Interview by Anne Lippe, circa 2013
Transcription by Kay Hardy Campbell
Edited by Amy Smith

A. What was one of your favorite songs?

M. Well, I love lots of songs . . . any Arabic dancing that has singing behind me. I don't have a special one; I know lots of songs, and they're all good. I like variety; I don't like to stick to one song. I'd rather go from one to another, to another. It depends.

A. You know, the dancers of today use a lot of the music from Oum Kalthoum.

M. Yes. They're beautiful. If you want to do a slow dance: the music is beautiful.

A. Did they do that where you were working? Did the dancers use Oum Kalthoum?

M. No, no. They use very popular songs. No, they didn't know how to use it. Like me: I knew how to dance in both because I'm used to it. No, they didn't know . . . they wanted like Mohammed El-Bakkar songs - Port Said, and all those. . . . I can't dance on these.

A. (Snapping fingers) That's all bouncy.

M. Yes, and I like a feeling in the dance. I like to feel the dance. Any music that's good I used to dance on it. No matter what it is! Once they called me and I danced to American music; on American music I did an Oriental dance.

A. When you've got it, you've got it.

M. You got it . . . you've got it! And people wonder why. And I did whatever, but you don't have the feeling like you have in Arabic music. But you dance, and that's it. You dance and you move around: that's all. But when you do the Arabic dancing, you have feeling; somebody sings behind you. You didn't have it. I did lots of dancing for Brandeis University, too.

A. Was there a dancer named Little Eva that you knew?

M. Yes, I think so. I knew her; she died, I think. There was one, she used to work for the Club Zara …what was her name? She was very tall, and very big-busted.

M. She might know; she was very pretty. She was very tall, big black eyes, black hair, you know? And she had a beautiful body and a beautiful face. She used to dance with us. In fact, she sent me a letter---she's in Texas and she wanted to come back here. But I didn't answer her because she forgot to put the address. (Laughs) She said: "I would like to see you. I miss the days. . . ." And she used to be like that: run around a lot. But she was popular. She wasn't the best dancer, but she had the body and she had “the look”. She was sexy . . . sexy looking.

A. In a sense you were very lucky because you were very protected. So many dancers are not protected, and they have to fight for their money, for their---

M. Oh no. Not me. They used to throw so much money at me I didn't know what to do with the money. You know, in Port Said (Editor: a New York City nightclub) they never paid the girls.

A. It was all tips.

M. It was all tips. And me, they gave me pay, and tips! And these days, in 1950, that's when I worked for $100.00 a week, with the tips, and that's big money. Nobody get it; they didn't pay anybody. I said: "If you don't pay me, I'm not going to work." I already had people come to see me, they asked for me. I was very popular for such a small place. But you didn't dance with a costume . . . you danced in your clothes. But I had the sexy clothes . . . two-piece, open on the side. If you're a good dancer, you don’t need too much.

A. The costume, sometimes, say too much. It covers too much.

M. I know. Sometimes in the nightclubs, it changed. You had to cover . . . up to here. Then they started going down and down. And before you know it, they allow it.

A. Do you still have any of your old costumes?

M. No, when you move . . . you go. What do you want to take these heavy things with you for? And I'm not going to dance anymore, so what am I going to do with it? I have lots of gowns and things, and they're still laying there.

A. But people have to keep one bedlah to be buried in, right?

M. Oh no. I wouldn't want to be buried in a costume.

A. Is there anything else you want to talk about concerning this time, this Golden Age of Middle-Eastern entertainment here?

M. By Golden Age, you mean the old days?

A. Yes. When you were dancing, and you had the club. Everybody talks about that time.

M. Oh yeah. Hollywood used to come; they came from all over. All of the doctors; it used to be very popular. John F. Kennedy used to be in our place, but he was a Senator then. He used to come to the Club Zara.

A. Because he was in Boston.

M. I know; he was a Bostonian.

A. I think this will make a good story; I want people to know about you. And you influenced a lot of dancers.

M. I know. I was the first one in Boston.

A. I remember in those days, they didn't have teachers. You didn't have classes. You would go and just watch the dancers.

M. Yes, everybody used to get in the picture. Everybody used to go up and dance. . . . I used to make that club jump when I danced . . . when I sang. Everybody used to dance and dance.

A. But that's a great way to learn, too, because then you see the whole thing---exactly how the whole dance is done.

M. One time I came out late, and the club was so dead. Then when I came in, everybody started dancing, everybody had a good time. They said: "The club is no good without you."

A. Yeah, the dancer really gives a lot of life to the club.

A. Did you ever teach?

M. I taught a few. I didn't want to teach; I didn't like to teach, to tell you the truth. I taught quite a few, but I forget their names. It's been so long. I taught one black dancer. I'll never forget her; she learned so fast. She was so good, so graceful. I taught her for nothing; I didn't take any money from her because I liked her, and I liked her talent. I didn't want any money from her, I just wanted to see her develop.

A. Samira?

M. Samira! And she was beautiful. She danced - I taught her, and she did everything just like I do. I never heard anything about her (since then), but she did so good. Her mother, she made a robe for me by hand and embroidered it. That's the only dancer I really thought was going to get somewhere . . . this kid.

A. That's interesting because a lot of people have talent, but they can't use it, they can't keep it in the right direction: they never get any place.

M. But she did. No matter what I gave her, she learned it…just like that! She was so good, and very graceful and very pretty.

A.I mentioned to you Shikana . . . but she didn't work in Boston very long. Then she went to Chicago, and stayed there for many years. But she did the circuit. She was on the circuit that Wanda - remember Wanda?

M. I remember Wanda

A. And Badia. Remember Badia?

M. I don't know what happened to her. I think she was cuckoo. A little crazy. Why I'm saying that is I was in Miami and we were going to stay there - my husband and I - and then we changed our minds. When I came back, she came to see me and she stayed with me. But she started these things: crazy things. I didn't know where she got them from. She wanted to kill her nephew, she wanted to do this. . . . And I said: "Oh, oh." And Joe said: "Get out of my house! We don't need that problem."

A. She was on drugs or something.

M. She must have been.

A. When did you come to the United States?

M. I came to the United States in 1950.

A. And started to work immediately?

M. Ah, no. I came from Damascus and I had a partner. He was a German baron, and I married him. We were traveling together, and he was a tap dancer, and a band leader. He worked with music as an arranger. So I met him in Beirut and he said: "Would you like to dance?" And I did love to dance because when I was little, I always had the music going and wore my mother's dress. I went in front of the mirror and danced: I loved dancing! And I liked singing, but I liked dancing more. So, he was working in a nightclub in Beirut: the name of the place was Asuram (sp)and he started teaching me ballroom dancing. You know I did start with ballroom dancing. Because it's in me, I knew a lot about Lebanese dancing . . . Oriental dancing. So we started working together: ballroom dancing, and all of that. And then we started to travel. We went to Damascus, and we played . . . and I was a big hit. He said that I had the talent---plenty of talent---and he was marvelous. He was very excellent dancer; not one of these tap dancers who goes like this --- He was excellent!

A. He was elegant.

M. He was elegant . . . he was classy. And he was a baron: a German baron. So we came to Damascus, and I played in Damascus. I played 4 or 5 weeks in Damascus and he said: "We move." He made a contract and we went to Iraq. And in Iraq I danced for the King; he was little, and his father was King Kaisa. But he died young---they killed him---and his son took his place. So I worked in that big theater and he was watching me dancing.

A. How old were you then?

M. Seventeen.

A. Wow! It's good to start young.

M. From Iraq---he was doing the booking---from one place to another, so we went to India. I danced in the capitol . .Bombay. Then I danced in Calcutta, and I was a hit there. But this maharajah wanted me, and I said: "No, no." It was hard because I couldn't say I was married. You just couldn't say that. And he got so mad with me. He went to the Chief of Police and said: "Get her out!" This is the story; it sounds crazy but I'm telling you. Anyway, before that I was in the hotel and he sent me a big tray of Indian food . . . all Indian food: so hot you can't even eat it. We had another show, we had other people working for us. From there we went to French Indochina . . . to Saigon. Yes, I worked in Saigon. Then we went to Japan.

A. What year is this?

M. This is all in one year. I danced in Iran, too. I danced for the Shah; he had a beautiful wife---King Faurouk's sister. She was gorgeous. I danced for them . . . he was still married to her. But he divorced her because she couldn't give him kids. And I worked over there in Tehran, and Tehran is terrible. I mean I met the Prince, and he was very, very nice. He owned the theater, and I danced in that theater. And they were so upset because I was doing Oriental dancing. Some said: "Go and kill her." They stood in the streets. And here comes Prince Masseud, and he says to me: "You've got to get out of here. I have my private plane; go back to Tehran." And I said: "Okay." And they snuck me out from the back door. (Laughs) Was my husband and I, and the girls and everything. So we went back to Tehran. Then they said: "Everything has quieted down; you can come back again." And I said: "No thank you." I stayed in Tehran for a year. It's a beautiful country; I enjoyed it, over there.

A. That's probably the only time you could do it . . when the Shah was there.

M. Yeah. When the Shah was there, it was different.

A. You couldn't do that now.

M. And you can't show yourself, over there. If they see you're a stranger, or without the abaya, they'll kill you! It was a dangerous country. From there, where did I go? I went to Japan, but I didn't stay long: just a week. Then I wanted to come to the United States because my father was here, and I never saw my father. He was here; he was a United States citizen. When he had to leave Lebanon, my mother was pregnant with me. Then he left, and I was born. I never saw my father, so I wanted to come so bad to the United States so I could see him. Then I came in to San Francisco, then I came to New York and worked at Port Said. I was a big hit there, too. No matter where I went, I just had the luck or whatever. . .

A. The talent.

M. The talent. The grace and things, without exaggeration. So I worked in New York for one year, and all the girls were so jealous of me. I did just singing, and Arabic dancing - no ballroom dancing because the baron left to go to Germany. I said: "I want to go to United States; I want to see my father." So we got separated . . . he lost me, and I lost him. Anyway, the girls were so jealous of me; I put everything inside. I don't like to let it out. In fact, they gave me the name of Morocco.

A. Oh, you got that in New York.

M. The owner, she was a Greek, she was a lady. And she said: "Oh, you look like a Moroccan, so I'm going to call you: Morocco." I used to go under Laurisse; that's my real name. Lorita Laurisse. So I worked there for almost a year and I nearly have a nervous breakdown. From the girls: I held everything inside . . . inside. There was a guy who played the oud, he was an Armenian. He said to me: "You want to go to Massachusetts?" A doctor had told me: "This 4 o'clock isn't good for you. You never see the sun; you work all night long and sleep all day." That's New York's life. Jimmy, Jimmy Nazareth (Editor: James (Puzant) Nazaretian, known as Jimmy Nazareth, a native of Adana, Turkey), his name was, it was his idea to go to Boston. I'd never been to Boston before. His wife was a Greek and he's an Armenian. And I stayed with them because the doctor said I had to stay with somebody. Then I met my husband: Joe Teebagy his name is.

A. Dahlena said that he (Joe) was an oud player.

M. He wasn't a professional, but he loved to play for me. He was born here, but he loved the oud! He used to play with the musicians, but he wasn't really a good musician. So I came to this place and my husband used to come in at the Club Zara. A Greek fellow owned it---his name was Charlie Karyanis. My husband used to come and spend money; he was very wealthy, you see. He spent money like water . . . and we had Oriental dancing. But we danced without a costume, because they didn't allow it then. I had two-piece . . . one down, and the fringe. Because in Boston, it wasn't allowed. So, I used to dance and sing and the people used to go wild. "If Morocco's not there, then the people go out." They wanted to see me. So my husband said: "I'm gonna buy you the club." I said: "Okay: you buy the club." So he bought the club. And we ran it; I did the dancing and the singing. In three months they made a big sign of me, and it moved. But when people pulled into the square, they had an accident. So it had to be taken out. (Belly-laugh.)

A. Did your mother mind that you danced?

M. No, she didn't mind because I got married. After the Club Zara burned out, we took the Morocco club, and we called it my name.

A. What would you say was your most memorable performance?

M. The best time was in India.

A. In Bombay, or Calcutta?

M. Bombay.

A. Why was that?

M. I don't know. The people over there understand it because they put lots of feeling in their dances. They loved Arabic dancing.

A. They like Arabic music.

M. They love Arabic music because it's a lot like us. And they have a lot of grace. The girls of today, all they do is shake and shake and shake. But they don't have the eyes talking…everything is movement. They understand it a lot.

A. Do you still dance, at family parties?

M. The other day I had somebody come to me, a friend of mine, and he took me to dance for a friend. I mean not in costume but almost a costume. Refined, but sexy. And I danced over there, and they loved it. But you can't dance like you used to; you get tired faster. Before I used to dance one hour . . . straight and non-stop. And now, you get tired.

A. Now it's all personality.

M. (Laughs) But all I have to do is nice movements . . . nice grace. Not like - they don't like to see you shake and shake. Now I have more women friends than men because they all like me because I wasn't dirty. "Morrocco she was different, different than any other dancer. She had grace. . .”

A. Middle-Eastern hospitality.

M. Well, I was born over there, so it's not like somebody who learned it here. It's different; you have more feeling because you 'feel' the music more.

A. You were born in Beirut?

M. In a little village in the mountains. Aitanite, they call it.

A. That's good because somebody's going to think that's very important because they have family there.

M. But I used to stay with my aunt . . . my father's sister in Beirut. Since she had no kids, she used to take me. That's how I learned about Beirut, and go nightclubbing and things like that: that's where I met my husband.

A. Did you find your father when you got here?

M. He was a big lawyer in Savannah Georgia. And I know he lived in Savannah, and he opened up a barroom. I got the number and I called him, and he couldn't wait to see me. In New York, in Brooklyn, he had friends or cousins. They brought him over, then they brought me over. That was the first time I met my father. And he was wonderful; I loved my father. He was very good. . . nice, clean, and he was very handsome.

A. Your looks came from somewhere.

M. (Laughs) He looked just like Robert Taylor. I wish I'd have brought that little picture when he was very young.

A. Were there people tipping?

M. Yeah.

A. What did you think about that?

M. They do it, and not only here in United States.

A. Did you do it?

M. Oh, yes. But I never let them get too close to me - just throw it. I didn't like them to…

A. Put inside the costume?

M. Yeah.

A. What advice would you give to a young dancer?

M. It's a wonderful opportunity, to do Oriental dancing - in a clean way. Not a dirty way: some girls do it in a dirty way. If you want to learn Oriental dancing, learn it right and dancing it right . . . with grace and refined.

A. Not cheap?

M. Not cheap. It doesn't pay to be cheap. I mean they see you once and they say: "Hey! She's so cheap: forget it."

A. What do you think makes a great dancer?

M. You have to have talent! You have to have talent first, then you learn the feeling. You have do to a lot of feeling to Oriental dancing. I was like in the clouds when I danced. I felt like I was in a cloud: that was the feeling I had from all my heart and soul. Sometimes I had goose pimples from dancing because I loved the music so much. When I hear that music, I'm in a different world. You have to love the music.

A. Don't the musicians say ‘sultania' when they listen to the music and become entranced?

M. Yeah, like a different world. The music makes you (sigh). Some people, I mean they learn how to dance but they just listen to the music and just go. But it's not like us. Like us, we feel the music. You've got to feel inside of you. That's whatmakes a great dancer!

A. What about some of the musicians who helped you 'feel' the music? Tell me about them.

M. They had that Freddy Elias; you know Freddy Elias. He's lots of fun. Never a dull moment with him. He's a very good musician. Tony Abdel Ahhad very, very good. He worked for us, too. The oud player. And he sings; he's a wonderful singer. And Phillip Solomon was very good. And then there was Mohammed El-Bakker. And he sings behind you, which is very important. I don't like just the music alone; I like to have a good voice sing behind me.

A. Give a story.

M. Yeah.

A. What did Phillip Solomon play?

M. The violin.

A. Who was Mohammed's drummer?

M. Ronnie Kirby & Tony Tower, but he died. And who played that big drum? Mike Sarkisian.

M. Do you remember Laurie Cabot?

A: Laurie Cabot? She was my teacher!

M. Laurie Cabot, she was working for me.

A. She's the witch of Salem

M. She's a psychic, too.

A. Fairouz was her name.

M. And Wanda! Wanda worked for us.

A. How many dancers did you have every night.

M. We had about 4 or 5.

A. Every night? Whoa, that's a nice show.

M. Was a very good show. People used to wait because they can't get in. It was lots of fun then. Now there's nothing around. It died out.

A. It's still here, but it's different.

M. It's not the same.

A. Remember we talked about Nadina?

M. I know Nadina.

A. She was Lebanese. You taught her?

M. I taught her. She was a great dancer. Then she wanted to get married and went to Las Vegas and had 2 kids.

A. Did anyone ever record you singing?

M. No, I was more dancing then singing. At that time, we didn't pay much attention to it. All I had to do is just get up and dance and dance and dance. They didn't have no pictures then.

A. So we don't have any film of you?

M. No.

A. Have you seen many of the young dancers?

M. I've seen some of them. I give them credit, first of all, that they learn to do the Arabic dancing. Some of them are pretty good; they try hard to do the best they can do. And hey, it's not easy. You have to know what you're doing. I give them credit!

A. How did you learn how to dance? From your husband?

M. He taught me grace. But I didn't do ballet dancing. I was in Iran and there was a Russian dancer, and I learned to be graceful. Not to dance; I didn't want to dance like that because it's not my life. But he gave me lots of things---like the hands.

A: Carriage! And poise.

M. It was tough. He made me work like I can't anymore. That's why when I did my dancing I always used to be very grateful. Because of the ballet dancing. Not that I want to dance ballet, it's the grace, the way you walk, the way you hold your arms.

A. What about the ballroom dancing? Did that help?

M. Oh yeah, that helped me a lot . . . the ballroom dancing. It was very graceful, and he taught me to be graceful. He told me: "You have lots of talent: now use it."