Finale

Due to a scheduling glitch, our well-reviewed production of "Opus" was dark last weekend, so we reopened for five final performances this weekend. We had tremendous word of mouth, and all our shows were full, with the last three packed even "fuller."

This is particularly gratifying because nobody goes to the theatre on Memorial Day weekend. Every other theatre in town was papering their houses, while we were turning people away.

Throughout the run, in addition to rave reviews, we were a Potomac Stages Pick, and a Best Bet from local PBS station WETA (view the recommendation here).







I can't remember the last time I worked with a troop with such a familial feeling. After every evening's performance, we gathered in the green room / kitchen to share a traditional snort or three, usually Jameson's Irish Whiskey. Each Saturday, the cast, crew, and whoever else showed up, enjoyed a family meal between shows. My Caesar Salad was a particular favorite.





Before each show, we were "slapped" by our resident make-up artist, who also played with us onstage. Carl spent a few moments creating the omni-present blister which appears on all professional violist/violinist jawlines. It was a few moments of quiet, which calmed the spirit and prepared us for the work to be done.



















At the places call, the five of us raised our bows in unison, wishing "all for one, and one for all."







And we were.

Jenny

I was socked in the gut yesterday when I read an unexpected email from an old buddy from my undergrad days. He had come upon an obituary published a year ago, regarding one of my most cherished friends from those days.

Jenny was a part of my life for many many years. I first met her my second year at CSUN, when she approached me out of the blue, and invited me to be a part of an upcoming one-hour version of "Cabaret" which she was choreographing. They were looking for a few good men to play a few good transvestites, as the concept (old hat these days, but back in '75, pretty daring) included both sexes as Kit-Kat girls. "Cabaret" was on my "to-do" list, so I of course agreed.

Deeply into rehearsal, the gent playing the Emcee quit (or was fired, I can't recall), and I bumped up into the role I had dreamed of playing for years.


More important than my playing my dream role, I had earned a life-long friend. Jenny and I worked together many many times in the subsequent years, both on-stage and off. She played my second wife Agnes when I attempted (with limited success) to play "George M!", and she contributed the elaborate tap choreography to the show as well. She choreographed me as Albert in "Bye Bye Birdie," and played opposite me in 'The Time of Your Life" in a tiny loft in Hollywood.

Jenny had a slightly sardonic view of life, which had not been particularly kind to her, so we all rejoiced when she met her future husband Frankie while working as a waitress at JoJo's Burgers and Brew.

They quickly formed a family, and daughter Katie was born. For several years they lived in a tract house in the Valley which Jenn inherited from her mother, as she waitressed and choreographed freelance, and Frank waitered and followed sports.














They both adored gambling, and I accompanied Jenny several times on her jaunts to Sin City. I was loathe to part with any of my hard earned cash, and after our first trip, Jenny designed a gift for me, a baseball shirt with the following lettering, reflecting the level of my betting:

I didn't get much better with subsequent trips, but Jenny and Frank put up with my cowardice. I particularly loved another gift from Jenny, another baseball shirt with the following lettering on the front.









The shirt is a bit misleading until you read the single word printed on the back: PLUM.











When playing the slot machines, when the first panel hits BAR, a slight tingling of excitement can be felt. When the second panel hits BAR, excitement mounts, as you imagine what you will do with your astronomical winnings when the third panel hits BAR. However, when the third panel instead hits PLUM, you've lost.

This pretty much summed up Jenny's view of life.

My last contact with my old friend was via email at least 8 years ago. She had moved to Vegas with her family, which included 3 kids by that time, and began a career as a card dealer. Once I left LA in 1993, we effectively lost touch, but she has remained important in my heart.

It's awkwardly upsetting to be grieving for someone who's been gone for a year, but to me, I have just now lost a cherished friend.

I will remember you forever, Jenny, as my funny friend with the unexpectedly big laugh, the open hearted compassion, and the slyly skewed view of the world.












My life is not the same with the knowledge that you are gone.

Morals

I suppose it is always sad when someone dies, but I can't in good conscience grieve long for the loss of one of the bigots whose teachings and preachings helped create the hugely polarized American political landscape of today. I never liked his politics or his extremist religious views, though he of course had the right to have them, and to express them (a right he would quickly deny me).

But when he blamed the terrorist attacks of 9/11 on liberals, feminists, and gays, he surely lost any credibility he may have gained during those fateful Reagan years, when his Moral Majority dined on the carcass of basic humanity and democratic thinking.

The executive director of the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force said it better than I could: "Unfortunately, we will always remember him as a founder and leader of America's anti-gay industry, someone who exacerbated the nation's appalling response to the onslaught of the AIDS epidemic, someone who demonized and vilified us for political gain and someone who used religion to divide rather than unite our nation."

I hope, in death, he finds a peace he denied millions and millions of Americans during his life.

Doing the Happy Dance

Around here, the Happy Dance happens only when yours truly snags work. I have had more than my share of loooooong periods without the dance, so I tend to revel when I'm dancing lots. This year has found me dancing like there's no tomorrow.

It all began last October, when I was asked, at the very last minute, to fill in for an actor who had suddenly withdrawn from "Black Coffee" at Wayside Theatre, only a week before rehearsals began. It was my first time out at Wayside, and I had a lovely time.

Overlapping with Black Coffee was a silly little Christmas show based on the British Panto tradition. In other words, the male roles were played by women, and the female roles by men. The conceit concerned a group of amateur actors putting on A Christmas Carol, with little success. The production had little success, too, but was fun when we had a nice receptive audience (about twice during the four week run).

I had a month or so before beginning the current stint in the Shear Madness second company.

Overlapping with Shear, I've been privileged to be a part of "Opus" at the Washington Stage Guild, one of the prestige productions of the moment in DC.

Yep, I've been Happy Dancing for quite a while now, even as I complain about lack of personal time, lack of sleep, and various other lacks.

I am pleased that more Happy Dancing is, pardon the pun, afoot.

I have been compared to the late great Paul Lynde throughout my career, and I am now honored to attempt the role that put him on the map. I've just been cast as Harry Macafee in the Shenandoah Summer Music Theatre production of "Bye Bye Birdie."

Up and Running

Opus has opened to positive reviews. The "biggie," at least in terms of readership and the potential to affect box office, arrived Wednesday, allowing the company a sigh of satisfaction. Of course, we don't do this for the critics, but it is always nice to realize that they like us, they really like us. We have hopes that the strong acclaim and stronger word of mouth will help to build our admittedly slight attendance. So far, we've managed barely half a house, and sometimes much less, but we are finding that even the smaller crowds are fascinated and entertained by this lovely, funny little play. It's interesting to witness backstage at a string quartet, but as specific as the milieu is, it offers universality (the best kind of play, in my opinion). And the crowds who have come thus far are enthusiastic in the extreme, often requiring second curtain calls to allow them to express their admiration.

Lest we get cocky, we will be back in rehearsal this week to add an exciting flavor to the mix. One of our actors has a conflict with Thursday's show, so our terrific string supervisor, who is also a local actor of note, will be stepping in. So, it'll all be new again, at least for one night!

One Week Gone

Our first full week of "Opus" rehearsals has come and gone, filled with scheduling snafus and staffing issues. For myself, it was a week full of complicated schleps, from the Stage Guild to the Kennedy Center and back again, over and over again. As a result, I am already feeling behind my fellow actors, as they have had many more hours of rehearsal this first week than I.

The administration is dealing with some monkey wrenches tossed into the mix by the theatre's landlords, and the artistic staff of "Opus" has trouble of its own, what with my crazy schedule, and conflicts from other members of the cast. It looks like our last week of rehearsal (a scant 2 weeks from now) will be a challenging mix of music cues, actors struggling with words, and The Moving of The Chairs, a crucial aspect of this particular production.

I am feeling optimistic that all will be well. But I better get cracking on those pesky words...

A Letter to my Mother

Jo Williams
10/18/29 - 3/28/83

Dear Mom,

Today, 24 years after you were taken from us, I attended rehearsal for one show and performed before a full house in another. I hope you would be pleased that, on this unavoidable anniversary, I spent the day doing what I love.

I know it is not the life you envisioned for me. Even in my 20's, when you were still with us, I think you believed I was merely dabbling in the arts, paying the bills with retail and food service jobs. I have a hunch you thought, "Soon, he'll realize he can never make much of a living, doing theatre, and he'll change career paths."

That never happened. Your hopes for me, I know, included financial security and a family of my own. That never happened either, but I know your biggest wish for me was that I live a happy life, and in that, you can rest easily. I don't regret my career choices, even as my childhood buddies enjoy their wealth, their various vacation homes, their children (and grandchildren!).

Pictures of you surround me in my life: The birthday party you attended at age 10 in 1934, with your buddies Martha Suddeth and Barbara Bennett; the glamour shots of you as the first Apple Blossom Queen of Hendersonville, NC; the wedding portraits of you and Dad which frame my bed; and of course, many shots of the adult woman whom I remember so clearly.

I wear your wedding band on my little finger, a constant celebration of your life, but this time of year especially (and at Christmas, and on our birthdays, both yours and mine), you resurface in my consciousness, and in my dreams. I wonder what you might think of me, if you knew me now. I know you would love me, I even think you would like me, but I hope you would also be proud that I took an unexpected path.

Way back in 1983, when I was trying to make sense of the devastation of your death, I was told that those who are taken during Holy Week are especially blessed. It is rare that March 28 falls between Palm Sunday and Easter, but in 1983, it did. I hope it's true that you have found lasting peace.






I know you watch over us.