Tales from the Ville: Tule Flats-In the Summertime

So the Ghost Town, now rebranded as Tule Flats, was up and running. Well maybe strolling. The boosts in attendance following Easter began to taper off maybe not too dramatically, but significantly. Things were better than they were but in order to sustain this new model there needed to be more attendance. For the first time, admission was charged when admittance to the town had been gratis since Day One. But, in Ghost Town 2.0, if ya didn't cough up the dough, ya didn't get in, at least not through the front gate.

Things were taking shape though with this kinda sorta new crew. The street shows, namely the gunfights were packed with more action with more stunt work by are team of non-professionals. Even I was shot off the roof the hotel, falling off onto the wagon below. The acting itself, as it were, had certainly been elevated, probably the most talented bunch of weekend cowboys that ever roamed the Pollardville range. 

The energy in the place was undeniable. There was something happening there to be sure, actually feeling like a real town since, for the most part, we all stayed in character the entire time. Even though it was for the sake of the paying public, we sometimes gave ourselves over to the illusion of what we conceived to be the Wild West, at least our version of it. 

I was convinced of this one day when Grant Phillips and I went out to rob the train, a little bonus for customers that occurred on every run. For some reason, I thought it was a good idea for the two of us to come running back in town after the robbery to continue the story a little bit more. Once I hit main Street, Dennis Landingham was standing at the hitching post in front of the saloon, noticing I had the gold bag in my hand that I just brought from the train. Instinctively he drew his pistol and I drew mine. We began to exchange gunfire back and forth. Grant did not have a gun and basically ducked and covered as we tried to make our way down the street. Hearing the ruckus we just started, a couple of of other gunfighters joined in the fray. As I recall, we scampered behind the buildings and popped out right by the assay office while the other cowpokes lit out after us. In desperation,  I took a couple of customers, young purty girls of course, as hostages and, along with Grant, hold up in the jail trying to figure out what to do next. Outside, Dennis was hollering for us to give up which I refused to do. Grant didn't really care on way or the other, just along for the ride. Realizing there was no way out of this mess (or bit), I felt until it was time to make a hasty exit, leave Grant and the hostages behind and shoot my way out. Throwing open the jailhouse door, I ran to the middle of the street in desperation, pistol drawn ready to face the two or three cowpokes outside when I was met by a hail of blank gunfire from everywhere and everyone, three times more than what I expected. I fell to the ground in a heap, meeting my maker that fateful afternoon. The silence that followed lasted only a mere second before there was a burst of applause that surprised the holy hell out of me. I rose from the dirt to see we actually had an audience for all of this. Here we were, playing cowboy not much differently as when were kids and the customers loved it. Oh yeah. we were on to something, that was for sure. The question was, how to recreate it? 

Memorial day weekend saw another up-tic in attendance, but the drop off afterward led to some changes that didn't set well with some. DW, for one, grew frustrated when more duties were laid upon us that had nothing to do with being gunfighting such as maintenance. He realized that he didn't want the position of Entertainment Director any longer because he already had a full-time job during the week and this was supposed to be recreation not another job. So he gave it up, still wanting to be part of the town and even agreeing not be paid as long he didn't have to fulfill another other responsibilities. 

The Powers that Be, as I called the partners who now ran the town, offered me Dennis' position instead and I became The Guy. I didn't go along with the additional workload conditions either for the gunfighters, let alone myself. For some reason, they went along with me and dropped that nonsense. Why they didn't do the same for Dennis was beyond me. 

As the new Entertainment Director of Tule Flats, the world began to open for me, both creatively and personally. The black clouds of depression I lived under at the beginning of the year faded away in the sunshine of this moment. Instantly, I rewrote some of the old scripts and penned a few new ones with more of an emphasis on comedy because we started to lose some of our stunt performers. Since we didn't have any training, we were basically making it up as went along and if we continued, we could have broken our fool necks if weren't careful and we rarely were as it was. I could see we as a collective were capable of more, much more and wanted to expand on it.

Naturally, in the words of a certain web slinger, with great power comes great responsibility, not to mention a boost to one's ego. I had gone to from zero to sixty in a short amount of time. The black clouds of depression that nearly laid me out at the beginning of the year faded away in the sunshine of this moment in the sun. For the first time, I had a swagger in my step and confidence that had previously been foreign to me. I felt a bit like a rock star that summer. How could it not get into my head?

The seeds of what was to become at Pollardville in general had been firmly implanted in that summer in the Ghost Town. It wasn't long before we became a closely knit group of people and bonds were forming fast. It became difficult to leave at the end of the day, so we didn't. That's when the partying started. Often we go far into the night, consuming many a bottle of beer, laughing, carousing and whooping it up like there was no tomorrow. Unfortunately, when Monday rolled around again, it was time to rejoin the Real World again. We prayed for time to fly until the next weekend when we could head back in time to a world, a better world of our own making. 

And coming up fast was the next big holiday celebration, the Fourth of July. let the fireworks begin.

PHOTGRAPHS BY EDWARD THORPE

Next up: Chapter Three-THE ELECTION

MORE TULE FLATS AND POLLARDVILLE STORIES AT:

TALES FROM THE VILLE

Tales from the Ville: Hello, Ratcatcher, Hello

Next month, I will have the great honor to have my melodrama, Song of the Canyon Kid-on stage at the Mantorville Theater in Mantorville, Minnesota. I have been courting them (or harassing them, whichever it states in the court documents) for four years now and I finally wore them down if, for nothing else, to shut me the hell up and leave them alone. Regardless of their reasons, the Mantorville Theatre Company is one of the most prestigious melodrama venues in the country, each summer offering up four shows from June to September. My melo finishes up their season and I couldn't be prouder. Ironically enough, the play that precedes The Canyon Kid is none other than Tim Kelly's The Ratcatcher's Daughter or Death Valley Daze, the best melodrama I appeared in back at the Ville. There is more than one reason why this became my personal favorite. Here 'tis.

I started with with a bang and damn near ended up with a whimper.

This is how I felt when my Orson Welles moment at the Ville crashed and burned like the Hindenburg of my soul. Oh, I was in bad shape. I had been given the keys to the kingdom and the first thing I do is break them in the lock. My first solo melodrama, Legend of the Rogue combined my directorial debut of the second half, Life is a Cabaret, was, in no uncertain terms, caa-caa. It had been the disastrous follow-up to the iconic game-changer known Seven Brides for Dracula/ Goodbye TV, Hello Burlesque and I damn near single-handily sent the whole place back to square one.

At least, that's how I felt. The hard truth was that I tried to do it all and couldn't. I was far too green and didn't want any help, but I needed all I could get. And when I got it, I pulled away. Reality is a bitter pill to swallow. It became a case of "I won't get mad. I'll just go away."  While I contributed some material for the next two shows, I had turned myself into a pariah, not bothering to even audition for the next year, retreating instead to the safety of the Ghost Town. There I could at least mope in peace, a lonesome cowboy out on the Morada frontier.

I'll be damned if my old sparring partner D.W. Landingham didn't come to my rescue. Dennis and I had been fairly competitive in our days out in the Ghost Town. When it became Tule Flats, he had been named Entertainment Director, namely in charge of all the gunfights. I entered the picture just before the re-opening and was relegated to bit parts and minor walk-ons whereas years before, that was MY town. I didn't resent Dennis, but I felt held back. it wasn't long before before I took a giant step and got right back where I started from. While I didn't feel we were equals at that point, we did maintain a friendly rivalry. Soon, Dennis stepped down and I was offered the ED position. I was off and running and soon, he took a powder, showing up at the town only when he basically like it and he was always welcomed with open arms because he was one talented mofo.  

Time passed and D.W. went back to the Showboat for The Chips are Down/Country on Parade. This was the show that elevated D.W.Landingham to the Pollardville Hall of Fame. Absolutely everything he touched turned to comedic gold in that show, especially his turn as the Oak Ridge Boys' "Elvira". As that show progressed, Dennis nabbed the directorial spot for the next melo and approached me of all people to be his AD. I felt like I had taken enough time off. A year had passed and I had already missed out on two shows. I graciously accepted the position after I put my big boy pants back on. What I had been wearing up to that point is beyond me. It might have been Underoos.

The first order of business  was to do some re-working of the script Dennis had chosen, The Ratcatcher's Daughter by Tim Kelly. This was our modus operandi at the Ville. We found that we had to adapt established material for our stage, molding them as we saw fit to the format we had established over time. (We had to edit it for length as well) Given that I am a playwright myself, this seems hypocritical, but I'm very flexible with the melodramas and even the murder mysteries I write. It's the nature of those types of theater. In fact, when The Great American Melodrama produced Song of the Canyon Kid, they eliminated an entire character and added some of their own music. As long as I approve of the changes, I'm not gonna get all sue-y  like Neil Simon or David Mamet.

Before we held auditions, we found out that Ray Rustigian would direct the second half of the show, a traditional olio presentation called Hello, Vaudeville, Hello with time-tested material complete with a George M. Cohan patriotic finale. Oh. This seemed to be a step backward for the theater to me at the time. That's because I hadn't learned my lesson.

Casting went absolutely swell and we ended with the best of the best: Cory Troxclair as the villainous Whiplash Snivel, Paula Stahley in the title role, Sweet Lotta Bliss and in his Palace Showboat debut, Scott Duns as the heroic Jack Sunshine. Connie Minter, who played Mimi in LaRue's Return, was Auntie Hush and K.T. Jarnigan as Lady Pilfer. The other roles was filled up by Karen Allen and Lori Ann Warren as the orphans, Ray played Feathertop, DW casts himself as Cuspidor and I took the part of Death Valley Dwayne, which Dennis and I switched genders from the original Death Valley Nell. I wore a badge that Goldie bought for me with red LED running lights that I would turn on when I announced that "I wuz the Sherf!" Stephen Merritt was our musical director and show pianist with the legendary Joel Warren on the drums and on bass guitar, the one and only Artis A.J. Joyce. Man, we were set.

Melo rehearsals moved along nicely and without incident, but I must admit that when Ray laid out the olios, I began to balk. It sure seemed like a lot of reruns. Then again, when had I ever performed them? I hadn't. I was thinking out of my ass again. Besides, Ray was willing to give me some choice material. Still, there was one sketch I didn't find so swell called "The Lasagna Brothers.", a circus act involving an acrobatic flea named Herman. I hated the ending (or the kicker as it is known) which I considered to be really tasteless and, dare I say, potentially offensive. Ray and I went around and around about it, but he let me have my way if I came up with a new ending and I did. Whether or not As a performer, I felt I had every right to object. I wasn't trying to be the arbiter of good taste for the theater. But I knew a bad thing when I saw it and I refused to be a part of it even if it had been done before on that very stage. Ray had no hard feelings about it or at least never expressed them to me.

The only other real glitch was a choreographer with a chip on her shoulder so large, it gave her scoliosis. It was difficult to fathom what this woman's problem was with us and the theater in general. After all, she worked at the Ville in the past more than once. Maybe something about us just pissed her off. On top of that 'tude of hers, she blew a whistle every time we missed a dance step, a fine device for a gym teacher, annoying as fuck for a choreographer. It became intimidating to some, annoying to others namely yours truly. Her whistle blowing became incessant, so each time she did, I feigned dribbling a basketball because I hold a doctorate in smart assiness. While she ended up doing an adequate job, we never saw her again after we opened. No brush-ups for her. She took the money and ran as we hoped the door hit the stick in her tight ass on the way out. Maybe she lost her whistle.

Despite the Dancing Queen, rehearsals went swimmingly and it became apparent that everyone in the cast

was going to get a chance to shine. Ray had given me a singing solo, the old Al Jolson number "Sonny Boy". As I sang, I was continually interrupted by Sonny Boy, a mean widdle kid played by Cory, sitting on my knee. I never would have been able to pull this off vocally with Steve Merritt's help and guidance. He gave me the necessary confidence I needed with this number and the rest of the numbers in this show, including the guys' number of "Hello Ma Baby/Baby Face" compilation, which included the band standing at one point and belting "Hello, my ragtime gal!" in perfect three part harmony.

With the melo set basically in stone, the olios were in place and then Hell Week hit us like a ton of bricks. Nothing, absolutely nothing worked. Technically it was a shambles and the cast, who had been rock solid up to this point, began to crumble like so much pumice. Final dress rehearsal was as miserable an experience as any of us had ever had on that or any other stage. We were shell-shocked. What the hell happened?

Opening night had been promoted heavily, more so than any show in recent memory, thanks to Steve Orr. He had arranged for Tim Kelly, the playwright of The Ratcatcher's Daughter, to make a special guest appearance with a press reception preceding the show. So no pressure here either.

Call it a miracle. Call it the theater gods smiling down upon us. Call it somehow pulling the whole thing out of our collective asses. But somehow, some way, it became a textbook case of "bad dress rehearsal, great opening night" as grand and glorious a performance as any I have ever experienced. It all worked beautifully, top to bottom. It set the tone from the entire run of the show.

After the curtain call and greeting the audience on the way out as we always did, I had still been so adrenalized that I was bouncing off the walls Roger Rabbit-style. I couldn't contain myself even when I went back to the dressing room. As I changed out of my costume, the man himself, Mr. Tim Kelly entered to meet the cast. And what was the first  thing I did? I enthusiastically showed him my copy of his script and pointed out all the changes we had made.

"Look, we cut these page here, this monologue there. We cut this character out altogether because we didn't even need her! Then I re-wrote some of my own lines over here and as you can see, it turned out just great!"

He was dead silent as I handed him the well-worn script to autograph. Across the title page, he signed it merely, "Kelly" and handed it back before moving along. Oops.

From there, we were off and running. There wasn't a single performance in that six month run that I didn't love doing that show.. The melodrama was flat out fun  The character of Death Valley Dwayne was an extension of some of what I learned in the Ghost Town and I ran with it. My first entrance involved a variation of the old Johnny Carson "How hot is it?" gag since it took place in the desert.
"It is so hot outside..."
Audience: "How hot is it?"
"I saw a scorpion crossing the desert.. He wuz goin' 'Ow! Ow! Ow! Hot ! Hot! Hot!'"

And that cast was solid, not a  weak link in the bunch and so enjoyable to play with and against. More than once, we couldn't help but crack ourselves up during the show. At one point, all ten of us lost it. Breaking character wasn't a cardinal sin back then. One night, Cory dropped a wad of paper. Because I am so damn cool, I wanted clear the stage of this litter, so when I crossed on my next line, I kicked it into the orchestra. At that same moment, Joel had returned to his drum set and the paper wad popped him right in the face. He cocked his head and looked so hurt and offended by this, I totally lost it. Since I was the only one who had seen Joel's reaction, nobody knew why I was laughing, which busted me up even further. It took me awhile, but I finally got myself under control. Needless to say, I didn't dare look at Joel the rest of the night otherwise I might have kick-started my funny bone all over again.

The real revelation for me was Hello, Vaudeville, Hello. I had initially been opposed to going old school Pollardville, but that's because I never attended class before. As an young upstatrt, of course I knew everything. I didn't know nuttin'. I had jumped into the deep end of the pool a  little prematurely. Was I merely treading water up to that point? No. I knew how to swim. I just didn't know how to dive, hence a belly flop from which I couldn't recover. The arrogance of youth tends to hold the past in disdain and I was guilty as charged. Not only did I learn the old style, I also discovered that they could also be done well, which this show definitely proved. This was the Pollardville lesson I needed to learn: I had to go back in order to move forward. Now I could do since I finally found the way.

For the next seven years, I was involved in every single production in one capacity or another. I wrote and directed the next three olios following Ratcatcher/Hello Vaudeville. Song of the Canyon Kid (then known as Song of the Lone Prairie) made its world premiere down the road and I had the great fortune to work alongside my mentor, Lou Nardi, when he graced our stage.

Thanks to both D.W. Landingham and Ray Rustigian, The Racatcher's Daughter/Hello, Vaudeville, Hello show gave me a chance for redemption. It served as a starting point for a prolific, productive and enormously creative period for me. It's when the Palace Showboat evolved into something more than a giant sandbox for which I could play.

It became a way of life.

The Mantorville Theatre Company production of The Ratcatcher's Daughter or Death Valley Daze by Tim Kelly is now playing on their stage in Mantorville, Minnesota until Aug. 13 followed by the debut of  Song of the Canyon Kid or Poem on the Range from Aug 18 until September 9.

Tales from the Ville: Daddy Goose

As Father's Day approaches, it's high time I pay tribute to the other significant pater familia in my life, the one, the only Daddy Goose.

Without going into a long list of my credits, I have to admit that the years I spent out at Pollardville were the most creatively prolific in my writing life with material that continue to pay off to this very day. But for all the melos, sketches and gags I wrote or re-wrote over time, there is one person I managed to short-change:

Me.

When I first ventured onto the Showboat stage in 1979, I had just come from the Ghost Town where I had been the entertainment director for much of the past season. Therefore, I was full of piss, vinegar, beans and hops and wanted to take the theater by storm after that most amazing of all years playing in the streets of the Ville's backyard. I had already co-written LA RUE'S RETURN a couple of years earlier. And Bob Gossett, who was to direct his first melodrama, a revival of DOWNFALL OF THE UPRISING or WHO DO THE VOODOO? written by Marian Larson, asked me to be his assistant and to help him punch up the script. Naturally, I wanted to do more, submitting many a gag for the vaudeville section only to be roundly shot down by olio director Phil DeAngelo. I did manage to squeeze in one piece which, coincidentally featured myself as a cowboy and his dancing bear which he accomplished by shooting at its feet. Later on, the tables were turned as the bear made the cowboy dance in the same matter. Goldie played the bear and I believe that was where our long friendship was cemented. (Kind of a metaphor, eh, wot?)

But as time passed, I wrote more and more for the greater good which turned out to be those talented individuals I worked with. If I ended up in the melo/sketch/blackout, it was usually an afterthought or happy accident. Don't get me wrong. I had some great roles, but sometimes it was by default. I was my brother, Charlie. I shoulda been looked out for me a little bit. (As I try to make a point, I make no sense. Sue me.)

Further down the road came the first total rock n' roll olios, ROCK N' VAUDEVILLE. Since GOODBYE TV, HELLO BURLESQUE's guys number, "Hot Patootie" from ROCKY HORROR SHOW, more and more vaudevilles had more contemporary numbers, including rock ' n roll, so why devote a whole show around it? We decided to have a DJ character set up in a side stage studio set and that's when I developed the character of Daddy Goose, a beatnik well past his prime. this piece was just a variation on the old FRACTURED FAIRY TALES segment from THE ROCKY AND BULLWINKLE SHOW. (Jay Ward, the creator of that show and GEORGE OF THE JUNGLE has always been and always will be a major influence) So, I wrote a new version of Cinderella called Cinderbaby. She was a Valley Girl who lived with her Step-Mommy, a riff on Flip Wilson's Geraldine character, and her two hideous stepsister-The Lee Sisters, Ugh and Home. With the help of her Fairy Godfather (and all it implies) Cinderbaby was able to go to the ball thrown by the Prince, Little Red Corvette and all. Since this was a all out assault on Mother Goose, I came up with some nursery rhymes as well. This pre-dated Andrew Dice Clay’s X-rated versions by at least of couple of years or at least my awareness of them.

Look at me! I'm a weiner!

This was the beginning of my very short-lived stand-up career. Playing Daddy G twice a week on the Pollardville stage gave me the confidence to give it a try outside my comfort zone. It all culminated in 1987 when I entered and won the one and only Stockton Comedy Competition. At the finals, I performed a truncated version of Daddy Goose. Winning that event in itself was one of the definitive moments in my life. If somebody ever plays a highlight clip reel when I die, that night will be included. Okay, so maybe there are those of you who don’t get it. Perhaps you think that this is a lame claim to fame and that winning first place in a stand-up competition in Stockton, California is the equivalent of say, being crowned Miss Picante Sauce at the Salsa Festival in West Cowpie, Texas. But you know what? This brief moment in the sun means the world to me and, in my life, I will always have this particular fame to claim.

After I won, I attempted to bring Daddy Goose into the clubs, but it didn't translate and died a thousand deaths, sometimes in one night. I began to lose faith in the Goose, doing about as far as I could with the character, so I put him up in mothballs. When Ray Rustigian booked outside variety show gigs for many of the Palace Players, he always requested I bring back the Goose. I resisted, preferring to go with newer material instead. Ray had more faith in Daddy Goose than I did. In retrospect, he might have been right, considering the audiences we played to during those shows who might have preferred the old over the new. .

When I appeared in ANGRY HOUSEWIVES at Stockton Civic Theater, board president Helen Kastner wanted to put together a series of separate variety shows on Sunday afternoons that summer. She asked if I would throw something together and so I took that Pepsi challenge. The all comedy revue entitled NOW THAT'S FUNNY! turned out better than I ever could have hoped. The cast, made up of some Ville alums and other theater friends, was a total dream and the show itself, a combination of some of my original material interspersed with some old vaudeville bits like Dr. Cure-All (featuring the one and only D. W. Landingham) as well as other kibbles and bits I gathered hither and tither, made for a damn decent show if I say so myself.

As MC, not to mention director of this one time only event, I took advantage of the situation. I performed some stand-up, cast myself in some sketches and made damn sure that Daddy Goose would make a  grand entrance. I never had this much freedom of movement before. At the Ville, I was trapped on the side stage behind the KPOL set. Other times, I had to make due with a postage stamp size platform. But on the SCT stage, I felt unleashed. This is exactly how this bit was supposed to go, The end result was a personal triumph, probably the best performance of Cinderbaby I ever gave. I think for the very first time I totally owned Daddy Goose and it showed.

When I moved to Portland, I used snippets of the Goose for various audition pieces, mostly out of laziness so I wouldn't have to learn a new monologue. But I thought that was about the size of it until I put together a collection of my comedy sketches together for a book I titled NOW THAT'S FUNNY! (Hmm, that' sounds familiar...) Naturally, I included Daddy Goose,nursery rhymes and all, never thinking I would dust off the beret and shades again.

Then the Pollardville reunion reared its head in 2007 and when I was asked if I wanted to contribute to the show, naturally I had to bring back the Goose one...more...time. It had been 15 years since the last appearance of DG and I'm talking about from beginning to end. I rehearsed like a mofo at my Oregon home,until I made the trip back to the site of the Big Chicken in the Sky. Oh boy, was I outta shape and by the end, damn near outta gas as I plowed my way through the story of Cinderbaby and all her kin. I wasn't a hundred percent happy with the result and if you look at the tape, it ran a too long 14 and a half minutes. I also looked like a bloated hungover bus boy at Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville Bar and Grille.Once again, I felt handicapped by the space I was given, restricting my movements and quite frankly, I should have edited the piece. No one but me really gave two hoots in Hell if I told the whole damn story. I could have cut it short and ended with a Mick Jagger send-off which would have put a sweet exclamation point on the bit. But hindsight is 60/40 so I should quit my bitchin'. It wasn't meant to be all about me This was the last telling of this tale and I'm eternally grateful I got the chance. I did put my heart and soul into Daddy Goose's swan song in the place of his birth. It was a true homecoming, if only to say goodbye once and for all.

Daddy Goose is now retired, living in an assisted living yurt somewhere in Humboldt County, but his legend may continue. I may still do something with the character, perhaps an adaptation of Cinderbaby in some form or another. It would need an overhaul since much of the material is mired in 1980s culture. And the Fairy Godfather could use a makeover as well, not in the name of political correctness rather for the sake of evolution.

What can I say, Daddy? Not to get all Brokeback, but I just can't seem to quit you. Over the years, you've been good to me and I want to give you the respect you deserve with this overdue tribute at long last.

Happy Father's Day, Daddy Goose!

And to all of you fathers out there,

Peace, love, rock n' roll

MORE TALES FROM THE VILLE RIGHT CHER