Tales from the Ville: Under the Big Top-Be a Clown

Something else that made 1979 my favorite year was my debut on the Palace Showboat stage soon after the ghost town closed for the season, joined by my fellow desperados in arms, Bill Humphreys and Grant-Lee Phillips. I've already recounted the melodrama part of the story, that being DOWNFALL OF THE UPRISING or WHO DO THE VOODOO,  so let's take a deep dive into the second half of that double bill, so break out your pool noodles, gang, and float along. 

WHO DO THE VOODOO?

Since the shows at the Ville were traditionally two parters (melodrama AND vaudeville, the peanut butter and chocolate of show biz), the second half of this particular show debuting at the end of 1979 was to be entitled UNDER THE BIG TOP as directed by Mr. Phil DeAngelo. At first glance, conventional thinking would at least assume these might be a circus themed olio. Well, yes and no. At our first rehearsal, Phil laid out his plans for the show. Yes, there would be circus acts, basically recycled bits from shows past. However, he wanted to expand on the concept and rattled off his ideas like clues on The $100,000 Pyramid.  The finale was to be gospel-themed along the lines of a tent revival. Midway there would be a big production number featuring the entire cast ala Broadway or, more accurately, in the manner of Music Circus. "Things found under the big top, Phil!" Grant-Lee Phillips added "How about mass camping expeditions?" As for that production number, we'll bookmark  that for now.

Being full of youthful piss and vinegar combined with the chutzpah I felt I earned from my year in the Ghost Town and working on the melodrama with Bob Gossett, I desired to creatively contribute to the olios as well. I wrote a few bits, mostly duds, but one made it through, a two-piece blackout I called it "Tex McKenna and His Dancing Bear". When introduced, cowboy Tex would draw his pistol and make his bear dance by shooting at his feet. For the payoff, the roles were reversed with the bear holding the gun, shooting at Tex to make him dance. Blackout. I played Tex with the one and only Goldie Pollard as the bear. As director, Phil changed the name of the cowboy to Wild Willy for some reason, but didn't alter it any further. For its inclusion to UNDER THE BIG TOP, I have to thank Goldie for going to bat for me. From this point on, I realized I had found a theater angel or, better yet, she found me. Because of her shining the light, I had an in-road into the theater that lasted for the next decade an. as I always said, allowed me to do everything I've ever wanted to do in show business, amazingly under one roof or big top, as it were. One stop shopping.

Joining the vaudeville cast were Lisa DeAngelo, Vincent Warren (despite what the program says, which is Joel's middle name) and Neil Pollard himself, pulling double duty managing the Chicken Kitchen and schlepping across the parking lot for a few choice moments in the spotlight. More about him later. As for Lisa and Vince, it should definitely be noted that this was where and when their relationship began, resulting in a marriage that has lasted after all these years. That's probably because they didn't get married on the Palace Showboat stage. Take it from one who knows.

UNDER THE BIG TOP began with Lisa's solo rendition of the Sondheim classic "Send in the Clowns", transitioning into "Be a Clown" with most of the cast in full costume and makeup. Over the standard six month run of the show, the clown facial paint had its variations. For example, someone (maybe me?) once drew a tic tac toe on their face. Another time, three of us-Grant (his suggestion), Cory Troxclair and myself-made up our faces as the members of KISS. Kids. Whudda ya gonna do?

Following the opening were the various circus "acts", per se, called for us to don tights (hello, dance belt!) and perform parodies of three ring performances. One of them was Grant in the role of Jugglini, a rather one note bit that he ended up transforming into comedy gold. He gathered up a bunch of whatever he could find backstage, studied them and came up with gags that were spot on hilarious, prop comedy at the speed of light. To see that teenage mind at work was awe-inspiring. He still worked in the juggling gag, lame as it was, as his "big" finish or finale (He would tell the audience in broken Italian accent, "I know that it you say. Finale.") His best gag involved the can of mixed nuts with the spring snake inside and announce that he would now recreate a scene from the movie ALIEN. He'd hold the can up to his chest and say "I can't eat no salad", then open the can to release the "chestburster" within. Absolute freaking genius. 

NEXT UP-WORKING WITH NEIL POLLARD

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Tales from the Ville: Tule Flats-The Election

The Fourth of July in 1979 fell on a Wednesday, but Tule Flats Ghost Town would be open for
business even though it was normally a weekends only operation. Therefore, we had something extra special planned for this holiday extravaganza.

I haven't a clue who came up with the idea, but it was decided that we would have an election that day to name the Mayor of Tule Flats. The field for candidates was wide open-anybody and everybody could run if they so desired, provided they run for this prestigious office in character. We all had been given free rein to create a town character for ourselves. Bill Humphreys became Humphrey Williams (clever boy), the town banker. Ed Thorpe was Ned Tate who ran on the Law and Order ticket. I had a couple of different characters, one of them being Al Jennings, a real-life western train robber who later became an attorney. (look it up) But in the gunfight known as "Poker Chip", I played the Storekeeper role as a Swede named Sven Bjorn Bjorg Gunther and he is who I chose to throw my hat into the ring with. 

So those became the main three vying for town mayor. We were to run our campaigns throughout the day on the Fourth, culminating in some fancy speechifyin' in the gazebo out before our potential voters. Grant-Lee Phillips wrote Bill's-or Humphey's, rather-campaign song that he sang as they paraded down throughout the town.

Humphrey Williams

He's our man

Best darn throughout the land

Humphrey Williams

Rah Rah Rah

And best of all he wears no bra!

In a nutshell, meaning his amazingly creative head, that was our Grant-Lee.

As we all stood on the gazebo, ready for our campaign speeches, a dark horse candidate entered the picture. Accompanied by a bevy of bombastic beauties all dressed to the nines in hotsy-totsy saloon girl costumes, here came Goldie Pollard, all decked out in full regalia as though starring in a Mae West one-woman show. She took the stage by force of her sheer personality and announced to the crowd that she indeed was running as a write-in candidate for mayor. Her campaign promises included no restrictions on gambling, the sale of alcohol and...wait for it...open prostitution. 

Goldie won by a landslide.

There was no way any of us would attempt to contest the results because I think we all voted for her ourselves. Maybe some of the townsfolk and one of the business partners took issue with the "open prostitution" line, but that's politics.

Later that night, we all celebrated Goldie's win and it was the first time the ghost town and the Palace Showboat merged together as one. It wouldn't be long before some of us would take up residence there, but right then, we were two separate entities that found common ground and that is due to the one person who brought us all together, the one (and only) duly elected Mayor of Tule Flats Ghost Town, the Honorable Goldie Pollard. 

As we partied long into the night in the saloon that night, one person joined us who never had before, our very own Sheriff John. In, all the years I had known him up to that point, he had always kept to himself, the lonesome cowpoke he had always bee. Here he was though, drinking, laughing and celebrating with the rest of us. In fact, at one point, we spouted lines from our gunfights, adding a plethora of swear words to not only spice things up, but to crack ourselves up until the cows came home.

Sheriff! Sheriff! Have you seen the sheriff?

What the fuck do you want, you little asshole?

High comedy indeed and a perfect end to the holiday, or any other day for that matter.

That Fourth of July, we didn't need fireworks. We made our own.

Next up: Chapter Four-I SHOT THE SHERIFF

MORE TULE FLATS AND POLLARDVILLE STORIES AT:

TALES FROM THE VILLE

Tales from the Ville: Bohemian Rap City

The recent release of the Queen biopic BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY reminded me that once upon a

time, we at the Palace Showboat damn near beat them to the punch. Well, sort of.

Being that we had some many creative folks in and around the Ville at any given time, we had certain side projects that utilized not only members of our artistic community but the magical little play land we found ourselves in. many a video had been shot there in one form or another such as Bob Gossett's CITIZEN KANE parody CITIZEN PLAIN and several more by Tom Amo such as BACKSTAGE PASS, both projects that I not only collaborated on but appeared in as well.

But it was Bill Humphreys and Grant-Lee Phillips who joined forces to come up a short film based upon Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody". Music videos were in the infant stage and I don't think MTV debuted yet, so they were ahead of the curve in the USA by a smidge. (Queen filmed their own video of the song that aired on Britain's "Top of the Pops" TV show)  Even better, the project was to be actually shot on 16mm film, borrowing a camera of Neil Pollard's that hadn't seen the sight of day in many a moon. (Yes, you read that right.)

As I recall the basic premise, Grant was to play a young soldier getting sent off to war. It was all bits and pieces, much like a regular video scenario that we're all familiar with now, but back then it seemed innovative as hell. Script-wise I was able to put my two cents in, which was about what my contribution was worth. During the Galileo (Galileo) section, I thought several shots of  the famous astronomer should be included, finishing with a single shot of Figaro the cat from PINOCCHIO. Like I said, two cents worth. Other than this and a too-complicated 360 degree shot (summarily shot down), that was about it for my input. Mostly it was a Humphreys/Phillips joint.

A fantasy sequence was created featuring soldiers from different eras and since we had access to costumes from the theater, it looked quite promising. We found  a perfect location way in the back of the Ghost Town, an area we called the Back 40. There had been a crane on the property that Neil had been using for one thing or another. That Pollard guy was always up to something. Since it had a basket, Bill thought he could utilize this for the video...with Neil's permission, of course. So during a night shoot, we had what John Candy's legendary Johnny LaRue character from SCTV always dreamed of...a crane shot! When Bill went up in the crane basket with the camera, I could see why Jphnny coveted this. The rest of the shoot went well into the night without incident with the exception of John Himle, dressed as a Revolutionary War solider, simultaneously splitting and losing his pants.

Another scene filmed on stage at Stagg High School auditorium featured Goldie Pollard as Grant's anguished mother, sending her boy into battle. I wasn't present for that shoot, but according to Bill filled me in. He set up an extreme close-up of Goldie staring straight into the camera with a solitary tear falling down her cheek,  a heart-breaking image that positively nailed.

That was a wrap and unfortunately, that was that. We had no budget with the exception of what was spent on film, a totally rookie mistake for a bunch of broke-ass artists that didn't realize that someone had to pay to not only develop the raw footage we shot but also to put the bloody thing together in an editing room. While it was a sweet novelty for this to be shot on film, this wouldn't have been an issue had we used video. Unfortunately for everyone concerned, the Pollardville production of BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY was in limbo. The last I heard, Grant ended up with the footage when he moved to Los Angeles and somehow was misplaced over time

So this became a lost project of ours. It would have terrific if it had been completed. Now it would a real piece of nostalgia, a time capsule from that period of time. It didn't, but so what? The fact that a group of us wanted to stretch our artistic muscles and try something different was everything that we were all about back then. The effort itself, even if it came to naught, proved our mettle  and the memories remain even if the film does not.

Like the song says, "Any way the wind blows..."

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The Legend Continues

Rising from the ashes...or emerging from a pile of papers...is THE LEGEND OF THE ROGUE, yet another western comedy melodrama in the grand tradition of SONG OF THE LONE PRAIRIE.

Grand tradition, my Aunt Petunia's pooting patootie. Boy, two productions of the same script in one year and all of a sudden, it's OUR TOWN. Never mind that it took 27 years for even a second show to get off the ground...

SHUT  UP, YOU! Ignore that snarky naysayer in my head. How the hell did he find his way into this blog?

THE LEGEND OF THE ROGUE was my first solo effort as a melodrama playwright after Ed Thorpe and I wrote LA RUE'S RETURN for the Palace Showboat Theater stage at Pollardville. This is my homage to the masked western hero sub-genre which includes The Lone Ranger, Zorro and Marvel Comics' Two Gun Kid. Coincidentally enough, I had penned a Lone Ranger sketch for the previous show at the Palace, GOODBYE TV, HELLO BURLESQUE.

The Rogue had been a character I created out in the Pollardville Ghost Town but never got the chance to bring him to life on those mean streets, so I featured the character in another script called THE WRATH OF THE ROGUE or WHO IS THIS GUY ZORRO ANYWAY? It landed with a thud after I unsuccessfully submitted the script to Goldie Pollard, the producer and Mother of Us All at the Ville. The Rogue was more of a Zorro type complete with cape, mask and sword that glowed in the dark. It wasn't much, except for this exchange between the hero Brian Ryan and the heroine Georgia Washington after she discovers his secret identity. These were meant to be asides to audience.

BRIAN: If only she knew.
GEORGIA: If only he knew
BRIAN: If only she knew that I know that she knows.

Eat your heart out, David Mamet.

But I gave it another go a few months later, turning the new script into an origin story instead and a plot similar to a movie from my youth: THE LONE RANGER AND THE LOST CITY OF GOLD. However, I needed a major element that THE WRATH sorely lacked: A good villain. What's an evil trait not seen in most melodrama bad guys. Well, I hear racism's pretty bad. How about a good old fashioned bigot? Alright, but what kind? Hey, it's the Old West, what say we have an ex-Confederate officer, a Foghorn Leghorn type, who wants to fight another Civil War and set things right again? And he can oppress the Indians at the same time? But what to call him? A name hit me from the deep recesses of my demented creative soul...Randolph Hitlear. Of course! A Kentucky Fried version of the worst villain of all time!

Once I had my villain, I was off and running. I knocked out a first draft in four days time. Within another week, I handed it off to Goldie and, saints be praised, it green-lit as the next production. I didn't have a sub-title at the time and reluctantly settled for GOOD GUYS WEAR BLACK, also the name of a Chuck Norris film, one that my mom once mispronounced as BLACK GUYS WEAR GOOD, another concept entirely.  

(The saga of this particular production where I was chosen as the writer/director of the vaudeville section as well, is a tumultuous tale to be told another time. Let's just say in the most cliched of terms, "Be careful what you wish for.")

However, I will say that THE LEGEND OF THE ROGUE, directed by Bill Humphreys, had its one and only run at the Palace Showboat for the first six months of 1981. I never got a chance to see it because I was in the cast. It has not seen the light of day since.

The personal triumph of SONG OF THE LONE PRAIRIE this past summer has given me the initiative to revisit this story that I had felt was beyond help. But a fresh perspective works wonders and I realized that I hadn't given the material enough credit. There was enough here for salvation and development, so I went ahead and expanded the story and characters to make more it more of a well-rounded story instead of an elongated sketch. Hence, THE LEGEND OF THE ROGUE lives again and this time with a different sub-title: MASK ME NO QUESTIONS. I'm still only half-sold on this, but I have a feeling Chuck Norris might come after me for copyright infringement. Sure, he might pull a ham-string kicking me in the face at his age, but then again, I didn't need my face rearranged into a Picasso either.

Here's the story and yes, it's full of very obvious spoilers:

Hard times have fallen on the Clayfoot Indian tribe with the arrival of Randolph Hitlear, an ex-Confederate general obsessed with idea of starting a second Civil War under his leadership. To finance this effort, Hitlear searches for the Clayfoot's mountain treasure, the Tomb of Gold. With the help of his dastardly henchmen, Ashley and Rhett, Hitlear forces the tribe into slavery to dig for the gold including the Clayfoot leader, Chief Boyardee. His daughter, Fawn, is a mystic who has the ability to speak to the Great Spirits. From them she learns of a prophecy that states that "the dark cloud of evil shall ride a warrior of good who shall become a savior". With that thought in mind, Fawn seeks the help of Brian Ryan in nearby Parched Throat, Arizona, a handsome young lawyer who moonlights as sheriff of this one lizard town. Brian falls in love with Fawn at first glance, raising the ire of saloon singer Sugar De Spice who wants to put her claws into the novice lawman herself. When the sheriff agrees to help, a jealous Sugar, along with the weasely corrupt Indian agent Percival P. Pestt, inform Hitlear. Laying in wait for the sheriff, Hitlear gets the upper hand upon Brian's arrival and in the fracas, Fawn is killed. When Brian is left for dead himself in the desert, Sugar has a change of heart and rescues him. Back in town, Fawn's spirit comes to him in his delirium and empowers Brian with special abilities given to him by the Great Spirits since he is indeed the warrior of good in the prophecy. Brian dons a mask and adopts the persona of the masked avenger known as The Rogue. He catches up to Hitlear just as he enters the fabled Tomb of Gold and thwarts his plans once and for all, saving the Clayfoot tribe and the nation from this vicious war criminal. And the rest is legendary... 

Now THE LEGEND OF THE ROGUE has been published by Off the Wall Plays. Performance rights are available.

CLICK HERE FOR A FREE PREVIEW OF LEGEND OF THE ROGUE AND TO INQUIRE ABOUT PERFORMANCE RIGHTS

Like the title says, the legend continues...

The Canyon Kid Comes Home

The Footlight Theatre Co. production of SONG OF THE LONE PRAIRIE opens August 29 in Jamestown,

CA, not far from whence it first reared its white Stetson way back in 1987 at the Palace Showboat Dinner Theater at Pollardville. This is as close to home as the show's been for 27 years.

And after all, that's the real theme of this show: Going home. I had put melodramas in my rear-view mirror a long time ago and yet, I returned to my favorite, LONE PRAIRIE, and wrote a novelization of it as a lark. It turned out to be the project that rekindled my love for writing, comedy and yep, melodrama. An e-mail out of the blue from the Great American Melodrama and Vaudeville in Oceano got my show produced for the first time in the 21st century. So I sent out to few other companies and lo and behold, here's the Footlight Theatre Co. ready for the second production of this script this summer.

Now I've got a total of three scripts ready for the big time, LONE PRAIRIE, LA RUE'S RETURN, my first co-written with Edward Thorpe and a punched up version of my first solo show, THE LEGEND OF THE ROGUE or MASK ME NO QUESTIONS. (New sub-title. It used to be GOOD GUYS WEAR BLACK, but I don't want my ass kicked by Chuck Norris. I don't care how old he is. He can still rip my lower intestines out with his bare hands and make me play jump rope with them)

Whatever goes around, comes around and I'm enjoying the ride.


This is the front of the Palace Showboat program.
Obviously, I didn't design this. The title isn't very prominently displayed. Neither is my name.  Goldie's name is. Hmm...
It also calls the play "A Western Fairy Tale". That's about as accurate as calling SAW a slapstick romp that's fun for the whole family.
And what in the name of Sam Peckinpah is up with that cowboy? Who is he supposed to be? Give him a golden earring and a head scarf underneath that hat and it could be Two Gun Boris...or Charlene Atlas before a good scubbin' and waxin'
I'm not sure what that stain on the program is. It could be from Pollardville fried chicken.
Yeah I can say all this now, but I treasure this like a Picasso.
 But that was then...

 
And this is now.
This is the latest incarnation of this show, quite different than the first in many ways. Read this from the Footlight Theatre Co. press release.

Hurst Ranch and Footlight Theatre Company have teamed up to meritoriously bring to life the world of Wild West Melodrama!  Set at the striking Hurst Ranch  with its beautiful vintage grounds, audiences are sure to have an outrageous, side-splitting laughter filled evening full of all sorts of knee-slappin, toe-tappin old timey fun!

Every performance begins with a train ride into the "town" of Dirt Clod on the Hurst Ranch Railroad, where guests can arrive in town and belly up to the bar at The Dirt Clod Saloon.

An 1890s style musical vaudeville shows begin at 5:45, featuring performances by  local old timey bands including Faux Renwah, The Lava Cats and more.

At 6:00 pm, with the ringing of the dinner bell, a 3 course gourmet Western BBQ is served up by The Historic National Hotel of Jamestown.

Romp-stomping action and non-stop hilarity ensue after dinner around 7:00 pm, just as the sun begins to set over the beautiful "Dirt Clod Lagoon"!!  In classic melodrama fashion audiences will get to boo and hiss the villains, sigh and swoon for the sweet heroine and cheer the brave hero!! 

And the next generation of actors portraying those wackadoodles I wrote many moons ago include:

Michelle Tennant as Charlene Atlas

Alexis St Onge as D and Richard Carr as The Canyon Kid

Valerie Smusz as Nastassia and Aaron Bennett as Two Gun Boris

Susan Chapman as Honey Darling

Rounding out the cast (those MOP-Mit Out Photos) are Art Delgado as Basil Kadaver, Anthony De Page as Dalton Doolin and Don Pierazzi as Mayor Darling.

So that's the story, glory.
Song of the Lone Prairie or Poem on the Range
Aug. 29-Sept, 20 in Jamestown, CA
And it was written by...
Hang on a second. Let me look at the poster again.
"By Scott Cherney."
WHY IS MY NAME STILL SO SMALL?
Sigh...
Everything old is new again.

Dedications

Writing a book dedication is like a final punctuation, a kiss goodbye to send your tome on its merry way. But more importantly, it's a big piece of your heart that you've given to certain individuals that is forever embedded in your work.

My first book, IN THE DARK, was dedicated to my wife.
To Laurie, my honey
Wanna see a movie?
She was my constant movie companion and one of the few people on this earth I can stand to sit next to in a cinema. Laurie's not gone by any stretch of the imagination. She just stopped going to movies.

The recipients of of book numero dos, RED ASPHALT, were Don Geronimo and Mike O'Meara.
To Don and Mike
Radio Gods
Thanks for the laughs when I needed them the most.
Um, what? Yes, I chose to salute a couple of guys on the radio. RED ASPHALT was a personal book about a guy who flips out while driving for a living, a job near and dear to my butt cheeks. Back in the 90s, my psyche had going through some rough terrain while on the road every stinking day. Fortunately, I had these two jamokes to listen to and laugh my way toward sanity, then writing a book to vent my frustrations at the world.. For that, they got a much deserved thank you.

In the introduction of NOW THAT'S FUNNY, my collection of comedy sketches, I was all over the map.

I hereby dedicate this collection to Rob Petrie, King Kong, Pollardville itself, that motley crew of talented performers and excellent people known as the Palace Showboat Players and to the patron saint of comedy itself, the chicken.

What a load. The chicken didn't even call.

PLEASE HOLD THUMBS, all about my adventures in South Africa, turned out to be a story about family, therefore transforming it into something more than "What I Did on My Summer Vacation".

To my family

Past, present and future

So now we're up to date with my latest, SONG OF THE CANYON KID. I've dedicated this book to my friend, Goldie Pollard.  

I had been a cowboy in the Pollardville Ghost Town as an actor, sorta stuntman and writer and director. During that time, my friend Edward Thorpe and I wrote a melodrama for the Palace Showboat Theater called LARUE'S RETURN. I had yet to appear on that particular stage myself. When I finally did, I had helped Bob Gossett write new material for my first show DOWNFALL OF THE UPRISING. Since I was pretty hungry to add even more material to the show's vaudeville section, Goldie, as one of the producers, helped to champion my cause. The next show she co-directed with Bill Humphreys, GOODBYE TV, HELLO BURLESQUE, the two of them both asked me to write some sketches. I had written the next melodrama solo, LEGEND OF THE ROGUE, and Goldie gave me the highest honor possible. Not only would I have my name on the melodrama, but I would write and direct the olios section as well. Don't think this didn't go to my head. I was Orson fucking Welles, baby!
 
The problem was...I was in so far over my head I didn't realize I was drowning until it was too late. I was too young, too ill-prepared and too arrogant to ask for help. The show was virtually taken away from me and deservedly so.

A couple of years passed and I returned to the Palace Showboat stage, thanks to both D.W. Landingham and Ray Rustigian. I was ready to give it another shot and Goldie gave it to me. I wrote and directed three vaudeville shows in a row, a revival of LA RUE'S RETURN and a brand spanking new melodrama called SONG OF THE LONE PRAIRIE.

If it wasn't for Goldie's initial encouragement and her ability to grant me a second chance, I don't know what direction my life would have taken. I loved this woman. We lost contact after I left the Stockton area in 1999, but I am so grateful that we were able to have one last reunion at the Palace Showboat when that place closed once and for all. At that event, she addressed the crowd to say:

You all came here as actors, dancers, singers, dressers, writers and you ended up as entertainers. And you know what you are today? You are all my stars and I love you all.

No one shone brighter than she did. She was our beacon, our guiding light. For this, I have dedicated SONG OF THE CANYON KID to her.

To Goldie Pollard

For giving me my first chance, then believing in me enough to give me a second

This book is all about second chances and this is my last to say once more to my friend,

I love you, Doris June. And thank you from the bottom of my heart now and forever, 

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.

That is SO Last Year-Part One

Hi kids! Ed Barbara, Furniture USA! We wanna get you started in the credit world!

(Anybody remember this relic from the Guido museum in 1970s late night TV?)

Yeah, it's time for me to pontificate on the year known as Two Thousand Seven or as some tools might say Twenty Oh Seven. I used to have a boss that called 2001: A Space Odyssey
"Twenty Oh One". It really irritated the shit out of me. (Honestly. I had the cleanest colon in town back then.)

Personally, 2007 represented a time to move on (and I don't mean dot-org). Much of what occurred last year pushed, coerced and even encouraged me to wake the hell up and get on with my goddamn life. My own mortality seems to have awakened from a restless sleep and hasn't been in a very good mood since. It's kicking my ass to cut off a lot of dead weight that has been distracting me and holding me back. But it's also allowed me the freedom to embrace what is good and important from my past, present and what I still maintain will be my future if I don't fuck it all up. The clock is ticking...and it doesn't give a shit.

The biggest personal events of the year revolved around the loss of two great loves of my life-Pollardville and its Queen Mother, my beloved Goldie Pollard, one of the best friends I ever had. I was blessed with opportunity to say goodbye to both before the end came, but I can't help but want more. Still I am grateful for what I was able to accomplish in my trip to the Pollardville reunion, especially for the chance to see the best people I've ever known-the Palace Showboat Players. The Ville saga continues, not only in this blog, but also in the website, http://www.showboatreunion.com/ which includes a lot of new material about that wondrous place. Confronting the demise of that wonderful institution has caused me to love that much more and cherish its memory forever, just as I will Goldie and all my Pollardville family.
The celebrity gravy train finally derailed, making casualties of us all. Anna-Nicole, Britney, Paris, Lindsay...my, what a wonderful world we live in. Once upon a time, the downtrodden masses could look to the stars and dream to live their lifestyles of the rich and famous. Now we can't wait to see how they'll fuck up next and hope to God it's worse than one of our own. And, golly, it wasn't gender-specific either. On the female side, we had Ann Nicole, Britney and Paris. For the guys, here's Michael Vick, Don Imus and the grand return of one Orenthal James Simpson. (Side note for Rosie O'Donnell: If Britney is this country's Princess Di, they you must Idi Amin.) For me it didn't get any worse than receiving US Weekly as a substitute subscription when Premiere Magazine went out of business. Each week was worse than the next, shaking my head until it almost fall off as I scanned each issue, nearly at the exploits of what passes as a star in Hollywood these days and as a media outlet "reporting" it all. But they're complient. CNN, CBS, NBC, ABC, FOX each and every one of them no better and often worse than The Star, National Enquirer or the new pretender to the throne of shit, TMZ. As far as I'm concerned, the whole kit 'n kaboodle began once the National Enquirer was considered a "legitimate" news source before the eyes of the American public. We've never been able to wash the smell out of the media since then. And those of you-including myself-who have wallowed at this pig trough of humanity: Shame on you too as well. What the hell have we become-or even worse-what are we becoming? To borrow a quote from David Simon, co-creator of THE WIRE, "While the American empire slipped off its pedestal, what the fuck were we paying attention to?" (For an even better rant on this sad state of affairs, watch Ricky Gervais' EXTRAS finale on HBO. )

Has the writer's strike changed how you watched television? Not me. I haven't watched a network work in the traditional sense in over a year. Maybe they've been forever altered by cable TV to begin with. But the networks had totally screwed themselves by their arrogance a long time ago. They have no respect for the audience, playing havoc with their schedules, doubling up on popular shows until they burn out and cancelling others prematurely before they've even had a chance and depending almost solely on "sweeps" periods during November and February. You know the ol' sweeps, don't you? That's when the networks drag out the "BIG GUNS"-the uber-specials, the extravaganzas or more often than not these days, four new episodes in a row. Then come December or March 1, it's back to reruns again, usually in the middle of a continuing storyline as is the norm with nighttime dramas. Maybe this why CSI and LAW AND ORDER survive while almost everything else struggles. Continuity occurs when the powers that be allow it. The networks are dinosaurs and deserve all the harm they are getting now.
So enough of this mishigoss for now. Stay tuned for what I considered to be the best of 2007.
Bye kids!

Forever Goldie

Goldie Pollard used to tell us, “I am the mother of you all.”

More often than not, some smart-ass, probably me (okay, it was me), would add, “Yeah, you’re a real mutha all right.”

She didn’t mind. In fact, she’d cop to that as well. Of course, she’d have to get the last word in with some rejoinder, cutting me right off at the knees and basically putting me in my place again.

That was Goldie’s nature. She could dish it out and take it with equal aplomb. If you tried to take her on, you couldn’t get the best of her. The best you could hope for was a draw. Then you’d better prepare yourself for a re-match.

Doris June “Goldie” Pollard wasn’t just the matriarch of the Palace Showboat Theatre. She was the Palace Showboat Theatre. Many a diva appeared on and off that stage over the years, but there really was one true diva at that place. Goldie walked the walk and talked the talk that nobody could deny.

Of course, being Big Mama to all of us on that Island of Lost Toys known as The Ville came naturally to her. She couldn’t help herself being a born nurturer and all. She’d take us under her wing until it was time for us to fly. Sometimes we’d fall on our faces but Goldie was there to make sure we’d try it again.

But hey, the woman was not a saint. She would have been the first person to admit that. More often than not, Goldie was a royal pain the ass. She could be downright infuriating and when she knew she pissed you off, she’d acknowledge it and move on. The thing is she was a flawed human being that wasn’t afraid to admit her faults and was that much stronger for doing so. It also allowed her to take all of us misfits in, sometimes at the lowest points of our lives and encourage us to deal with it all. With Goldie you took the good with the bad because the good became great. The woman had greatness in her and the legacy she left behind is proof of that pudding.

I've been wracking my brains out trying to come up with some relatable anecdote about Goldie to illustrate my points, but how about just a good story instead?

One Labor Day weekend during the Seven Brides of Dracula/Goodbye TV, Hello Burlesque show, the gang had all been invited over to Jaime Allison’s place in Lockeford for an overnight BBQ. This was a party for the ages, filled with laughter, songs and lots of good times had by all.

Earlier that summer, Jaime and I had been an item. (Yes, it involved canoodling. No brag, just fact) It was short-lived but I did manage to meet her folks at one point which I'm sure was a big a thrill for them as it was for me.

At the party, Jaime’s dad, a bit in his cups just like the rest of us, was chatting with myself, Goldie and whoever else might have been in earshot. Jaime’s dad, remembering who I was, kept laughing at me and drunkenly proclaiming, “I’m gonna shoot that sonuvabitch!”

After about the third time he repeated this boozy declaration, Goldie got right in his face and said, “You're not shootin’ anybody, you understand? He’s my friend and you leave him the hell alone.”

Jaime’s dad backed down, admitting he was only kidding and stumbled off into the night.

The soiree went into the wee hours of the morning (what else is new?) and we all ended up in very sections of the Allison compound. Goldie and a couple of others holed up in a trailer that Jaime had set up for them. I crawled into the front seat of Bill Humphrey’s Oldsmobile and passed out. (Bill apparently had gone to find his thrill on Bill Hill.)

As soon as the sun rose, Jaime’s brother and his friends decided to go shoot some rabbits on the property. When the first shot was fired, I woke straight up out my shortened slumber in a stupor of all stupors only to hear Goldie’s voice cry out.

“Scott!!!!!!!!! Oh my God, that bastard really shot him!”

It’s just a dumb damn story, but it did confirm what I knew to be true. In Goldie Pollard, I had a friend, a protector and someone that would stand up for me. She made me want to do the same in return. Sometimes I felt like we went into battle together and spent the rest of the night swapping war stories until the sun broke underneath the back door, which we did more often than not. We forged a bond that I feel will never be broken, even though she is no longer with us in this world,. a world that is a quieter, but nowhere near as sweet a  place without her..

Goldie Pollard left this Earth on August 1, 2007.

I love you, Doris. I’ll see you when I see you. Save me a seat. The first Rum and Coke is on me.

Tales from the Ville-Who Do the Voodoo?

Memories of Pollardville still keep flowing out of me like a hooker in a confessional. From time to time, I'm just going keep pouring them into here, the perfect outlet for stuff like this.

Rounding the last curve of my sojourn at Tule Flats Ghost Town, the lure of the theater was almost overpowering which, by the beginning of fall, became a reality. The first Palace Showboat production I had appeared in was the second go-around of Marian Larson’s melodrama The Downfall of the Uprising or Who Do the Voodoo? Bob Gossett had approached me to be his assistant director and to re-write the script. This was our "re-imagining" the original material as they say these days. We took all of the songs out of the show (including "People Gotta Learn to Get Along Together", a tune I didn’t really appreciate until the reunion), changed a couple of characters around (Melvin became Melisa, for example) and set out to add a multitude of gags. The result? A frickin’ mess, but a lovable frickin’ mess and pretty damn funny as well. The cast included, among others, Bill Humphreys as the villain Bugaloo, Cory Troxclair as Governor Julian Beam, Carol Lyon as an angel (yes, really) and Grant Lee Phillips as Bombo, Bugaloo’s henchman.

Bob cast me as Bertram Beam, an army officer who wore a bandleader’s uniform that would have made Michael Jackson jealous. (Check the photo) Bert was turned into a zombie by a voodoo spell and spent about 75% of the show totally immobile. For most of the melo, all I had to do was sit around, not move a muscle and bug my eyes out. Of course, this gave everyone in the cast the license to fuck with me incessantly. I had things stuck in my nose (thanks, Grant), my head used as an arm rest and so on.

On one particular evening just before the curtain opened, I had just gotten into place on a love seat and got into character, zombie-ing myself up. Goldie Pollard, playing Fanny Sweet, a character I don’t remember, began to pace back and forth in front of me as she did at the beginning of the scene. Just as the curtain started to open, she looked down at me and said, “Do you know that you have a hard-on?”

Curtain!

My eyes bugged out even more than usual as I tried to hold myself in check without breaking. I couldn't move. I was a zombie. I couldn't even check to see if there was any downfall to my uprising. Just as I was about to calm down, here came Cory, striking a match on my shoulder to light a cigar. Yes, it was pre-planned, but it didn’t help.

Next came Carmen Kiefer as my daughter Melisa. Now Carmen really threw herself into her characters. Sometimes she threw her characters into everyone else. If you couldn't move, you were an easy target. Melisa, pronounced Melittthhhaaa with the ultra-exaggerated lisp Carmen gave her, came bounding in the room and plunked right next to her dear old dad, drenching him in Melittthhhaaa thpit with every thingle tholitary line she thpoke. Needless to say, I was drenched. Working with Carmen in that show really prepared me for living up here in the rainy Pacific Northwest.

Finally I got some peace. No one could mess with me the rest of the scene. So I scanned the audience with my eyes, still not moving a muscle. Hey, I was a young actor. I wanted to see if any babes were out there in the audience that might enjoy the company of a zombie. I panned from stage left to right until I got to the center aisle. There in the fourth row was Al Hanley.

Al was probably the Ville's biggest fan. He was the equivalent of Mrs. Miller, the perpetual audience member who sat in on the old Merv Griffin Show back in the '60 and early '70s. Al and his family showed up every Friday night without fail sitting in the same exact place every time, the aisle seat of the fourth row. Neil Pollard even had that chair padded especially for Al, the only comfortable seat in the house. Well, sort of. Anyway, as I checked out the audience, I stopped dead center only to see Al Hanley, staring right at me and pretending to focus a pair of imaginary binoculars.

That did it! I started to lose it again. This time I thought for sure I was going to break. My eyes darted all over the stage in an attempt to hold tough until the end of the scene. I didn’t think I was going to make it. Any second now I would just explode. So I looked to the one place where I knew I could get support…right to the orchestra pit.

There was my friend Joel Warren, sitting at the drums. Deadpan, he lifted a drumstick and began to stick it up his left nostril.

Blackout!

Curtain!

Thank you, Jesus!

I had six months of this. Oh, and I got to wear tights and ride a tricycle around the pit in the vaudeville section, Under the Big Top. And there were Nazis involved.

But that's another story...