By Mary Lackie

The Walled-Off Astoria, a little theater just off Times Square and just inside the Atlanta Federal Penitentiary, presented an exclusive production Sunday.

There was the usual opening night excitement in the air as theater-goers waited for the uniformed ushers to show them to the auditorium. Staff members and their families, relatives and friends of the inmates attended the “by-invitation-only,” event. There were men in dark suits and ties and well-dressed women. There was a sprinkling of mink stoles and bouffant hairdos, white gloves and spike heels, glittering jewelry.

A satire on prison life, “One Dame Thing After Another” was a musical revue produced and directed by—well, never mind his name—who also wrote original lyrics set to Broadway show tunes.

The overture began at a high pitch, which is the best way to start a show. The slight plot was built around the character, Sanford Bates, “leading authority on jails,” assigned to a cross-country tour of federal prisons.

The bespectacled Bates scoots across the stage, never missing a line, always on key, peering intensely at every prison. This raspy-voiced reformer is trailed by a laconic assistant, Lyndon, a young Texas cowboy who yearns for the day when he can build a private airfield near his hometown.

“Everything’s Coming Up Prisons”—and there are a variety of things the pair discover to satirize. The show does it. Bates introduces written examinations for guards—“Exciting idea, isn’t it?” He checks prison laundry problems, which leads to the song, “There’s no Business Like Clothes Business!”

The salaries of guards (oops, correctional officers—reform has changed that image) are raised, and the chorus rattles off “7 and a half cents” with fast timing that rivals the Pajama Game version.

There’s a spoof of group therapy sessions. There’s a jab at work-release programs: “Now people of Danbury, don’t panic” as the prisoners’ sing. “I finally landed a job—DOWNTOWN!” the duet at Terminal Island, Calif., “Anything You Can Do, I can Do Better,” is a treat.

Bates and Lyndon are touring California. Against a backdrop of an off-angle, fluorescent Golden Gate Bridge, prisoners from Alcatraz file by, duffel bags slung over their shoulders. Alcatraz is closing. A departing inmate stops to sing, wistfully, “I’ve grown accustomed to this place—the fog, the shark, the hack, the bark—it sort of fills my heart with pain, to shut this hall of shame” It is one of the finest ballads in the show, not forgetting of course, that solo, “Who Can I Turn To?”

It’s a fast-paced production—from this mood there is a quick switch to the comic scene: “Gee, but it’s great after losing this weight—to get out of the hole.”

The quality of the production was strengthened by the character roles—the reporter with the felt hat drooping over his ears, the “towel man,” the barbers, parole officer, and Harry Truman—to mention a few.

The cast had a good time with “People”—reminding everybody that, “numbers meeting other numbers—they are persons, very special persons—“. The finale began with a quartet of “parolees” from the Atlanta prison who swing from ‘We’ve Got the Whole World in Our Hands,” to join the entire cast and orchestra belting out the blues number, “This train’s a goin’ home train, this train!”

Amidst cheers and applause from the record audience, the cast appeared for a curtain call.

Set designers and technicians contributed to the polished production. If the show had a flaw, it should be mentioned that during some punch lines, the orchestra drowned out the chorus. This was caused by poor acoustics in the building.

Three months’ preparation and hard work by inmates and staff went into three performances. The only “outsiders” in the show were the pianists, Carleton Palmer of the Wit’s End, and Loran Bearded of Vittorio’s.

The program notes thanked “all members for being so patient with us while we rehearsed and burst into song at every possible moment and every possible place.” Special recognition was given to Bill Murray, “a friend” of the institution and “distinguished member of the Atlanta community who unselfishly devoted numerous hours to establish rapport between us and our many friends in the community.” The producer of the show presented Murray with an original oil portrait of his daughter.