My full name is Dolores Conchita Figueroa del Rivero. My father was a Puerto Rican clarinetist and sax player; my Scottish-Irish mother was a government clerk. I was raised Catholic, and I’ve often said I have two angels—Chita and Dolores—one on each shoulder. Chita was the people pleaser. Dolores would tell it like it was.

I was one of five, and we played and fought and laughed and ate, all part of a mixed-race neighborhood in Washington, D.C. But in 1940, when I was 7, Daddy became seriously ill. We weren’t allowed in the hospital, so we’d stand outside and see him at his window. And then he passed away. It was rough, but somehow my mother kept us all on an even keel.

I discovered that my maternal grandparents were mulatto, mixed-race descendants of the once enslaved. I wished I’d known earlier—it might have deepened my connection with my Black friends and colleagues, especially my onetime love Sammy Davis Jr.

Mother knew I had to be channeled. At 16, I auditioned for the School of American Ballet. And this tall, blond dancer came running from the audition room screaming, “I can’t!” If she couldn’t, how could I? I was short, brown and nervous as hell, but my teacher said, “Just stay in your own lane and look straight ahead.” And I got in. One step, one plié, led to another—and, ultimately, Broadway.

I was born at a very good time—the ’40s and ’50s were the golden age of Broadway musicals. In 1957, I got cast as Anita, the Puerto Rican girl who sings “America” in West Side Story. It was a job but became something so much bigger, in part because that musical was ripped from the headlines. Somebody had just been killed at a playground down the street—the article was pinned to a board near the theater entrance. This is your life, I thought. Then came big roles in Bye Bye Birdie, Bob Fosse’s Chicago and other musicals. Still, I didn’t win my first Tony until I starred in The Rink with Liza Minnelli in 1984. I’m still paying for all that jazz now. [Laughs, tapping her overworked knees.]

I would be so selfish to have wanted any other roles, because I’ve had so many great ones: Anita, Velma in Chicago, the title role in Kiss of the Spider Woman. I’m pretty satisfied, but [laughs] there are five Tonys out there that should have been mine!

I just had a birthday, and it was a biggie. Ninety! My daughter threw me an amazing party in Manhattan, and when I spied a celebratory banner with that huge number, I shivered. That’s when my polite side, my Chita side, came out: I let them keep the banner up. But I don’t want to leave. The body might change, but the heart remains constant. —As told to Thelma Adams