanny
(08:19):
control.
Her performances were not just technically flawless, but also emotionally expressive, leaving
a lasting impact on the art of dance in cinema, and she never really stopped, even as musicals
faded, even as her star dimmed, even as arthritis set in.
Her niece, Iliana Rothschild, remembered her still-taking dance classes well into her
(08:43):
fifties, long after the spotlight faded.
Her discipline had nothing to do with fame.
It was who she was.
She once said, "Dancing is like breathing, missing a day of either is very bad."
Her name, Vera Ellen.
And now you know the rest of the story.
(09:05):
Alright, dance fan, before I get into a couple of other things I promised to touch on with
regard to Vera Ellen.
If you enjoyed this, if you learned something, if you were entertained, if you feel like,
"Oh my god, my friends, my fan, my dance peeps, they need to know about Vera Ellen, ya gotta
share it, so don't forget, hit that share, like, comment, follow, subscribe."
(09:27):
That support goes a very long way, so thank you, thank you.
Okay, now let's get to why Vera Ellen left Hollywood.
So now there were several overlapping reasons.
None of them quite as scandalous as the rumors might suggest.
The musical genre was fading by the late 1950s, fewer films featured large dance numbers
(09:51):
or required highly trained dancers.
The opportunities simply dried up.
Second, she was tight cast.
Studio saw her, unfortunately, as not a dramatic actress, although she was very good.
So as musicals waned, so did her career prospects.
When came personal tragedy?
(10:14):
Victoria Ellen died of sids at just three months old, and Vera Ellen withdrew from public
life soon after.
Now the biggest rumor of all, let's get to it, there were whispers of anorexia, but her
family and closest friends, those who knew her best, have consistently rejected those claims,
(10:35):
and it doesn't feel to me and all of my research that they rejected the claims just because
they wanted to preserve an image of her or something.
It feels very legit and sincere.
And honestly, her body type had been the same her whole life.
I mean, that says a lot right there.
In her ninth grade graduation photo, which if you're watching this on YouTube, responify
(10:59):
you will see, she literally stood a full head shorter than even the shortest
classmate.
That same petite frame followed her into adulthood, where her famously tiny waist reportedly
just 18 inches became part of her Hollywood mystique.
Now what people really did fixate on was her neck, oh my god, there's endless videos about
(11:22):
this.
So in white Christmas, she wore scarves or high-collared costumes in pretty much every
scene and off screen, she often sported chokers.
But to those who knew her, it wasn't a cover-up.
It was just a style choice, a signature, like I don't know, Charlie Chaplin's cane or
Hepburn's cropped bangs or Van Johnson's red socks.
(11:44):
Her longtime friend Bill Dennington called the rumor "hurtful nonsense," simply saying,
she just liked scarves.
Her neck was lovely.
And in fact, there are countless red carpet and press photos before and after white Christmas
were her neck is fully visible.
Why is nobody talking about that?
(12:04):
No signs of illness, just grace.
More importantly, to me at least, the physical demands of the choreography she performed, especially
in films like Words and Music, The One With Gene Kelly, where Sheta do, I mean, insane
athleticism in her dancing or just even her work in white Christmas.
(12:25):
None of that would have been possible, I don't think, to maintain the endurance.
With the kind of malnourishment that Anorexia entails, you know?
She wasn't just dancing.
I mean, come on, she was dancing like an elite athlete, which dancers are, but she was at
the very top of her game.
The most elite, daily, for decades.
(12:47):
So for me, the facts don't support the rumor.
Her dancing alone disproves it.
What she did have was arthritis, which made dancing quite painful, but it didn't stop
her, not for years.
As I mentioned in the main script, she continued to take class.
She continued to train.
She stayed fit, toned, and poised, even when nobody was watching.
(13:10):
She passed away in 1981, tragically, very sadly, from ovarian cancer, at just 60 years old.
But her dancing, it holds up.
Some choreography from the Golden Age of Musicals feels like a time capsule.
You know, it's charming.
It's amazing.
It's extraordinary, but it feels a little bit dated.
(13:31):
Vera Ellen's movement still looks fresh, clean, powerful ahead of its time.
She wasn't just a movie star.
She was a machine of movement, a technician with a heart, one of the finest dancers Hollywood
ever had, and maybe one of the most underappreciated.
Well, if this video, even in any way, somehow is able to do her legacy just at the time,
(13:57):
the tiniest, tiniest bit of justice.
Oh my gosh, I'd just be so honored.
If you enjoyed this story, hey, like I said, consider subscribing, leaving a review on Apple,
it really helps new listeners, new viewers find these stories, and it keeps the legacies
of these legends alive.
(14:18):
And boy, do they deserve to have their legacies kept alive?
All right, until next time.
[MUSIC]
[BLANK_AUDIO]
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