Holiday Week Obits

Can you believe all the people who have died lately? Here's a quick rundown of those who hold some interest for me. I'm sure you heard about this one:

Jennifer Jones

1919-2009

It's pretty surprising this gal lasted to the ripe old age of 90, as she suffered substance abuse problems, survived two suicide attempts, and endured a second marriage (out of three) which essentially wrecked her career. She started out with a bang, starring as a saintly peasant girl who has visions of the Virgin Mary in The Song of Bernadette. It's often considered her film debut, though she appeared in a few earlier pieces under her real name, Phylis Isley. It certainly put her on the map at a young age: she snagged the Oscar for her performance. She was married at the time to actor Robert Walker, but was conducting an affair with one of the tyrants of Hollywood, David O. Selznick, who was himself married to Louis B. Mayer's daughter. The two eventually divorced their spouses and married each other, becoming one of Hollywood's power couples of the 40s and 50s.

Selznick did his wife's career no favors with constant interference. Though she worked steadily during the period, his choice of roles for her did not capitalize on her strengths. Portrait of Jenny, Beat the Devil, Duel in the Sun, and Love is a Many Splendored Thing were a few of her better known films; Selznick tended to alienate his wife's directors with constant demands on her behalf. He steered her away from roles he considered unworthy, such as East of Eden (Julie Harris got the role) and On the Waterfront (Eve Marie Saint put herself on the map with that one, and won the Oscar). Meanwhile, Jones appeared in a string of forgettable roles in Madame Bovary, A Farewell to Arms, The Barretts of Wimpole Street, and Good Morning, Miss Dove.



In her later years, she made some regrettable film choices, such as The Idol (1966), in which she slept with her son's best friend, and Angel, Angel, Down We Go (1969), in which she played a porno queen. Her final film appearance was in the star-studded disaster epic, The Towering Inferno.

She retired, and lived quietly with her third husband, art collector Norton Simon, until her death last week.

You don't know this guy's name, but maybe you recognize his face:

Val Avery

1924-2009

He was one of those character actors who created a niche and stayed there comfortably throughout his career. Mafia types were a specialty, but he also played cops, bosses, and any kind of gruff meanie. He was in Humphrey Bogart's final film (The Harder They Fall), and appeared with Paul Newman in Hud and Hombre. He was a favorite of director John Cassavetes, who used him in Faces, Minnie and Moskowitz, The Killing of a Chinese Bookie, and Gloria. He played a traveling corset salesman in The Magnificent Seven, and cut off Eric Roberts's thumb in The Pope of Greenwich Village. His television career began during the live days, and continued through The Fugitive, Gunsmoke, Columbo, and The Odd Couple. In an unusual move for any actor, he convinced his director on Russian Roulette to remove all his dialogue, and allow him to portray his role of an assassin with silent menace.

It was a bit of a departure for him to play a kindly grandfather onstage in Over the River and Through the Woods off-Broadway in 1998. He died last week at the age of 85.

Recognize this guy? Probably not:
Charles Davis

1925-2009

Ok, this isn't really Charles Davis. It's a leprechaun. I've scoured the 'net looking for an actual shot of Davis, and there simply isn't one, which is very surprising, since he appeared in 22 films, including The Desert Rats (with Richard Burton), Hong Kong Story (with Clark Gable), and Star (with Julie Andrews) and has over 100 television appearances to his credit, including Twilight Zone, Night Gallery, Perry Mason, The Wild Wild West, and Leave it to Beaver. He was a writer as well, contributing scripts to Death Valley Days, Have Gun Will Travel, and The Bold Ones.

But apparently he hated to have his picture taken, or he's a vampire and doesn't show up on film. But I'm pretty impressed with his stage cred. He was a member of the famed Abbey Theatre in Dublin (appearing opposite Burgess Meredith among others) when the Broadway producers of Finian's Rainbow were looking to cast the role of Og (now that picture above makes some sense, right? Og is a leprechaun). During its original run and first national tour, Davis gave over 1000 performances of the role. He met his wife, actress Marilyn O'Connor, doing the show, and after a marriage of 59 years, she is one of his survivors. I hope she has some pictures of him. He died last week at the age of 84.

I'm sure you heard of this guy's death a few weeks ago:

Gene Barry

1919-2009

He is remembered primarily for his television work, having starred in three series: Bat Masterson, Burke's Law, and The Name of the Game. It was this last one which brought him to my young attention. Each episode was a whopping 90 minutes in length, and starred either Barry, Tony Franciosa , or Robert Stack. The series was an example of a "wheel series," in which two or more series are rotated in the same time slot. The three leading men all headed different magazines in the same publishing house, and were tied by the presence of the same editorial assistant, played by a young Susan St. James.

At the time, I had no idea Gene Barry had a previous film and stage career. He was in the original Sci-Fi classic The War of the Worlds, and appeared in its remake directed by Steven Spielberg (who got one of his early career breaks directing an episode of The Name of the Game). Barry's early stage career was dominated by musicals and operettas, a fact which had faded into the background until his triumphant return to the musical theatre as the original Georges in La Cage Aux Folles in 1983.

He introduced one of Jerry Herman's nicest ballads, "Song on the Sand," and earned a Tony nomination for his work. He lost the award to the hammier performance of his co-star, George Hearn. Barry died last week at the age of 90.

Tired of actor obits? Here's a guy who was not one, but had a bit of an effect on the show biz community:

Roy E. Disney

1930-2009

My friend Becky alerted me to his death; I recognized the name, but mainly because of his father, who was also named Roy. The Disney brothers started the behemoth which carries their name, with Walt handling the creative side and Roy the business side. The younger Roy, the guy who recently died, spent his early career as a producer and creator of nature documentaries, including The Living Desert and The Vanishing Prairie, both of which received some Oscar love. With the deaths of his father and uncle, he tried unsuccessfully to gain control of Disney Studios, finally leaving the company and becoming an independent financier.

Years later, having made his own fortune, he turned his attention back to his family's heritage, and clashed with Disney moguls Michael Eisner and Jeffrey Katzenberg. In particular, our Roy was distraught over the state of the Disney Animation department, a wing of the company which put Disney on the map but which had fallen into major disarray. As he put it, the company's emphasis on its theme parks resembled a real estate company masquerading as a film studio. After a series of corporate maneuvers, he was able to gain some control over Disney Animation, and ushered in a new era of cartoon classics. The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, and The Lion King were all blockbuster hits for the studio, and all were developed under Roy's tutelage.

Disney was also a major philanthropist, donating millions to the California Institute of the Arts. In his parents' name, he funded REDCAT, an experimental theatre attached to the Disney Concert Hall in downtown Los Angeles. He died last week at the age of 79.

I know Oral Roberts died last week, too, but I don't feel like writing about him. Hey, it's my thing here.

But this gal will be missed by lots of you Sesame Streeters:

Alaina Reed-Hall

1946-2009

She was a regular on "the Street" for about a decade, and had a bit of a career elsewhere. I remember her from her co-starring role on 227, a sitcom built around Marla Gibbs which had a healthy 5 year run in the late 80s. She was also a singer and stage actress, appearing in Eubie, Hair, and Chicago, and an off-Broadway run of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band on the Road. In her later career, she popped up on ER, Ally McBeal, NYPD Blue, and Friends. She lost her battle with breast cancer last week, at the age of 63.


The controversy surrounding this guy will probably die with his death last month:

Robert Degen

1905-2009

He was a musician during the WWII era, working clubs and weddings and such in the Scranton, Ohio area. He never hit the big time, and eventually gave up and became a furniture salesman. He was not much of a composer, but the one song he bothered to copyright, in 1944, was the cause of lots of headaches: "The Hokey-Pokey Dance." A few years later, another musician, Larry LaPrise, claimed to have written the song to entertain skiers in Sun Valley, Idaho, and recorded his version. Thus began a decades-long dispute over ownership of the song, which was ultimately settled out of court, with both gents (who never even met) sharing the writing credit and the royalties.

But the controversy over the Hokey Pokey was not settled. There is evidence that the phrase first appeared in the 18th century, with the words "hokey pokey" invented by Puritans to mock the Latin Mass (note the similarity to "hocus pocus"). Lately, some Scottish Catholics were concerned the song was being used by soccer fans to taunt rival teams, and suggested that singing the song should be considered a hate crime.



Anybody who gets the tune stuck in their head would agree. Anyway, one of the men who actually received royalties on the song, the aforementioned Robert Degen, died in November at the grand old age of 104. He had a long life, but his funeral wasn't easy on his survivors. The most traumatic part for his family was getting him into the coffin. They put his left leg in. And then the trouble started.

Christmas in Urinetown

"Welcome to the Morgue."

Those were the words my great friends and hosts Scott and Drew greeted me with, when I arrived at their home for my 10-day holiday stay in Los Angeles. I stepped into their grand foyer, and immediately knew this would not be like any other Christmas trip I had taken.

My LA trip has developed, over the past several years, into a traditional holiday vacation, during which my hosts and I would spend many evenings schmoozing and boozing by the fire, accompanied by Christmas music or videos. It was a terrific way to kick off the holiday season, and we all enjoyed it (I wrote a bit about this new tradition last year). This year, however, Scott was suffering from a frightening medical problem which, to date, weeks after it first appeared, has yet to be fully diagnosed. But when I stepped into that grand foyer, Scott and his partner were in the midst of a series of unscheduled trips to doctors and emergency rooms, of anti-biotics and anti-depressants, and mis-diagnoses of his ailment which would make the biggest quack doctors envious.

The first five days of my visit, Scott was in actual pain, and he had other symptoms which are a bit too gruesome to describe here. He and Drew were beside themselves with worry and stress, not very conducive to festive holiday cheer. For most of these days, they secluded themselves in their bedroom suite, leaving me to my own devices.

My trip took on a weird schizophrenic quality. In the evening, I would prepare my own dinner, and dine in the beautifully decorated den of my hosts, while the guys themselves would fix their own dinner and have it in their bedroom. That is, when they weren't dashing off to the emergency room or the pharmacist. I admit I was feeling abandoned and awkwardly in the way at the same time.

But during the day, I drove across the valley to teach at Notre Dame High School, where I was having an absolute ball. My best friend for 35 years, Judy, heads the drama department there, and has turned the program into a substantial training ground for young actors. In recent years, she has done me the great honor of inviting me to teach her second and third year actors for the week. What a terrific time I have with Judy's teens. Even at the crack of dawn, these kids are enthusiastic and ready to learn new techniques. We played a variety of theatre exercises and childrens' games, all with the intention of learning a vocabulary of movement for the actor.

Judy was my savior during this schizo trip. We spent most days together teaching, then heading out for lingering lunches where we caught up on each others' lives. She was also responsible for the theatrical events I attended while in LA (I wrote about those here). It sounds like a cliche, but when I spend time with Judy, she renews my spirit.

Each night I returned to the big house on the cul de sac, where I was experiencing a completely different vacation. I have to admit I wasn't much help. After I had been in residence five days, Scott's physical symptoms began to subside, but he and Drew made the decision to continue to seclude themselves in the privacy of their bedroom suite. This isn't much of a surprise, as they have worked hard to build an insular life where they remain removed from most of the day-to-day interactions the rest of us endure. Drew works exclusively from his office downstairs, and Scott's work requires him to be away from home only a few hours a week. Otherwise, the two are inseparable, and impenetrable by the outside world.

So when the outside world penetrates, as it did with Scott's mysterious illness, the stress level of the couple skyrockets. Nothing else can be thought about, no other activities can be attempted, they are completely paralyzed; all other considerations are sidelined. We did our best to replicate the joy of the annual Tree Trimming evening, joined by Judy and Claudia (I wrote about this whole clan a long while ago), but this year was simply not the same as previous nights.

As I headed back to DC last week, I felt that I'd had two very separate trips. During the day, there was the celebratory feeling of reconnecting with an old friend and having new adventures, in the classroom and elsewhere. In the evenings, there was a stressful gloom determining the trip. I suppose I should have been a better Hayley Mills, who spent all those days trying to cheer up Agnes Moorehead, but there's a reason no one ever confuses me with Pollyanna.


So I had half a holiday, which I'm not sure is better than none at all. I returned to DC determined to make up for lost time, and threw myself into decorating my own space. Stay tuned.

Friday Dance Party: Here Come the Boys

Here is yet another Dance Party with absolutely no dance, but it's the hols, so I'm giving myself even more leeway.

This week's delight comes from the late 60s, with a TV series which lasted only two seasons but which launched a couple of its players into the world of Teen Idol-dom.

Here Come the Brides had one of the most interesting premises of any series I can remember. Taking place in post-Civil War Seattle (when the Upper Northwest was just territorial U.S.), it concerned a family of three brothers who imported 100 New England ladies to serve as brides for their horny lumberjacks. The show was classified as a western, but it lacked the violence of other shows of the genre, and included much humor as well as a healthy dose of melodrama. The mix attracted female audiences in a time when networks were hot to tap that market, and the show wasn't hurt a bit by the presence in the cast of three hunks playing the Bolt Brothers: Robert Brown, David Soul, and Bobby Sherman. More on them in a mo'.


The ensemble was a pretty strong one, and included aging film star Joan Blondell, who actually received two Emmy nominations for her work in the show, and Mark Lenard, who is most famous for playing Spock's father in various arms of the Star Trek franchise. Henry Beckman as Clancy, the sea captain with a snootful, and Susan Tolsky as busybody best friend Biddy, provided lots of over-the-top humor, and were elevated from recurring to co-starring status in the show's second season.

As for those Bolts, Robert Brown as elder brother Jason was a terrific leading man and fit the period well; after the show folded, he was rarely heard from again. The men playing his younger brothers, however, went on to more substantial careers. Bobby Sherman became one of the biggest teen idols of the early 1970s, offering a string of bubble gum hits and causing quite a few adolescent girls (and a few boys) to swoon. He had been knocking around the industry a bit before hitting the big time, first as a house singer on ABC's dance show Shindig, and later as a guest on The Monkees and Honey West. It was his role as younger brother Jeremy Bolt which ignited his career; the character was originally played with a debilitating stammer which was endearing but held up the rhythm of the show, and it mysteriously disappeared about mid-way through the first season, just as Sherman's popularity began to rise. After Here Come the Brides, he landed his own series, a spin-off from The Partridge Family, which had the misfortune to be scheduled opposite the explosion known as All in the Family, so Getting Together lasted only 13 episodes. During a guest-starring gig on Emergency!, Sherman became attracted to emergency medicine as a profession, and switched his focus. Occasional guest roles have popped up throughout the 80s, but Sherman essentially turned in his long locks and unbuttoned shirt for the uniform of the EMT.

David Soul, as middle brother Joshua, did not receive the huge adulation his co-star did, but has maintained a lengthier career. He became a star in his own right during his tenure in Starsky and Hutch, one of those buddy / cop / bro-mance shows which peppered the airwaves in the late 70s. He has appeared on countless television programs, several mini-series, and even stage shows, eventually moving to London and becoming a British citizen in 2004.

Here Come the Brides was a moderate hit in its first season, placed strategically at 7:30 PM, which in those days was classified "the family hour." The show, as I said, was particularly popular with women. ABC made a tactical error by moving the show in its second season, to the much tougher 9 PM timeslot, where the show failed to attract a larger, male audience, and was cancelled.


Both Bobby Sherman and David Soul were singers of a sort, with the smooth bari-tenor tones popular in the 1970s. Though Bobby was better known for his music, and produced much more of it, David was the one who actually landed a #1 tune, "Don't Give Up On Us" (none of Sherman's hits made it to #1 in the US). The following clip shows off the guys' dulcet tones, and comes from the Christmas episode of the first season of Here Come the Brides. This sweet moment was the first time either actor sang on the show, and gave them both entry into the pop music world. Merry Christmas!

Theatre Droppings: L.A. Noise

I can't seem to go very long without a theatrical fix. I just gotta get into a theatre and see something dramatical. My buddy Judy is the same, and arranged for me to attend three local offerings during my L.A. Holiday stay.

I have been curious about A Noise Within since I lived in L.A. 15 years ago; even then, they were a theatre company to watch. They seem to specialize in language-heavy plays, with an emphasis on Shakespeare, and they have grown into a very well-known company. This season, they are doing two sets of rotating repertory, a pretty ballsy feat in this economy. Perhaps their seasons have always run this way, I don't know. But this winter, they've been presenting Richard III, Crime and Punishment, and Noises Off, as part of a season they are calling "On the Wings of Fate!"


Take a look at that play list, and you may scratch your head a bit at the last offering. Not really sure what the hilarious backstage farce Noises Off has to do with Fate, winged or otherwise, but nevermind. A Noise Within certainly needed a comedy to offset the cynicism of R3 and the gloom of Crime and Punishment. Yikes.


Judy arranged an outing to Noises Off. I have seen the play a couple of times, including a major production at Arena Stage a few years ago, and a high school production, directed by Judy herself, back in the 80s. The play is always lots of fun, and in the hands of this Noisy Gang, the show is a scream. I particularly enjoyed Jeff Irwin and Geoff Elliott, the latter playing the director of the show-within-the-show, as well as actually directing the show. Got it? Anyway, he's got the Michael Caine accent down pat, and it works well for the role. In fact, everyone was well-cast, but the production suffered from one huge miscalculation. Take a look at this set:


It fulfills the requirements of Noises Off perfectly, with stairs, balcony, lots of doors and a window or two. It's the traditional box set for the show. What you don't see from this shot is, this production is actually performed on a three-quarter thrust stage. Try as they might, the company has been unable to move much of the lunacy onto the thrust. It's simply the wrong configuration for this kind of show. About half the audience is sitting on either side of the thrust, and are missing some of the comic bits. More than once, we heard the audience roar with laughter at a bit which we, buried stage right, could not see.



A Noise Within's space is upstairs at a Masonic temple, and they may well be forced into the thrust staging with all their shows. If that's the case, they should have postponed producing Noises Off until completion of their own theatre, where this farce could be splashed across a proscenium stage, where it is most effective.


My second theatrical outing in LA was to A Bohemian Shindy. That's what the one-night only evening was called, don't ask me exactly what it means. Here's how the producers described the event:

Certified talents, flavorful works, and corruptable vibes. Ingredients include a food installation and cocktail paring,live music, short film, clowns, burlesque, dancing, slide shows, one-acts, death defying interludes, a DJ and more! Park the camel. Join the Shindy.

The evening consisted of about a dozen different performance pieces; some were one-act plays, but most were more unusual items such as the rap artist who performed his first number in a polar bear suit. The first act included a couple of filmed pieces, with a slideshow about New York City being particularly endless. The two actual one-acts were the standouts, including one directed by Judy. Yellow, by Jose Rivera, was a very brief (only 10 minutes or so) but pointed examination of wartime patriotism. The show starred one of my old friends from my salad days, Barbara Hancock.

Barb and I were pretty tight for several years, during a period in which we both were studying with the late, great acting coach Bobbi Holtzman. Since then, Barbara has left acting behind to pursue other interests, but has been kept in the theatrical loop by her husband, the terrific character actor Sam Anderson. Sam's had a very long career in TV, film, and on stage, and has been a recurring actor on Lost since its first season. The two of them together, playing husband and wife, were very special. Adding to the significance of the event was the cameo appearance of the couple's real-life son, Ben, whom I have been teaching at Notre Dame High this week. The theatre is so incestuous!

I left this Bohemian Shindy at intermission, and understand that the second act was actually more enjoyable than the first; according to the single-page program handed out to the audience (a program in which director Judy's last name was misspelled, it was that kind of production), I missed some fun clowning and something called an aerial hoop solo. (?)

The final production I caught in L.A. was arranged by Judy to be a surprise to me. Sunday afternoon, we drove down to the Geffen Playhouse in Westwood to see Alan Cumming's cabaret act, entitled I Bought a Blue Car Today. Cumming has been on everybody's radar for quite a while, winning the Tony for the revival of Cabaret a decade or so ago, and appearing in films such as the X-Men franchise. I was thoroughly enchanted by this guy, whose vocal stylings are much smoother than one might expect, judging from his strident vocal performance on the cast album of the aforementioned Cabaret. His choice of material was eclectic and smart, and he interspersed his songs with hilarious stories of his interactions with America At Large (he's Scottish by birth). He related the tale of his appearance on a Macy's Thanksgiving Day float, and his appointment as an Officer of the British Empire (the OBE) by Princess Anne. His interaction with the audience and with his own band was endearing and self-effacing, and if he weren't already married, well, I might park my camel and join HIS shindy anytime...

Friday Dance Party: A Very Leather Christmas

This must be the month for confessions. Last week, I revealed the unease I had, and still have, with puppets in general and Muppets in particular. Might as well go whole hog and now confess an even greater evil: the King of Rock and Roll leaves me cold.

In my own defense, if I need one, the period during which I became aware of popular music coincided with the 8 year career slump Elvis endured during the middle of the 1960s. I was a Beatles fan (and Monkees, too, let's be brutally honest here), and stylings by groups such as the Mamas and the Papas were also on my radar. Elvis seemed like an oldie to me. I never really got over the feeling that Elvis and his music belonged only in the 1950s, even after his big comeback in 1968.

Presley had spent most of the decade in a string of forgettable films, allowing his music to suffer accordingly. He had not had a number one hit in 6 years, had not performed in front of an audience since 1961, and had not appeared on television since 1960. His self-titled comeback special in 1968 is credited with putting him back on top, with the show's soundtrack cracking the Top Ten, and the show itself becoming NBCs top-rated program of the year.

I don't remember that special, and would not have watched the thing anyway, but several clips are roaming around, which show an Elvis which surprises me. In the following moment from the special, there are no gyrating hips nor vocal pyrotechnics. Here, he sits simply and sings a couple of Christmas tunes, surrounded by his acoustic band and a few adoring ladies. He comes off as downright endearing in this clip, and while I have never thought he was a great looker, in this shot, he is pretty smokin'.

Merry Christmas from the King:

California or/a Bust

A holiday trip to Los Angeles has become a bit of a tradition in recent years, and I've been looking forward to this one since booking a flight last summer. My car rental was secured at roughly half-price (thank you, Priceline), and my dear friend Judy, who runs the drama department in a private high school out there, enlisted me to teach her students during the week. (Not only does it help allay the cost of the trip, it allows me to write the whole thing off. Plus, it's fun.)

I hit a major snag the week or so before taking off. A car was stolen from our condo's private parking lot, signalling yet again the joys of urban living. Very, very frustrating to know that one's own car, parked in one's own parking space (which is fully owned by each condo owner...I have a deed for my spot, and pay separate property taxes on it), is unsafe from the scum who make living in a city so trying. I had planned to leave my car safely parked in my own private spot for the 10 days of my trip; this seemed no longer logical. So, I came to the reluctant decision to leave my car at the airport, where it is surely safe but also very expensive.

I drove to National Airport (still can't bring myself to call it Reagan National) very early Saturday morning, under a steady, cold rain. I understand DC received several inches of snow later that day, but for now, it was just dark, wet, and yucky. As I pulled into the economy parking lot, I noticed the shuttle bus right ahead of me. This bus would take me from the faraway lot to the terminal, and as it was before 6 AM, I had a hunch there were not many of them roaming the lot. In an effort to park and get myself to one of the pick-up kiosks before this lone shuttle left, I slid into a spot, hurriedly hooked my new Club onto my steering wheel (again, thank you DC car thieves), popped the trunk, and dashed through the freezing rain to the closest pick-up hut.

Without locking my car.

I have hopes that, with the Club clearly visible, and the car itself in a "secure" parking lot, my Honda will be waiting for me when I return. Stay tuned on that one.

My luck continued to hold as I boarded the first, and longest, leg of my trip. I had chosen my seat, always on the aisle, online, but the airline had, quite sneakily, hidden the fact that it was one of those rows which backs up to a bulkhead. The seats do not lean back. The disappointment of sitting five hours straight, in a chair which did not recline, was compounded by the huge man who plopped into the seat in front of me. Without a doubt the fattest man on the flight, and the rudest, too, as he immediately reclined his seatback into my face. Other than take-off and landing, it remained in that position, with his seat about four inches from my head, and crammed against my knees so that even crossing my legs was out of the question.

This charmer also provided olfactory entertainment when, about four hours into the flight, he opened a huge bag of Beef Jerky and filled the cabin with the obnoxious smell. I had no idea Beef Jerky smells like human excrement, but it does. He passed the bag across the aisle to his wife, waving the fumes in my direction.

I despise the strangers with whom I am forced to travel, and this guy is a perfect example why.

The one hour flight from Phoenix to Burbank was, by comparison, a dream, and I had just enough time to get rid of the giggles I had from my Phoenix Airport layover. I was there less than an hour, and during that time, I caught two glimpses of the strangest sight I've ever seen in an airport. This character made me wish I had mastered the technique of snapping pictures surreptitiously with my cell phone, though the way this guy was acting, he probably would have posed for a picture had I asked him. But who wants to approach someone dressed so inappropriately?

See if you can picture it. He was a tall middle-aged man, over six feet, with short, nicely combed, gray hair. He had very broad shoulders which were accentuated by the 80s-style shoulder pads he wore under the bright red blouse which stopped just below the breast. He also wore very tight hip-huggers, also bright red (I guess it was a set), which rested just above his butt and clung to his trunk so closely it was apparent he wore no underwear. And what religion he wasn't.

The clothes were clearly meant for a woman smaller than himself, and created a huge gap in the mid-drift area. No, we were not treated to his sagging belly; he had covered up the middle torso with a black corset. You think I'm making this up, but I assure you, in this outlandish outfit, he marched up and down the terminal, glancing from side to side to make sure he was being noticed. And he was. I've never seen so many double-takes, giggles, and astonished stares.

He clearly loved every minute of it. What possesses some poor soul to seek that kind of attention in a public place?

Back to Burbank, where I picked up my rental car and headed out to lunch with Judy. We had a swell time catching up, and planning a bit for her classes to begin on Monday. It was late afternoon before I drove up the cul de sac to my hosts' home, where I was greeted with a distinct surprise. Stay tuned.