Tales from the Ville: Tule Flats- The Beginning

The past can sometimes catch up with you. As time passes, it can make a clean getaway all together. This is somewhere in the middle. If I get some of the facts wrong, blame my aged brain. After all, this happened 40 years ago.

The Pollardville Ghost Town wasn't always such. For a brief period of time, it went under the name Tule Flats.

Back in 1979, four business partners, consisting of Greg Dart, Jim Cusick, Steve Wright and Dave Black, approached Neil Pollard with the idea of running the Ghost Town as a separate entity. They would revitalize the town with improvements, new attractions and more gunslingers than you can shake a stick at. Along with this came a re-branding and a name change. Thus, Tule Flats Ghost Town was born...or re-born as the case may be. What the other names these guys came up with before they settled on Tule Flats, well, ya got me. How about Feral Cat Junction?

As I said, they hired a whole crew of gunfighters for the re-launch. I had been asked to join, but I was reluctant. At the age of 24, I felt I had move past the Ghost Town, having spent much of my teenage years out there. I stayed until I was 19 when all that remained was Sheriff John, Fast Fester and myself.  When I left, I tried to make it as an actor in San Francisco with mixed results and actually returned to Stockton a year later to enroll in Delta College. (Yeah. Go big or go home. Guess what I did?) In the years that followed, I found myself in a very bad state of mind, a bout of crushing depression that I stupidly kept to myself. I had nothing going on in my life at that time, a chip on my shoulder because of it and a head full of dreams that were beginning to make me light headed. After much soul-searching, which I did with a metal detector, I acquiesced and headed back to the mean streets of the Ghost Town.

I figured, "Hey, I'm a veteran cowpoke. I know these bits inside and out. As I soon as I walk onto Main Street, I'll be back in the saddle again in no time." Not so fast there, Slim Jim.

The gunfights and fighters therein were being directed by the one and only Dennis Landingham aka D.W. He had brought in Jimmy Walsh, Bob Gossett, Terry Ross and some kid named Grant Phillips as well a couple of other day players. Some of this group had come over from the Palace Showboat, though Dennis and Bob had previous Ghost Town experience when I wasn't around. I think Dennis knew who I was as well, though we never met until the day I arrived. Naturally, the man who got me involved with the entire Pollardville experience in the first place, my best friend, Edward Thorpe had also joined the group, a major comeback for him  after his stint in the Navy. Last and never least, Sheriff John still held down the fort, even if that fort had been taken over by somebody new. I sure was glad to see him again and he, in his own ornery cuss way, might have felt the same way....without saying it, of course. He didn't say much of anything and sometimes that spoke volumes.

So there I was, watching Dennis put together some of the gunfights, bringing back some that hadn't been performed in ages because they required bigger casts. But some of the "classics", such as they were, were on the docket as well like "Poker Chip" and the ever popular "Saddle Drop". His style lent a little more on the action side. The wagon below the balcony of the hotel had new padding, perfect for a fall from above.  Naturally more stunt fights were added, though one took me aback with what considered to be an out-of-place, though well executed, judo flip. Hey, what did I know? I was just a hired hand and boy, did I begin to feel it.

D.W. Landingham

Then D.W. began to cast the roles and...uh...what do you mean I have one line and I die first? Or I don't have any lines and I still die first? Or I don't have any lines but I don't die first cuz I ain't in the damn thing at all? Whut? Hey, wasn't this my stomping grounds? My turf? My town? It was as though my years of experience meant diddly squat and another thing, I had done a play in San Fran-goddamn-cisco, okay? Yeah, that was fours ago, but...shut up! Who asked you? I didn't need this....

Bitch. Moan. Gripe. Repeat.

I'd watch the others with an overly-critical eye. I had quibbles to be sure. Bob and Jimmy were all fine and dandy to be sure. So was Dennis, who cast himself in everything because, well, he could. He threw himself into everything and I quite honestly was impressed. Inwardly, anyway. I couldn't quite figure out Terry. Something was...I just didn't know. Kept trying to direct me or how to take a fall, suggestions I readily ignored. As for Grant, I had more scrutiny. He was all over the place,really manic and seemed to be trying too hard. The truth of the matter was he was what I wanted to be again. I wasn't much different when I first came out there and now this kid had taken my spot. Observing him with my jealous eye, my insecurity wasn't about to give him a break. That is, until he made me laugh. More than once. Then I realized he wasn't me at that age. He was better. Damn it.

Tule Flats Ghost Town opened to a decent, but not especially crowded group of patrons, not as many as anticipated but a helluva lot more than in recent years. The place certainly looked better with a major clean-up and paint job on certain buildings as well as some new additions like an ice cream stand near the front entrance. The train was up and running, definitely spit and polished with a tune-up thrown in for good measure. Naturally, the gunfighters were the main attraction and the shows frankly didn't disappoint.

Me back then. Nice hat.

While I still had some issues with this new regime, I had invited Bill Humphreys to come out and join the crew. I had only recently met Bill through a mutual friend but we found a common ground almost immediately. He had been off in the world of Big Time Showbiz working in television in Oregon and Hooray for Hollywood. I'm not sure why he decided to hang out with us at the Ville. Maybe he was attracted to the same thing we all were.

But as for me, relegated to minor roles of one line or none, not to mention dying first on the far side of town away from the action, the frustration escalated. This continued over the next couple of weekends, making me doubt my extra added value to these proceedings. But I did get an interesting perspective on things from this vantage point, particularly on Easter Sunday. The patrons were better dressed than usual after church services and lunch at the Chicken Kitchen, but they did dwindle to only a few in the mid-afternoon. The skies clouded over indicating there might be a storm on the way.

We were performing a gunfight called "Wanted: Dead or Alive". D.W. had cast himself as the villain who found himself locked up in jail in the early moments. When his crew busted him out, the wind started to pick up, blowing a sizable cloud of dust down Main Street. Dennis exited the jail at this point ready for the final gunfight between he and the Sheriff. Lightning flashed overhead followed by a rumble of thunder as the two faced off to the inevitable conclusion. The audience and various on-lookers erupted in cheers, making up for their small size. The gunfighters rose from the dirt and, realizing some kind of Divine Intervention had just occurred. It was either that or the entire Tule Flats special effects budget for the entire year was blown in one fell swoop. All I know is that a sudden kinship between this new wild bunch was beginning to form from that moment on. Even Sheriff John had to smile. At least, I think it was a smile. Hard to tell.

I'm not saying this Miracle on Main Street is what caused me to re-evaluate myself and stop acting like a petulant child in the first days of Tule Flats, but it sure didn't hurt. In the following weeks, I moved into some better roles and the rest is Ghost Town history. (stories forthcoming) Starting over again wasn't a consideration when I decided to to go back, but it was necessary. I had to hit the re-set button and when my twenty four year old pride wouldn't allow it, my ego got a most deserved good kick in the huevos. Such is the arrogance of youth. This youth, anyway. It took a long time to accept the cold hard truth about the Ville in my life.

In order to move forward, I first had to step back.

Next up: Chapter Two-IN THE SUMMERTIME

MORE TULE FLATS AND POLLARDVILLE STORIES AT:

TALES FROM THE VILLE

A Guy Named Lou

Lou Nardi was the closest thing I ever had to a mentor in my life.

I've said that so often since I heard of his passing that it's becoming a combination of a mantra, catch phrase and sound byte. That doesn't make it any less true. It's just that I didn't wanted to trivialize Lou or how I felt about him in any way.This is why I feel compelled to write my own tribute to a man who I respected as a teacher, admired as a director and loved as a person.

Back in 1975, I returned to Stockton after a year in the San Francisco Bay Area where I was lucky enough to be cast in my very first professional production, an abomination entitled ADAM KING. I lasted all of two months in this show before I was unceremoniously let go and spent the next eight months in vain attempting to nab another gig. My naivete eventually got the best of me, so I regrouped-or retreated-back home to enter Delta College for some much needed stage training before I ventured out again. (Yes...definitely bass-ackwards...)

Delta turned out to be a mixed bag for me and ultimately unsatisfying, though the chip on my shoulder that I brought back with me from SF didn't help matters a bit. Couldn't teach me nothin', no sir...'specially if I din't wanna learn...

That is, of course, until I met Lou Nardi.

Lou was the only teacher in the Delta theater department that talked to me straight. More of a guidance counselor than a teacher (I actually only had one class with him: Film Appreciation), Lou disarmed me immediately with easy going charm and seemingly unflappable nature. He made me face the harsh reality of my time at Delta, to not have that be the be all and end all of my expectations and that the chip on my shoulder was easily removed, even if my other teachers kept picking it up and putting it back. Just like rehearsal, I had to do it myself until I got it right.

These lessons didn't occur in the classroom, but rather in the Delta cafeteria when my friend, Glen Chin, brought me along to spend some quality time with Lou over many coffees and cigarettes. It was there that I listened to my newfound hero pontificate about school, theater, show business and even life itself. On one particular day, we talked about childhood friend, San Francisco mayor George Moscone, right after he was shot and killed along with Harvey Milk by the psychotic Dan White. Along the way, I felt comfortable enough to go to Lou with my own problems and he would listen with quiet grace, then dispense some sage wisdom that I soaked up like a thirsty sponge.

While I never worked on any of his Delta shows, I did produce a 5 part radio series for KUOP-FM news about the making of his production of THE MUSIC MAN, following it from auditions all the way to opening night. As I stumbled and bumbled my way with microphone in hand, trying to figure out which end was up, Lou was patient and helped me through my process at the same time he was facing the over whelming task of directing and choregraphing a very large musical production. THE MUSIC MAN DIARY was the best thing I ever turned out during my time at the radio station and I had Lou to thank.

Our paths crossed a few times over the years, Stockton being a small world after all as I had become a full-fledged Palace Showboat Player. He was the very first person in the Stockton theater community to not sneer at the very mention of Pollardville. Lou was always supportive of whatever theatrical venture anyone took on, regardless of the stage because he knew it was all THEATER.

In the mid '80s, Lou even turned up at the Palace Showboat to choreograph the second half of one of our shows called ROCK'N VAUDEVILLE. It was a blast to work with him at long last and his style fit the Ville like a glove. In fact, he brought out the best in all of us because he made want to be that much better.

About a year later, Lou called on Thanksgiving to ask me if I wanted to collaborate with him on a new Ville show. He said he had a revue already put together featuring highlights from various musicals called BROADWAY MELODIES and how well it might fit into the Pollardville vaudeville format. He wanted me to write and direct some comedy sketches to fill in the gaps. It absolutely floored me that this man that I admired so much would even consider me to assist him on any theatrical endeavour, even one on my home turf. I have never been so honored in my life.

BROADWAY MELODIES showed the Palace Showboat Players in a different light, one where we could crossover into the "legitimate" theater world and hold our own against the best in the entire area. Lou thought so too. He knew what kind of talent pool we had at the Ville and utilized us to the best of our abilities.

This was the show where he convinced that I could carry off a straight solo. I had a stigma about singing ever since high school...a bad DAMN YANKEES rehearsal croaking through "You've Gotta Have Heart" and getting an assholish response from the musical director. Lou just assuaged my fears with a shrug. "I've heard you sing," he said simply. "You can pull it off." The number was "Try to Remember" from one of my least favorite musicals THE FANTASTICKS. Opening night, I went up at end of the second verse.

"Try to remember, the...bluh..muh...nuh..wuhwuh...and follow..."

Yes, I forgot the lyrics to "Try to Remember".

The following show we
collaborated again, from scratch this time called BACK TO THE THIRTIES. In this show, Lou had another number in mind for me to sing: "Thanks for the Memories". I think he was trying to tell me something.

The years following BACK TO THE THIRTIES, I didn't see very much of Lou at all, probably not until the first Pollardville reunion we had in the early '90s. After that, I lost contact altogether and I eventually moved out of the area altogether and made my way north to Oregon.

At the last Pollardville grand finale reunion in 2007 before a demolition crew flattened the place into just another parking lot, I was so happy that Lou and his incredible wife Nancy were able to attend. That night was so magical. People I never expected to see were there and the Nardis were just the icing of that fantastic nostalgic cake. But somehow I knew in my heart that there were several people there I would never see again. It was true of Goldie Pollard. It was true of Dennis Landingham. And it was certainly true of Lou Nardi. I seized the opportunity that night to tell Lou how I really felt about him and what he's meant in my life. I feel so fortunate to have been able to do so. It wasn't that I was tyring to preemptively bring closure to our relationship. I just felt it needed to be said because the opportunity would never arise again. And for the last time I would say, "Thank you, Lou, for being part of my life."

As I think back on the years that I knew Lou Nardi, the one memory I have that stands out in my mind occurred during the aftershow following what I guess was the closing night of THE MUSIC MAN. Lou had his own number, a little softshoe arrangement where danced his way across the Delta College stage with the style and class that he was known for. He had a look of total bliss on his face, tripping his own light fantastic in the spotlight he deserved his place in.

Dance on, my friend. The stage is all yours.

The Legend of D. W. Landingham

D.W. Landingham was a legendary character.

As presumptuous as that sounds, I stand by those words. Would I be saying that if he hadn’t passed away this last weekend? Am I swayed by my immediate grief to elevate him to such a high standard? Not at all. The real truth is that losing someone as important as Dennis was in my life gives me the right to place him on any damn pedestal I want because, frankly, he deserves it. And let’s face it, no matter how smart or sophisticated we think we are, we always fall for the same thing. We don’t realize what we have until it’s gone.

What makes someone legendary? One answer might be that people will talk about you long after you’re gone. Certainly this will be the case for D.W. and he had the talent, personality and character to back it up.

I knew Dennis for over thirty years, our paths first crossing at the Pollardville Ghost Town. It wasn’t until 1979 when the place was re-branded as Tule Flats and for the relaunch, he became the entertainment director that we became better acquainted (even dating the same woman at one point). He was directing and overseeing the gunfights, naturally casting himself in some of the best roles. No one could begrudge him that since nobody was better as it than he. He threw himself into every aspect of the gunfights, living out his childhood dream of being a real cowboy (minus the horses). Dennis was quick on the draw with his six-shooter and probably the best stunt man out there. None of us were trained to do the things we did-falling off buildings, tumbling in the dirt or engaging in fisticuffs, But Dennis’ instincts were better than the rest of ours and gave his all every single time. In fact, I named one of his “patented” stunts after him. When he’d get thrown out of the saloon, he’d always throw a flip into it, tucking and rolling as he went. I called that a “landing ham”. And as far as I know, he never suffered any real injuries in the gunfights save for the occasional scrape,cut or powder burn. At least, nothing permanent. Later on, he probably felt those falls as they have with all of us. It's taken us all a little longer to get out of bed in the morning since then...and it ain't just age.

On one late Sunday afternoon, Dennis played the outlaw Clay Allison in a gunfight called Wanted Dead or Alive as a summer storm began to brew in the distance. Near the end, Allison breaks free and prepares for his final showdown with the sheriff. At same moment, a wind gust blew down main street, lightning flashed and thunder crackled , echoing through the landscape-sensational all-natural special effects propelling this show to above and beyond anything that hit ever that town...and Dennis along with it. Talk about motivation.

Dennis gave up the Ghost Town for awhile returning back to the other end of the property, that being the Palace Showboat. He began his directorial debut on that stage, Seven Brides for Dracula, which, coupled with a second half of Goodbye TV, Hello Burlesque,became of one of the very best shows ever produced on the Palace Showboat stage. A couple of years later, D.W. asked me assistant direct The Ratcatcher's Daughter, a show that gave me the confidence to redeem myself after a difficult time I spent with The Legend of the Rogue and Life is a Cabaret. The second half of Ratcatcher was a traditonal vaudeville, the first since Goodbye TV, called Hello, Vaudeville, Hello directed by Ray Rustigian. It turned out to be my favorite show and Dennis was undeniably the top banana of the Palace Showboat. It was always a pleasure to watch him work and boy, did he ever. he must have burned off a couple of gallons of perspiration per night. Then again, I used to say that Dennis would sweat in the shower.

On the second go-around of The Scourge of Scrubby Vermin, Dennis played the title role and while I got the role of the one and only Dr. Percival P. Hackemgood. In our big scene together set in Scrubby's shack, Dennis kind of juggled the pages of the dialogue each night, somehow going from point A to point W, then back to point B and point F. I was proud of the fact that I could always follow him and get us back on track no matter where he took us. One night, near the end of the melo in our last scene together, it was my turn. I went up on my lines so far that I couldn't even see them again. I had no idea where I was, a definite vaporlock. Of course ,I turn to my trusted friend, colleague and co-actor for help. He just held his chin down and shrugged his shoulders slightly as if to say, "I dunno. You're on your own, pal." My buddy. Maybe he was getting even for that shower remark...

I had such a blast with D.W. in the second half of that show, Vaudeville Tonight, performing "The Doctor Sketch" with he and Carmen Musch and "Take a Pea" with he and Tom Amo. Comedy came easy to Dennis. Dancing, however, not so much. Whenever chorographer Kim Keifer tried to stage a number, there was Dennis, just off-stage, going over every step until he got it right. "5...6...7...shit! 5...6...shit! 5...shit!" Finally, he got the footwork down when Kim would exclaim, "Okay, now we're going to add the hands..." Dennis exploded. "HANDS?! HANDS?! NOW YOU WANT HANDS??!!"

When he left the Ville for other stages, his mastery of character acting came into play with so many diverse roles in such shows as Oklahoma!, Biloxi Blues,Wife Begins at 40 and Laughter on the 23rd Floor. Nothing was better or more chilling like his portrayal of the main villain in Wait Until Dark. I think this might have been his favorite role. He loved creeping an audience out, taunting the blind girl heroine without her knowledge and definitely scaring the crap out of everyone when he leaped out of the darkness when he was supposed to be killed.

Dennis' mastery at villainy translated to the screen as well when he was cast as a bad guy in three Ron Marchini ultra low budget action flicks, sharing much deserved screen credit with the likes of Adam West, David Carridine and Stuart Whitman. I was so glad I was able to make that connection with Marchini for him. That was the kind of give and take relationship we had. In this case, I was able to get him a role in a feature film, that being Return Fire: Jungle Wolf II. (Yes, there was a Jungle Wolf I) To return the gesture, he got me job as a lab courier.

Hmmm...doesn't sound like much of a trade-off, does it? Film immortality vs pee jockey. But hey, look at the result. I ended up writing a book based on my courier days with SmithKline. So if it wasn't for Dennis, there would be no Red Asphalt. (I also based a character on him in the book) Besides, working with Dennis on a daily basis was what got me through that job. I used to relish our times spent in the break room at the lab talking about everything under the sun and laugh about...well, most of it anyway. It was actually during that period that I really got to know Dennis as a person. We had kind of a stupidly macho guarded friendship, the kind where we didn't tell each other how we felt about one another, but I can say that I grew to love the man and found what a good friend he could be. He was always supportive in anything that any of us did artistically. He was always in the audience for our shows. In fact, he was the only member of the audience during a matinee of The Long Pavement Overcoat at Hutchins Square. When the cast came out for our curtain call, I just looked at him and said "You'd better give us a standing O, you son of a bitch. We outnumber you."

During that period we worked on a couple of video projects with Tom Amo, Backstage Pass (filmed at the Ville) and The Revenge of Chris White, where we were able to capture his great Godfather impression. A running joke for us was the Marlon Brando greeting which was simply kind of drawn out raspy groan. "Uhhhhhhhhhhh...." It was like Aloha. It meant both Hello and Goodbye. Sometimes at work, if I would get a call on the radio for an out of the way stop I would have to make or from a boss neither one of us much cared for, I could always count on D.W. sending a faint "Uhhhhhh...." over the airwaves and it would ease the stress of my day. Later on, after I moved to Oregon, there's nothing that would make me smile more than to hear on the other end of of my phone a long distance "Uhhhhh...." We'd even open and close our e-mails the same way. It was our signature.

Now he's gone. That has been a tough thing to finish. Not to write, mind you because there's plenty to say and to relate as far as D.W. Landingham went. I haven't even scratched the surface. It's just that I feel that when I finish this, well, it's all over. But that's a dumb way to feel and I know that. Obviously, I'm not alone. His family and friends feel his loss as well, but we've all been better people to have been able to know him at all. And we have a wealth of memories to work from.

Reading the comments and tributes from everyone else in the news stories and online reminded me of a line from The Wizard of Oz when the Wizard tells the Tin Man:

"A heart is not judged by how you love, but by how much you are loved by others."

That sure rings true of the one and only D.W. Landingham, a legend in our own time.

For my friend, I give one last salute...

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...........................................