Neil and Farewell

When I learned of Neil Pollard's passing on July 28, the first thing that came to mind was it was truly the end of an era. That may seem like hyperbole to those outside the Pollardville circle of life, but for those of us who lived, loved, played and yes, even worked at either the Chicken Kitchen, Ghost Town or Palace Showboat Theatre, that phrase resonates and it's all due to this guy right here.  

I've written before about Neil as recently as last year in post about my on stage experiences with him during my first show at the Palace, not to mention my assessment that he was one of the funniest men who ever walked the earth. To avoid repeating myself yet again, something I have been able to do without effort as of late, I'll instead say something I should have said to the man in person:

Thank you.

Thank you for hiring me on as the train driver at the Ghost Town in the first place. I applied not because of the whopping dollar sixty five per hour you were offering, but because my best friend Ed Thorpe convinced me that this was going to be the best playground we could ever imagine. He wasn't wrong either.

Thank you for NOT firing me in the second, third and fourth places for train related incidents like two derailments on my first weekend, clipping Ray Rustigian's car with the cow catcher (he parked too close to the tracks!) and smashing into the side of the cab with Ed's car after we jumped started the battery yet again. (What did it take to get fired from this guy?)

Thank you for producing the very first performances of LA RUE'S RETURN, that melodrama written by a pair of pain in the ass young snot-nosed playwrights, namely Ed Thorpe and myself on the Palace stage. But you didn't want to give us any money for it, saying that the opportunity was payment enough. Because of Ed, we managed to get a couple of bucks out of you, ya tightwad.

Thank you for Pollardville itself. Sure, it was a family business started by your old man, the inimitable Ray B. Pollard, but I don't think you got enough credit for your accomplishments. With spare parts and leftovers, not to mention blood, sweat and tears, you transformed, among other things, a western movie set into the Ghost Town, a former cannery building into the Palace Showboat Theatre and the Polynesian-style Islander restaurant into the new Chicken Kitchen. The end result was the stuff of legends. Where else could someone ride a train around the entire property, take in the majestic wonders of Morada and be held up by a gang of desperadoes in the Back 40...pan for gold at the old mine in the center of town...eat fried chicken in a jail cell...Boo the villain, Cheer the hero and Aww with pathos with the helpless heroine every Friday and Saturday night? 

Moas of all, Neil, thank you for being you. I have always been a proud, card-carrying member of the Neil R. Pollard fan club. You were truly one of the most memorable characters I've met in this lifetime. I always referred to you as Uncle Neil as a term of endearment. You never knew this, but when I couldn't find a suitable candidate to vote for during any given election time, I would write in your name on the my ballot. If I got enough people to do the same, you could have been Governor of California. I grew to really respect you as a person, maybe because there were two sides to your personality that I could see, kind of a Dr. Neil and Mr. Pollard. On the one hand, Dr. Neil was a tireless worker, that private businessman who worked hard to keep it all together on a daily basis. On the other, the playful Mr. Pollard would suddenly appear, playing cowboy out in the Ghost Town or appearing on stage at the Palace Showboat, singing (sort of), dancing (kind of) and definitely showing off your excellent, natural born comedic chops. For many of us, being in the spotlight meant everything. To you, it seemed you only needed a quick shot every now and then to remind yourself what it was all about in order to get back to the business at hand and keep it going for as long as you could. 

When the time came in 2007 to finally ride into the sunset for the very last time, Pollardville, that magical, mystical land that existed between Stockton and Lodi on Highway 99 and bared your family name, closed for good in 2007. And though you are no longer with us and it truly is the end of an era, the spirit of that place you kept alive and kicking all those years will long be remembered and revered, as will you, my friend.

 So long, Uncle Neil. Thank you for everything...and I do mean everything.

More about Neil: THE ADVENTURES OF CRASH POLLARD